“That for all intents and purposes, our time together is done.” He spoke in calm, precise, level tones. He had to, or else he’d yell. And if he yelled, he was very much afraid he might humiliate himself and cry. “I’ve located the ring and, barring any unforeseen circumstances, should be able to deliver it to you promptly. There is no need for you to attend the ball. In fact, I think it would be wise if you began preparing for your journey back.”
“My journey back?” She swatted at a leaf tickling her cheek. “Back to where?”
“Home, Miss Thorncroft. Where you belong.”
She stared blankly at him for a moment. “But…but Iloveyou,” she said in the small, confused voice of a child who had just been told that Father Christmas was not real. “I thought…that’s why…don’t you love me, too?”
A knife plunged between his shoulder blades would have hurt less. Love her? He loved her more than the sun loved the moon. More than the ocean loved the sky. It wasbecausehe loved her…that he was letting her go. “Our personal feelings are irrelevant, Miss Thorncroft. This is what’s best. For both of us.”
Heat rose to her cheeks. Hurt filled her eyes. Raising her arm, she jabbed a finger at his chest with enough force that he stumbled back a step.
“You,” she cried, “are the most idiotic man I haveevermet!”
Then she turned on her heel and marched away, leaving Kincaid to wonder what the devil he’d done…and why, after years spent trying not repeat past mistakes, it felt as if he’d just committed the gravest one of all.
Chapter Nineteen
Joanna could notremember how she had returned to the boarding house. The walk was a blur, obscured by the glassy sheen in her eyes and the rage in her heart.
Evie wasn’t there when she stormed into their room. All the better, for Joanna preferred to fall apart in private.
And fall apart, she did.
Little pieces fractured off first. The first time she’d met Kincaid. The first small pulse of heat. The first kiss. Remembering them was like ripping a bandage off a fresh wound and watching blood spill out with no way to stop it.
The shape of his mouth when he smiled.
The sound of his laughter, so husky and rare.
The way his eyes crinkled when he was annoyed with her.
And the warmth that flooded them when he was pleased.
The sight, the sound, the scent of him wrapped around her like a cloak as she paced the room, then stood by the window, then collapsed onto the bed in a ball of torment and tears.
How could he do this to her? How could he bethisinsensitive?
The bastard had made her fall in love with him! No one else had ever done that before. No one else had ever taken a piece of her heart.
And no one else had ever given it back to her broken and bloody.
Did she mean so little to him after everything they’d shared? Did he hate her this much? For surely, hate was the only emotion that could drive a person to treat someone with such callousness and cruelty.
She’d always known he was cold…and after he told her about Lavinia, she finally knew why.
But this…
There was no explanation for this.
No reason.
Nothing Kincaid could possibly say to make it better.
Because the only thing worse than giving someone hope was snatching it away.
And he had done both.
A pillow muffled her sobs as she buried her face in the scratchy feathers. Joanna did not know how long she had purged herself of all the hurt and the heartache, but when her tears finally subsided and she could draw a breath without knives slicing at her throat, she felt…empty. And empty was a good thing, as it meant shedidn’tfeel wounded, or sad, or angry.
