A lord would have been remarkable enough.
But to be the offspring of a marquess…granddaughter of a duke…
Some—most—would have been elated by the news. But he wasn’t sure how Joanna, who seemed to put no value in the peerage or titles, was going to take it.
Would she be happy or sad? Calm or overwhelmed? Excited or nervous?
Whatever her reaction, he knew one thing.
He wanted to be there.
Because he never should have left.
“I received a letter when Anne married that doctor,” Lady Ellinwood said. “And when she had her bastard. A girl, so I was told. Judith or June or something or rather. I really cannot recall, it was so long ago.”
Kincaid dropped his plate. It hit the table with a loud clatter, spilling his uneaten sandwich onto the floor. “Careful,” he said icily. “That is my client you are speaking about, and her name is Joanna.”
“I assure you I do not carewhather name is. She is meaningless to me.”
“Well she isn’t meaningless to me!” Kincaid shouted. The admission caught both of them off guard, but he did not regret his impassioned words. Not when they rang with truth. “Joanna may not be a member of the peerage,” he continued through gritted teeth, “but as far as I am concerned, that is a quality, not a flaw. You may not have liked your niece, Lady Ellinwood, but you would do well to learn a thing or two from her daughter. Joanna has more courage and integrity in her little finger than thetonhas within its collective body. You should be grateful to have such a remarkable young woman in your family.”
Lady Ellinwood’s lips all but disappeared as she pressed them together. “I believe it may be time for you to see yourself out, Detective.”
“I believe you’re right.” There was nothing more he could learn here, and he feared what else he might say if he remained. Retrieving the sandwich, Kincaid slapped it onto the plate and then stood up.
With the use of her cane, Lady Ellinwood did the same. As if he were a criminal she needed to keep an eye on lest he make off with the silver, she followed him all the way to the door. “When you see my grandniece, you might mention that I have no interest in meeting her. It’s clear the chit has woven a spell over you, the same as her mother did to the poor Marquess of Dorchester, and I want no part of it. I have been charged with raising my grandchild, and I will not have my grandniece exposing my darling Rosemary to her wicked ways.”
“You’ve actually three grandnieces,” Kincaid informed her, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to refrain from saying what hereallywanted to. He’d never felt such an overwhelming wave of protectiveness before. Not for anyone. It was a primal urge that tinged the edges of his vision red and made him want to beat his chest like a bloody madman. Instead, he settled for a flinty stare. “Joanna has two sisters, Evelyn and Claire.”
Lady Ellinwood sniffed. “Not all from different fathers, I hope.”
With that, she closed the door in his face.
*
“Whathappenedtoyou?” Evie asked, her eyes widening with alarm when Joanna swept past her and marched into their shared room with all of the righteous anger exclusively reserved for a woman spurned.
“Thomas Kincaid,” Joanna fumed as she tossed her frock coat onto the bed. “And a milk wagon.”
“Amilkwagon? You’re bleeding!” Wetting a towel in one of the buckets they’d been using to collect rainwater, Evie motioned for Joanna to sit in a chair and began to tend to her wound.
“It’s nothing more than a scratch,” Joanna said, holding out her arm. “I don’t even feel it.”
It was true, she didn’t. Shecouldn’t. Not over the anger pulsing through her veins. She didn’t know if she’d ever been this enraged in her entire life. Her whole body was vibrating with fury. Or maybe those were tiny aftershocks of all the adrenaline still making its way through her bloodstream. She had, after all, nearly died.
And Kincaid had walked away.
The bastard hadwalked away, leaving her humiliated…and hurt.
Joanna had never beenhurtby a man before. Exasperated; more times than she cared to count. Bored; it went without saying. But she’d never felt her heart wrench inside of her chest. Never felt her throat swell with emotion, or the pit of her stomach fill with despair.
If this was what rejection felt like, she wanted no part of it.
“What happened?” Evie repeated. Having finished cleaning the scrape, she wrapped it with a linen handkerchief, secured the makeshift bandage with a ribbon, and then picked up a brush. “Your hair looks as though it’s been through a windstorm. Hold still.”
Joanna set her jaw and glared forcefully at the wall as Evie pulled the pins from her hair and carefully began to work the comb through the tangled curls “I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going, and was nearly run over by a milk wagon. Kincaid saved me. Then, in an act of complete and utter idiocy, I poured my heart out to him.”
Evie’s hands stilled. “Why on earth would you do that?”
