*
Kincaidhadtowalk away. If he didn’t, he would have touched her again. If he’d touched her, he would have kissed her. And if he’d kissed her…if he’d kissed her, this time, he wouldn’t have stopped until he’d devoured her whole. So he forced himself to let her go, and he resisted the urge to look over his shoulder.
He knew he was being a bloody sod, leaving a bleeding woman in the middle of the pavement to venture home by herself. But given the alternative, this was surely the safest option for them both.
Joanna was young and naïve. She was full of hope and stars and everything bright and magical. She didn’t understand what she was asking of him. She didn’t understand what she was risking. She didn’t understand what she stood to lose.
But he did.
He understood that when you played with your heart, you didn’t always win.
And the pain wasn’t worth the reward.
Kincaid considered himself to be a practical man. Which was why, in hishead, he knew Joanna was different from Lavinia. As different as the warm sun from the cool, cold moon. But it was hisheartthat needed convincing, and it was his heart he refused to risk. Not again. Not even for a titian-haired goddess with eyes of blue fire and an unbridled spirit that rivaled the four winds.
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat as he walked, his stormy expression hastening pedestrians out of his path. He passed by his office without stopping and proceeded on to Grafton Street, a fashionable address on the outskirts of Mayfair.
If there was a surefire way to distract his mind and stop himself from turning around and marching right back to Joanna like a poor, besotted dunce, it was to bury himself in his work.
He’d gone as far as he could with Sterling’s case. For now, at least. And Joanna was right, which only served to heighten his temper. Although this anger was self-directed. Because she’d held her own as well as any seasoned peeler, and he never should have doubted her. Not for an instant. But couldn’t she see the danger she’d be in if she continued? He couldn’t let her be part of the hunt for a bloodymurderer.
If something happened to her, it would be the end of him.
He did not know when or how that had come to be.
He just knew it was.
What he felt for Joanna…what he felt for Joanna was stronger than anything he’d ever known. And that terrified him, as it should have. As it would any normal, sane person. When you were burned once, you didn’t stick your damned hand back into the fire. If Lavinia had left his heart filled with gnarled, puckered scars, then Joanna was going to turn it to ash.
It was only a matter of time.
Which was why he needed to get her the hell out of London.
The sooner, the better.
The sheer terror he’d experienced when he saw her step in front of those horses…he didn’t want to feel that ever again. He didn’t want to feel this yearning inside of him. He didn’t want to feelanything.
Not if it meant giving up everything.
Unfortunately, stubborn minx that she was, he knew Joanna wasn’t going to return to America until she had answers. Answers he was determined to provide. As much for her sake as his.
He was hoping the Countess of Beresford’s ball would lead him to the ring, and Joanna’s birth father. In his gut, he knew that if he found one, he’d find the other. In the meantime, he’d been using her grandmother’s maiden name of Ellinwood to track down any remaining relatives that might still be residing in the city. He’d withheld his search only because he hadn’t wanted to disappoint her if he came up empty. And thus far, that was precisely what had happened.
Over the past few days, after Joanna had left his office, he’d walked all over London, knocking on door after door. Ellinwood wasn’t an exceedingly common surname, but there were enough families who shared it to make the task an arduous one.
He had one last residence to check. A manor on Green Street, not too far from the house they’d just left. In this section of Mayfair, however, the homes did not share walls and the gardens were considerably larger, a subtle indication of wealth and privilege.
He knocked on the door. A maid answered. After accepting his card, she ushered him into the front parlor.
“I was not told Lady Ellinwood was expecting anyone, but I will tell her you are here,” she said before discreetly sliding the pocket doors closed.
Hands clasped behind his back, Kincaid circled the room, the restless energy still moving through his veins from when he’d snatched Joanna from certain death making it impossible to sit or to settle.
Thankfully, he was not kept waiting for long.
Within a few minutes, the pocket doors opened to reveal an elderly woman with a hawkish nose, gray hair pinned beneath a lace cap, and a thin mouth. She wore a mauve-colored gown that rustled as she walked, its skirt decorated with too many pleats and bows to count. In her right hand, she held a cane, its whalebone handle worn smooth.
“I was told you requested to see me?” she asked, her voice scratchy with age.
