Chapter Seven

In the foyer, Kincaid closed his eyes and let his skull fall back against the plaster wall with an audible thud.

Bloody hell.

He’d hoped his flare of attraction towards Joanna had been a one-time anomaly. A result of him being caught unawares by a damp, delectable beauty forcing her way into his office. Surely, he’d told himself, when he saw her again there would no sexual friction between them. She was his client, and his employee, and he could–he would–conduct himself in a manner that conveyed his utmost professionalism.

“Kincaid? I’m all done.”

As Joanna’s melodious voice floated through the door, his bollocks tightened.

Done?

No, they hadn’t even gotten started.

And he already needed an ice bath.

“I’m coming,” he called back, then winced.

Bad choice of words, that.

Not to mention they did piss all to help with his growing arousal.

Shoving his hands through his hair, he forced himself to count to ten. Twice. When he’d finished and his trousers still fit a bit more snugly than he was comfortable with, he cursed under his breath and went upstairs to fetch a long overcoat. Holding it closed, he re-entered his office, marched straight to his desk, and sat down.

“Cold?” Joanna asked with a glance at his coat.

“Let’s just see the drawing.” Normally, Kincaid wasn’t so abrasive. Under the right circumstances, he could almost be as charming as Sterling (no easy feat). But these were far from the right circumstances, and given how tenuous his grip was on his self-control, he wanted to conclude this meeting with all haste and get Joanna the hell out of his house.

“Here.” Leaning forward in her chair, she slid the journal across his desk. “My sister, Claire, would have done a much better job. She’s the artistic one in the family. But this should give you a fair idea of what the ring looks like.”

Kincaid picked up the journal. His brows drew together. Joanna was right. She wasn’t an artist. But her rudimentary sketch gave him a clear picture of what he was searching for.

Sort of.

“Is the ring on a large boat, or…”

Joanna’s eyes narrowed. “That is my mother’s hand.”

“Ah.” Kincaid tilted his head and squinted. “Yes, I see it now.”

“Give me that.” Snatching the journal back, she pressed the tip of the pen between her lips–dear God in heaven–before adding a few lines to the drawing, then a few a more. She held the journal back out. “There. That should be better.”

“Thank you,” Kincaid croaked as he took the journal.

“The ruby is a vibrant red.” She tucked the pen behind her ear. “Mr. Bernard, the jeweler, said it was a marquise cut, and quite old.”

“An heirloom, no doubt. In the peerage, it’s common for certain pieces of jewelry to be handed down through the generations. If it was given to your mother without the family’s knowledge or permission, that might also explain why they went to such lengths to have it returned to them.”

A tiny notch appeared in the middle of her brows. “But you said the ring rightfully belongs to me and my sisters.”

“Morally, it does.”

“Morally?”

“British law is…complicated. Particularly when it involves the aristocracy.” Kincaid shifted his weight in his chair as, at long last, the blood in his groin began to recede. Nothing like a healthy law discussion to quell a man’s arousal. “I should forewarn you that even if we manage to find who took the ring, they may be under no legal obligation to return it.”

Anger swirled in the depths of Joanna’s gaze. “That’s not right. They stole the ring. They have to give it back.”

“Hopefully, they will.”

“And if they don’t?” she demanded.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. As I said, I will have the opportunity to examine the Queen Mary’s manifest this afternoon. If I find anything of interest, I’ll be sure to let you know.” He closed his journal. Cleared his throat. “It looks to be a clear, sunny day. You and your sister should do some sightseeing.”

Joanna stood when he did. “Are you dismissing me, Kincaid?”

Damned right he was.

The sooner his office didn’t smell of violets, the better. Maybe then, he’d actually be able to focus on her case instead of stealing glances at her breasts like some lovesick young pup.

“I can recommend Hyde Park,” he said as he opened the door. “There are several miles of walking trails. There’s also Trafalgar Square where you’ll find the National Gallery. I believe they’re currently showcasing an exhibition featuring new European artists. There’s one in particular I like, although I doubt you’ve ever heard of him. Claude Monet?”

“No, I am afraid not.”

“If you enjoy watching plays, the Gaiety Theater shouldn’t be too far from your boarding house. The acting troupe that’s currently touring there is quite entertaining.”

Joanna tilted her head. “Do you enjoy the theater, Kincaid?”

“Occasionally.” Back when he was a peeler, Kincaid had worked, gone to bed, woken up, and returned to work. There’d simply been no time to take a stroll through the park, or admire paintings at the National Gallery, or see a play. After he was let go (as kind a way to put it as any), he’d drank himself into oblivion. When he’d finally surfaced from the self-inflicted haze of cheap gin, he had found himself with nothing to do.

Needing something to fill the long, empty evenings that gnawed at him like a dog on a bone, he’d followed Sterling’s suggestion and attended the theater. Better to spend his money on that, he’d supposed, than a bottle of gin. To his surprise, he’d actually enjoyed himself, and had seen several plays since.

“They’re debuting an operetta tonight, I believe.” A combination of humor and vocal talent, operettas were shown exclusively at the Gaiety Theater as they weren’t considered prestigious enough for The Globe or Charring Cross, both of which appealed to a more exclusive set of people than Kincaid preferred to run with. “You should go see it, Miss Thorncroft. Take in a bit of the local talent during your stay.”

Her blue eyes brightened. “What a nice invitation, Kincaid. I would love to accompany you.”

“What?” he said blankly. “No, I didn’t…that is to say, I wasn’t…”

“I’ll be ready at half-past seven.” With that, she picked up her bonnet and coat and sailed past him before he could sputter another word.

* * * *

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” Joanna asked for the fifth time. “I am certain Kincaid could get another ticket.”

“And spoil your evening alone?” Evie teased. “I wouldn’t dare dream of it. Besides, Mrs. Benedict is going to teach me how to play whist and then we’re going for a stroll around Cremorne Gardens. She says it’s the place to be if I want to meet a duke.”

“Because of all the trees?” Joanna asked innocently, then promptly ducked when Evie threw a pillow at her head.

“You know I was speaking metaphorically.” Carefully adjusting a shiny, black curl she’d laid just so over her shoulder, Evie put her hands on her hips and turned her head to the side. “How do I look?”

“Beautiful, as always. That color is stunning on you.”

“It’s not too yellow, is it?” Evie fretted, glancing down at her voluminous skirt.

“If there’s a duke to be had, he’ll be eating out of your palm in no time at all,” Joanna said with the utmost confidence.

Evie smiled. “Thank you. I must say, you don’t look nearly as dowdy as you usually do.”

“What a wonderful compliment,” Joanna said dryly. For her night out with Kincaid, she’d chosen a gown in emerald green silk with a square neckline, pointed waist, and a modest bustle that paled in comparison to the small mountain that currently resided on Evie’s rear end. She’d tamed her thick mass of red curls into a braid, and then twisted the braid into a bun on top of her head. A pair of simple pearl earrings and matching necklace completed the outfit.

“Come to think of it,” said Evie said thoughtfully, “I don’t know if you’ve ever been this dressed up. Are you wearing a corset?”

“Maybe,” Joanna said defensively. “What does it matter?”

“You never wear a corset.”

“Because they’re barbaric monstrosities created to suppress women.”

“And yet you’re wearing one.”

“The dress required it.”

“Ah, of course.” Evie’s smile grew. “The dress required it.”

Joanna began to cross her arms, but was forced to drop them back to her sides when the edges of her corset dug into her ribs. They really were devilish contraptions. “What does that mean?”

“It means I was right. You are sweet on Kincaid.”

“I’m nothing of the kind,” she scoffed. “This is merely a–a business meeting between associates. Men have them all the time.”

“You aren’t a man,” said Evie. “And I’ve never heard of a meeting being conducted in the middle of a play.”

“It’s an operetta.”

“Whatever it is, I’m certain Kincaid did not invite you to discuss business.”

“I don’t know if he invited me so much as I invited him.” And for as long as she lived, Joanna would never forget the way the blood had drained from Kincaid’s face, as if she’d proposed they fling themselves off London Bridge instead of attend a play. Truth be told, she didn’t know whether to be insulted or amused by the obvious horror he’d experienced upon realizing she had tricked him into a night at the theater.

A bit of both, she decided as she picked up her beaded handbag and slipped it around her wrist.

Which was why she had decided to wear the corset.

“All right,” she confessed. “Maybe I do find Kincaid somewhat…attractive.”

“I knew it!” Evie said triumphantly.

“Butfinding the ring is still my highest priority.” As she spoke, Joanna honestly didn’t know whether she was trying to convince Evie…or herself. “Any feelings I may or may not be developing for Kincaid must remain secondary.”

“Well I, for one, think it is romantic.”

Joanna gazed dubiously at her sister. “This from the person who doesn’t believe in love?”

“I never said I didn’t believe in love. I just don’t believe in marrying for love unless it is financially beneficial.” Consulting her warlike assortment of beauty products and potions, Evie opened a tin of beeswax and used her fingertip to apply a light sheen to her lips. “The more I think about it, the more I think you’re the one who doesn’t believe in love. All these suitors you’ve had, and not a single one has ever made your heart flutter?”

“No,” Joanna said without hesitation.

“And what about Kincaid? Does he make your heart flutter?”

A blush warmed her cheeks. “He…he makes me tingle.”

Evie nodded approvingly. “Tingling is good.”

“Yes, but as I said, my highest priority is–”

“Finding the ring.” A dusting of rouge on her cheeks, and Evie stepped back to admire her reflection in the dressing mirror. “That’s another thing I’ve noticed about you, Jo. For all your impassioned speeches about unconditional love, you’ve always managed to come up with a litany of excuses to cut your suitors off before they even have the chance to prove themselves. Do you want to know what I think about that?”

“Not really,” Joanna said grumpily, “but I have the feeling you’re going to tell me anyways.”

“I think you don’t want to fall in love.” Apparently satisfied with her appearance, Evie turned and regarded her sister with an arched brow. “Because your real highest priority has always been me and Claire. You’ve raised us every bit as much as Grandmother has, and if you fell in love and got married, you’d have to leave us, and that’s why you’ve found a reason to dismiss every man who has ever attempted to court you.”

“That’s–that’s preposterous,” Joanna said, even as the truth of Evie’s words resonated somewhere deep inside of her like the low tolling of a church bell whose rippling sound could be heard from miles away. “I want to marry. And I will. When I meet the right man.”

“Is that man Kincaid?”

“No. Maybe. Most likely not.” If her corset had allowed it, she would have released a loud huff of breath. Instead she had to make do with a slow whistling hiss between her teeth. And a glare. “We did not come here to find husbands.”

“Speak for yourself,” Evie sniffed. “I’m going to meet mine tonight.”