She was simply following the trail he’d left behind.
“Jo?” Evie scooted across the bed until they were side by side. Reaching for Joanna’s hand, she linked their fingers together. “If you don’t want to reveal his name, I will not ask you for it. We can get the ring and go home. Pretend all of this was a bad dream.”
There was a part of Joanna that wanted to do precisely that. To take what they’d come for and return to where they’d come from. To forget the last nine weeks had ever existed.
If she did that, she’d be leaving behind all of the bad.
The hurt.
The misery.
The heartache.
But she’d also be leaving behind all of thegood.
The butterflies in her belly.
The thrill of Kincaid’s touch.
The feel of his mouth on hers.
Was it better to have been in love and had your heart shattered, or to have never known love at all? A question for the ages, for she certainly didn’t have the answer. Neither had Shakespeare, or Austen, or Alcott.
But shedidknow, deep in her soul, that having come this far, she couldn’t go back. She couldn’t pretend it had never happened. She couldn’t ignore the love that still beat within her, even now. Even after all the pain. All the disappointment. All the anguish.
Because then, she’d be no better than Kincaid.
She took a long breath.
Counted to three.
Let it out slowly.
“My father is the Marquess of Dorchester. I am the illegitimate daughter of a marquess, the granddaughter of a duke, the sister of an earl.” Without warning, tears flooded her eyes and thickened her voice. “I—I am in love with a detective. And I have never felt more unwanted in my entire life.”
“Oh, Jo.Iwant you,” Evie said fiercely. “Claire and Grandmother want you. Mother wanted you. And Father…I think Father wanted you most of all. Enough to raise another man’s daughter as his own. Your family has always wanted you, Joanna. Always. You must know that.”
It was exactly what Joanna needed to hear…and it gave her the strength to push aside her self-pity before it overwhelmed her. Squeezing Evie’s hand, she forced herself to sit up. Then she dried her eyes (using her own dress this time), and squared her shoulders. “I do. Idoknow that. I just…I didn’t realize a person could hurt like this, Evie. My heart.” She laid a hand flat over her breasts. “My hearthurts.”
“After all that you’ve endured, I would be surprised if it didn’t. But you are strong. You are resilient. You are the moststubbornwoman I haveevermet. You’ll get through this. The same as you’ve gotten through everything else. And in the end, you shall be the better for it.” Evie was quiet for a moment. Then she nibbled her bottom lip and scratched her ear. “Aduke, did you say?”
*
Lord Weston, Earlof Hawkridge, was in a foul mood.
And he didn’t care who knew it.
Stoic by nature, it took quite a bit to rile him up to the point of showing emotion in public.
When he was a boy of seven and fell off his pony, he hadn’t shed a tear. Not even when it turned out his arm was broken in two places.
When he was a young lad of eighteen and the woman he fancied himself in love with married his best mate, he’d offered his congratulations and bought them a sterling silver tea set.
When he was a man of twenty-two and watched the thoroughbred he’d raised from a colt break down in the middle of The Ascot, he had calmly wielded the pistol that put the stallion out of its misery.
As a result, Weston was renowned throughout thetonfor his control.
Cold, his friends called him.
