Chapter Seventeen

The sun sank low over the Thames, painting the sky a vivid red as Kincaid made his way home. There was a spring in his step. A lightness in his heart. And his mouth…his mouth hurt, actually.

Bemused, Kincaid stopped in front of a store shop window and glanced at his reflection. Why, he was grinning, he realized. And doing so was deploying muscles that he hadn’t used in years.

How…strange.

Or maybe it wasn’t strange at all. Maybe this was how people were supposed to feel. When they were happy. Which he was. For the first time in a long time, mayhap in forever, he was happy.

As a child, abandoned and unloved, he hadn’t known happiness. He thought he’d found it with Scotland Yard, but now that he looked back, he wasn’t so sure.

He had been driven, certainly. Driven to succeed. Driven to make a difference. Driven to bloody well survive. But all of that meaningless death and disregard for human life had already started to take its toll well before he tendered his resignation.

He thought he was happy with Lavinia. And he was. In the beginning. Yet, if he was being completely honest with himself, a part of him had always known, or at the very least suspected, that something wasn’t right. Because love, true love, did not come with attachments or ultimatums. Which was all Lavinia had ever given him. That, and a lasting distrust for all members of the opposite sex.

Then he’d started his own business. Where he was, if not happy, at least content. And that contentment had sufficed.

Until Joanna.

Absently touching the side of his neck where her lips had left a faint purple bruise, he resumed walking, his ridiculous grin larger than ever.

Joanna had turned his entire world upside down.

She’d forced him to take a good, hard look at himself and ask if this was what he wanted. A plain life. A tranquil life. A life with purpose but no passion. A life with direction but no desire.

The answer…the answer was obvious.

He wanted Joanna.

He’d always wanted Joanna.

And all the chaotic, impulsive joy that she carried with her wherever she went.

When he had rescued her from the horses, his want for her, his desperate need, had terrified him. And it still did. But overriding that sense of fear was the knowledge that he didn’t have to be afraid. His past need not direct his future. He had made mistakes with Lavinia. Horrific mistakes. But how much longer was he going to punish himself? How much longer was he going to make himself suffer? How much longer was he going to keep himself from being happy?

Joanna made him happy.

Being with her, hell, just being in the same room as her was like feeling the first rays of sun on his face after a long, cold night. She’d brought him out of the darkness, and he had never seen her equal. Not even in Lavinia. For Joanna’s beauty flowed from the inside, while Lavinia’s only existed on the surface, like an apple that was shiny on the surface but black and rotten at the core.

He’d allowed that rot to infect him.

To change him.

But not anymore.

Kincaid had just begun to whistle–whistle!–when he rounded a corner…and slammed into a lady walking her small, furry rat.

No, not a rat, he registered as he grasped the woman by her shoulders to keep her from falling and the tiny rodent began to yap at his ankles. A dog. A fluffy white dog with a pink ribbon collar.

He recognized the collar first.

Lavinia had always been partial to pink, and she dressed all of her animals–three Persian cats and four Pomeranians, the last he knew–in the color.

Then he smelled her perfume. That, too, was unchanged.

Too sweet, like an orange left to wither on the branch, it invaded his nostrils as he automatically bent to retrieve the parcel that had gone flying when he had collided…with Lady Lavinia Townsend.

Slow to stand, he considered throwing the wrapped box at her and running in the opposite direction. But that wasn’t how you defeated your demons.

“Lady Townsend.” His tone a step below frigid, he held out the box. It contained shoes, if he had to guess. Shopping seemed to be the only thing that brought Lavinia genuine happiness. And wasn’t it sad, if that were true?

For so long, he had been so angry with her. Eventually, that anger had turned to bitterness, and that bitterness to solemn resolve never to open his heart again. But maybe…maybe Lavinia had never deserved his anger. Maybe what he should have given her all this time was his pity.

She had everything anyone could have ever wanted. A title, immeasurable wealth, good health, popularity. Despite all that, she was still wasn’t happy. She’d never been happy. Because happy people did not hurt those they loved.

“Why, as I live and breathe, it’s Thomas Kincaid,” Lavinia purred, her voice–a little breathy with a touch of smoke–precisely as he remembered it.

As his gaze swept across her in a brusque, passionless examination, he wasn’t surprised to discover the rest of her was just the same as he remembered. Whatever pact Lavinia had made with the devil, it was working.

Fair haired and green-eyed, she had the soft, pastel allure of a porcelain doll. Her eyebrows, a shade darker than the pale blonde hair styled in a twist beneath a blue felt hat with feathers, were delicately arched. Her cheekbones were sharp and distinguished. There was nary a freckle or blemish to be found on her roses and cream complexion, and her lips were soft and carried a light sheen. The dress she wore had been tailored to fit snugly over her petite frame, with a taffeta bustle to draw focus to curves that Kincaid knew firsthand were greatly exaggerated.

Still, she was undeniably attractive.

Stunning even.

But having touched Joanna’s tangled hair, and kissed the freckles on her nose, and marveled at all of her perfect imperfections, he had a new appreciation for the flower growing wild in an open field over the cultured rose in a glasshouse garden.

Lavinia may have been beautiful. But her beauty was frail and cold, like moonlight. Whereas Joanna was as vibrant as the sun.

And he knew which he preferred.

“What are you doing here, Lavinia?” he asked shortly. “You’re a long way from Grosvenor Square.”

“I came to do some shopping.” She patted the box she’d tucked into the crook of her arm. “And to see how an old friend is doing. How are you doing, darling? I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you look a little tired. Work keeping you up late?”

He gritted his teeth. “We are not friends. And my work is none of your concern.”

She gave a cluck of her tongue. “I suppose you’re right…except a tiny bird told me that you’ve been hired by an American to find a family heirloom that was stolen, and I thought I might be able to offer some assistance.”

Kincaid shuttered his surprise behind a bland stare. As far as he’d been aware, no one had known about Joanna except for Sterling. And his friend certainly wouldn’t have repeated the details of the case to Lavinia, of all people. So how the hell had she learned about the ring?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He went to move past her, but she stepped directly into his path. The rat bared its teeth.

“Now, now, no need to pretend, darling. You can trust me.”

“No,” he said, glaring down at her. “I really can’t.”

She sighed loudly. “Are we back to this? I told you it was all a terrible misunderstanding. I feel awful about what happened. Simply awful. Which is why I’ve come to make amends. I do not expect you to forgive me. But my dearest hope is that one day we really can be friends again.” Reaching out, she trailed a gloved fingertip down the middle of his chest, then gazed up at her him beneath her lashes. “Don’t you miss what we had, darling? I do.”

Repulsed where he once would have felt aroused, Kincaid grabbed her wrist right before she reached the waistband of his trousers. “I don’t miss a single thing about you, Lavinia.”

Her plump lips pursed in a pout. “Regardless, I’d still like to help you. Which is why I am going to help you.”

“I do not want, or need, your help,” he said, dropping her hand as if it were a hot coal.

“But of course you do. Or rather, that delightful American that you’ve placed under your wing does. She must be beside herself with excitement to have learned that she is the Duke of Caldwell’s granddaughter. Even given her illegitimacy, it is quite the coup.”

“How the hell do you know that?” he snapped.

Lavinia gave a tittering laugh. “If you wanted to keep the girl a secret, then you should have been more careful before you went digging for answers into her past. Lady Ellinwood’s closest acquaintance, Mrs. Goshen, is a notorious gossip. Cannot keep her mouth closed, the poor thing.”

Kincaid had never intended to keep Joanna a secret. But he sure as hell had wanted to tell her the truth about her birth father before Lavinia Townsend found out, or the rest of the ton, for that matter. Because if this many people knew already, it was only a matter of days–if not hours–before the news spread like wildfire.

Damn Lady Ellinwood.

Damnher.

She may not have had any interest in meeting her great-nieces, but she certainly had no issues with talking about them. Did she not understand what a tenuous position Joanna was in? And what might befall her if word of her mother’s affair with the Marquess of Dorchester became public fodder?

“What do you think will happen when everyone finds out?” Lavinia asked, echoing Kincaid’s exact thoughts. “A scandal of this magnitude will shake the ton to its core. And just in time for the Countess of Beresford’s birthday celebration. How delightful!”

His gaze slid to Lavinia’s mouth and the sly smile that resided there. Lady Ellinwood might not have recognized the potential harm she was causing by recklessly sharing information that was not hers to share.

But Lady Townsend certainly did.

“What do you want?” he asked bluntly.

Lavinia splayed her fingers across the top of her breasts. “Why, only to help you, as I said. And your American. Joanna Thorncroft, isn’t it? Lady Ellinwood implied you were quite protective of her when you two met. Then there was that little scuffle at the pleasure gardens with the Duke of Telford. If I didn’t know any better, I’d start to believe you were sweet on your client, darling.” Her smile grew razor sharp. “You’ve certainly a type, haven’t you?”

His hands curled into fists. “You and Joanna are nothing alike.”

Lavinia’s nose wrinkled. “Goodness, I should hope not. She’s an American, for heaven’s sake. They’re practically heathens. Still, I wish her no ill-will. Which is why I am going to tell you that the ring you are looking for is in the possession of her brother, Lord Weston, the Earl of Hawkridge.” Lavinia’s head tipped. “Or rather, should I say half-brother. Words has it he intends to use the ring to propose to the lady he has been courting. Some mouse of a girl, I cannot even remember her name. But they will both be attending the ball.”

It was valuable information.

But Kincaid was not so na?ve to believe that it came without a cost.

“What is in it for you, Lavinia?” he growled.

Her green eyes widened, all innocence and feigned compassion. “Can I not offer my assistance without expecting anything in return?

“No,” he said without hesitation.

“Fine.” For an instant, her fa?ade slipped, revealing the ugliness lurking beneath the glossy veneer of polish and perfection. “If I can’t have you, then neither can some ill-bred American upstart.”

He stared incredulously at her. “You cannot be jealous. Our affair ended over four years ago.”

“But I still think about you, darling. Don’t you think about me and all the fun we used to have?” Her gaze took on a sensual gleam. “Do you remember that inn at Haymarket Square where we–”

“Enough,” he said loudly. “I remember everything, Lavinia. Including all of the lies you told.”

“A little exaggeration here and there,” she scoffed. “Hardly anything worthy of note.”

“You told me your husband beat you.”

“He did threaten to cut off my allowance.”

“You told me you were going to leave him.”

“Oh, darling.” Her voice dripping with sympathy, she leaned forward and patted his cheek. “We all say things under duress. But I could never leave Lord Townsend for a commoner. What sort of life could you possibly provide? Please, darling. We must be realistic about these things. That’s not to say we cannot enjoy ourselves.” Her hand slid lower, her thumb skimming along his jawbone. “In any manner of ways.”

“I don’t want anything to do with you,” he said tersely as he jerked out of her reach. Four years ago, her touch would have ignited a twisted feeling of desire inside of him. Twisted because he’d known it was wrong, but he had still wanted her. Or rather, he’d wanted the woman she’d been pretending to be. But now that he saw her for what she really was, he felt nothing but revulsion.

Lavinia’s mouth thinned. “Because of your red-haired American tart?”

“Do not speak of Joanna again,” he warned in a soft, silky voice that was far more dangerous than any yell or bluster.

Unfortunately, Lavinia did not heed his warning.

Scooping up her yapping rat, she held the fur ball pinned against her waist as she said, “When everyone learns who Joanna Thorncroft is, it won’t matter that she is illegitimate. It won’t even matter if the Duke of Caldwell acknowledges her or gives her the cut direct. She’ll still be beyond you, darling. You’re an unwanted orphan who left Scotland Yard in disgrace while she is the daughter of a marquess. The ton is going to adore her.” Lavinia ran her tongue across her fangs. “Before they chew her up and spit her back out, that is. She doesn’t belong here. And she certainly doesn’t belong with you. Find the girl’s ring, and let her return home. It is the least she deserves after what the poor thing has been through.”

Something inside of Kincaid tightened, like a clock spring drawn a tick too hard to the left. Sweat, cold and clammy, broke out along his temple. He swept it away with the back of his hand, but he couldn’t wipe away the knowledge that Lavinia was right.

He had spent all of this time trying to convince himself that he couldn’t love Joanna that he never stopped to consider if he should.

What future could they possibly have together? If she remained here, with him, she’d be leaving her family and the only home she’d ever known behind. Not to mention the fact that she was practically royalty and he…he was exactly what Lavinia had said he was. An unwanted orphan who had left Scotland Yard in disgrace.

He could go with Joanna to America. But his work, his livelihood, was here, in London. Dare he give it up and begin anew? What if he failed? What if he promised her the moon and was unable to give her even a star?

He couldn’t do that to her.

He wouldn’t.

Because happy people didn’t hurt those they loved.