The corners of Kincaid’s mouth twitched. “Apparently, your mother, whom Lady Ellinwood described as ‘rebellious’ and ‘disobedient’, left an indelible impression.”
“Good.” Squaring her shoulders, Joanna sat up a little straighter. “I am glad that she did. Does…does my great-aunt know who my father—my birth father—is?”
Kincaid stiffened and withdrew his hand. Crossing his arms, he stared out through the long boughs of the willow tree as Joanna held her breath. “I am not sure how to tell you this, Miss Thorncroft. Only to warn you that it may come as a bit of a…surprise.”
A hundred different thoughts raced through Joanna’s mind. Was her father dead? Was he a criminal? Did he not want to be found?
“Go—go ahead,” she managed. “Out with it.”
Surely the anticipation was worse than whatever Kincaid was about to say.
“Your birth father is Lord Jason Weston, Marquess of Dorchester. His father is the Duke of Caldwell.” Kincaid turned his head and met her stunned gaze without blinking. “Miss Thorncroft…you’re the illegitimate daughter of one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in all of England.”
*
When Joanna’s facedrained of all color, Kincaid could have kicked himself.
Bloody hell, but he should have handled that better.
Couldhave handled it better, if not for the lump inside of his throat. A lump that had grown so large at the sight of Joanna, pretty as a picture standing on his doorstep in a blue dress that matched her eyes, it had all but suffocated him.
Maybe he deserved to be suffocated, for what he was about to do.
What hehadto do.
He knew she wasn’t going to understand. He knew she was going to be furious with him. But he’d rather have her anger than her disappointment. Rather give her a temporary bruise than a lifetime of hurt. Because every word that Lavinia had said to him last evening still rang true in the light of day.
You’re an unwanted orphan who left Scotland Yard in disgrace while she is the daughter of a marquess.
She doesn’t belong here.
And she certainly doesn’t belong withyou.
He wasn’t good enough for Joanna. He never had been. He never would be. And the only solace to be found in letting her go was knowing that he was doing what was best for both of them.
Or at least, what was best for her. Surely thiswrenchingin his chest wasn’t good for him. A person wasn’t designed to be torn apart from the inside out. Yet, that was precisely what he was doing. For Joanna, and the life she deserved to live far away from him, and theton, and all the danger she’d inadvertently placed herself in since she got here.
Because ultimately, that was what he wanted. That wasallhe wanted. For her to be safe. For her to be loved. For her to be treasured.
He’d do it himself if he could.
After he’d left the boarding house yesterday, he believed that hewould.
Until Lavinia had reminded him of what he’d forgotten. That love wasn’t only comprised of happiness and merriment and golden sunsets. There was pain as well. Pain, and suffering, and betrayal. He didn’t want to feel that again. More than that, he didn’t want Joanna to feel it. Which was why he was determined to shield her tender heart from such misery.
Even if it killed him.
“Miss Thorncroft?” Resisting the urge to gather her in his arms and tuck her head beneath his chin, he awkwardly stretched his arm along the bench, his hand hovering over her right shoulder. Her slender body was radiating with tension, her fingers latched together so tightly in her lap that her knuckles gleamed white in the dappled sunlight shimmering down through the willow tree. “Do you understand what I said?”
He did not like her silence.
Quiet did not become Joanna.
She was loud, and bright, and fiery.
A burning comet hurtling across the sky.
But sitting beside him now, with her cheeks as white as snow and her eyes bright with shock, she looked as defenseless as a newborn fawn.
