“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.”
Chapter Eight
“Is something the matter, Miss Thorncroft?”
Joanna peeked at Kincaid out of the corners of her eyes. It was the third time he’d asked her that question since they’d stepped into the long line of people waiting to enter the Gaiety Theater, and she still didn’t have an answer for him.
She couldn’t say nothing was wrong, for that would be a lie.
But neither could she say what was really bothering her. How could she possibly explain that she was afraid Evie was right? That she really didn’t want to fall in love. Not with Charles. Not with Kincaid.
Not with anyone.
“My sister and I had a disagreement. That’s all.” The line shuffled forward a few steps, with Joanna and Kincaid moving along with it. She slanted him another glance.
Positively dashing in a black tailcoat and royal blue ascot, the detective had slicked his hair back but forgotten to shave his jaw, leaving a shadow of dark scruff that gave him a rakish appearance she found secretly appealing.
If she was going to fall in love, surely it would be with someone like Kincaid. Evie could keep her wealthy dukes and Claire her sweet, well-meaning butchers. Joanna would much rather have a man who knew what it was to live on the edge of danger. Who had seen and done things others couldn’t even imagine. Who was sharp and prickly around the edges, but still kind enough to help a complete stranger track down her mother’s stolen ring.
“Do you have any siblings, Kincaid?” she asked him.
“No,” he said in a clipped tone that invoked more questions than it did answers.
“I couldn’t imagine being an only child. My sisters and I argue more than we probably should, but when we get on we’re as close as three peas in a pod. I cannot remember the last time we’ve ever been separated.” She frowned. “Come to think of it, I don’t believe we ever have. At least not by an entire ocean.”
“How is your sister liking London?”
“Oh, Evie loves it. I invited her to accompany us tonight, but she’s already made fast friends with another one of the tenants at the boarding house and they’re going to a place called…” Joanna paused as she tried to remember the name. “Cremorne Gardens.”
Kincaid stopped short. “The pleasure garden?”
“I don’t know.” Her frown returned. “What is a pleasure garden?”
For some reason, the detective’s countenance reddened. “If you’re unaware of what the purpose of a pleasure garden is, Miss Thorncroft, I’m hardly the one to educate you.”
“I see. Then I suppose I’ll just have to ask a stranger. Excuse me!” she called out to the couple standing in front of them. “Yes, hello. Do you know what a—”
“All right,” Kincaid growled. “I’ll tell you.”
“Thank you,” she told the couple sweetly, “but it seems my companion has suddenly recalled the answer to my question.”
Kincaid looked at her with suspicion. “You did that on purpose.”
“Yes,” she said unabashedly. “But it worked, didn’t it? Now, what is a pleasure garden? It sounds very…wicked.”
“It’s certainly not a suitable place for a young, unmarried woman, if that’s what you’re asking. To be perfectly blunt, a pleasure garden is a place where lasciviousness and carnality are openly encouraged.”
“But my sister is going there to meet a duke!” Joanna exclaimed.
“A scoundrel, more like. Any peer wary of ruining their reputation does well to avoid Cremorne Gardens, dukes included.”
“If Evie ruins her reputation, then she ruins any chances of marrying a British nobleman. We have to warn her!”
“What are you doing?” Kincaid said warily when she grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the queue. “You cannot be serious. The theater is one thing, but I’ll be damned if I take you to a pleasure garden. There are lines, Miss Thorncroft, that exist between an employer and employee, and I won’t cross them.” His mouth tightened. “I refuse.”
“Should I go there by myself, then?” she challenged with a toss of her head.
He muttered a curse. “I’ll get us a hackney.”
*
They went to the boarding house first. Joanna hoped she might be able to head off Evie before her sister and Mrs. Benedict left, but she was too late. The house was quiet, and Evie was gone.
“How far is it to Cremorne Gardens?” she anxiously asked Kincaid as she climbed back up into the hackney and squeezed in beside him.
The detective had tried to hail a larger carriage, but they’d all been taken. The creaky little hansom cab with its patched roof and dusty velvet seat that smelled vaguely of cigar smoke was the only one that had stopped when Kincaid stepped out in the busy street with his arm raised and with no other options, they’d been forced to take it.
Joanna didn’t mind, but it was clear by Kincaid’s stony expression and the stiffness of his body that he would have vastly preferred roomier accommodations.
“A half-hour, give or take,” he replied without looking at her.
“That long?” she said in dismay.
“The gardens are all the way in Chelsea by the end of the King’s Road. If the traffic doesn’t thin out soon, it may take even longer. Rest assured, however, we’ll get there.”
Yes, they’d get there.
But would it be in time to prevent Evie from being ruined?
Joanna knew her sister could take care of herself. But she also knew this wasn’t Somerville. The Thorncroft women had gone from the pond to the ocean, and they weren’t accustomed to how deep the water was…or the size of the sharks circling beneath their feet.
Evie may have had her heart set on a duke, but what did she know of the ton or the litany of unspoken rules that governed their actions? As an American with no dowry (at least, not before they recovered the ring), she was already at a severe disadvantage. If she found her reputation in tatters, there was no nobleman in all of England who would have her.
At least, not for marriage.
Pulling her handbag off her wrist, Joanna set it on her knees, fingers digging into the worn leather as their carriage bounced over a large rut. “Have you ever been there? To the pleasure gardens, I mean.” If she was going to be trapped beside Kincaid for the next thirty minutes (give or take), she couldn’t sit in deafening quiet, her mind constantly veering towards the worst possible outcome.
“On occasion, I was required to patrol the grounds,” he said evasively. The wind ruffled his hair, whisking it away from his temple and giving her a clear, unfettered view of his profile.
All sharp angles and lines, she noted, with only the rounded edge of his spectacles to soften a countenance that otherwise could have been carved from granite.
“Have you ever gone when it wasn’t required of you?” she asked.
A muscle leapt in his jaw. “That is a
very personal question, Miss Thorncroft.”
“We’re practically sitting on each other’s laps in a carriage bound for a place that you have described as lascivious and carnal,” she pointed out. “How much more personal could we possibly get?”
Finally, he glanced at her.
And the blaze of heat in his amber eyes took her breath away.
“Oh, I can think of several ways,” he said in a husky tone she’d never heard him use.
Close, she thought with a vague stirring of alarm as he shifted his weight and his thigh brushed against her knee. They were too close. Or maybe they weren’t close enough. Either way, she had the sudden and distinct impression that she would have been much wiser to maintain her silence.
As her pulse skittered like an autumn leaf blown across the ground and her palms grew slick with sweat inside her plain suede gloves, Joanna was startled to realize that she was nervous. No one—man or woman—had ever made her nervous.
It was a strange feeling, and she didn’t like it.
But she did like Kincaid.
What a vexing dilemma to find herself in.
“If you wish to kiss me,” she said breathlessly, “you have my permission.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth, where it lingered for the span of three heartbeats. A small eternity in the timespan of desire. Something flashed in his eyes—regret?—before he lifted his head and scowled at her. “You forget your place, Miss Thorncroft. You are my secretary. You are also my client. Any relationship of a physical nature would only serve to complicate things.”
He was right, of course.
She knew he was right.
Unfortunately, that did nothing to quell her disappointment. Or the nagging suspicion that even though Kincaid seemed to distance himself from everyone, he loathed her in particular.
Had she done something to offend him? Maybe she’d been too presumptuous when she had all but forced him to take her to the theater. Kincaid did not seem like the sort of man who enjoyed being told what to do. Despite that, he had still been at the boarding house to collect her at precisely half-past seven. Now, they were on their way to rescue Evie from an ill-mannered rogue at London’s premiere pleasure garden. If that wasn’t complicated, she didn’t know what was.
On a sigh, Joanna turned her attention to the passing scenery as Kincaid returned to staring straight ahead. Like two ships passing in the night, they did not acknowledge each other until the cab slowed, then turned down a dirt lane that brought them to an enormous, black, wrought iron gate with a coat of arms above and a towering stone wall on either side.
From within the expansive gardens came the unmistakable sounds of music and laughter. Old-fashioned torchlight revealed a large brick pathway that branched off into smaller walking trails guarded by shrubbery. Most of the light and noise seemed concentrated in the middle of the park, where Joanna could just make out a large pavilion through the trees.
The air smelled of honeysuckle and sinful decadence.
After paying the driver, Kincaid exited the carriage and then offered his arm to Joanna. Placing her small hand in his larger one, she joined him on the ground in a graceful swirl of skirts. Her eyes widened when the gate swung inward, beckoning them into the gardens like a lover coaxing his mistress into bed.
“Stay close to me,” Kincaid warned, his grip tightening as they slipped beneath the coat of arms and into a world unlike anything Joanna had ever witnessed.
Amidst the sin and the starlight, there were couples everywhere.
Strolling arm in arm down the paths. Standing in clusters in the shadows. Sprawled across wooden benches.
Some were talking. Some were kissing. And some were…
“Are they, er…fornicating?” Joanna hissed, staring in scandalized fascination at a partially naked man and woman lounging against a tree. The man’s trousers were bunched at his knees as he lazily moved his hips back and forth. As Joanna watched, the woman lifted her lips from her partner’s neck and winked.
“Come on,” Kincaid growled, dragging her past. “We’re here to find your sister, not partake in an orgy.”
“Are you sure that was an orgy?” Her brow creased as she slowed her step. “I was always under the impression it required at least four participants.”
“Miss Thorncroft…” he said between clenched teeth.
“All right, all right. I was just trying to clarify.” Increasing her stride length to match his, she stayed close to his side as they drew nearer to the center of the gardens where the lights were brighter and the music was almost loud enough to drown out the gasps and moans coming from the bushes.
Dozens of people waltzed across a raised wooden platform while servants moved amidst them carrying large silver trays filled with golden champagne. There were even more guests crowded onto the large pavilion behind the dance floor, their glazed expression and lopsided grins indicating they’d already partaken in quite a few glasses of the bubbly spirits.
Joanna considered grabbing one herself, but Kincaid must have sensed that was her intention for he abruptly turned her away from a passing servant and steered her towards an empty bench partially hidden behind a cluster of lilacs.
“Sit,” he ordered. “Stay.”
“Should I bark as well?” she asked, annoyed with his handling of her. “Or lift my paw?”
He dragged a hand through his hair. “Just remain here until I return. I can cover more ground if I’m not worrying about you wandering off.”
Her irritation grew. “I can take care of myself, Kincaid. I am not a wayward child.”
“No, you’re something far worse,” he said grimly. “You’re an American. Promise me you’ll stay on this bench, Miss Thorncroft, and wait for my return. It’s the safest place you could be while I search for your sister.”
“But you don’t even know what Evie looks like!”
He snorted. “If she’s anything like you, she’ll be the one causing the most trouble.”
“Arrogant bastard,” Joanna mumbled under her breath as Kincaid walked swiftly away.
For all of ten seconds, she obeyed his request to remain on the bench. But Thorncroft women were not renowned for their ability to follow rules, and after a furtive glance around to ensure her domineering detective had truly gone, she jumped up and scurried off down the nearest path.
Winding through a thicket of rosebushes, the walkway, illuminated only by moonlight, soon branched into two separate parts. Joanna stopped and studied each way in equal measure, until she ultimately decided to head towards the left.
She quickened her pace when she heard raised voices ahead. Without warning, the path she’d chosen twisted around an ancient oak and ended abruptly at a small alcove surrounded by marble statues…of nude warriors.
“Goodness,” she breathed, her eyes growing to the size of dinner plates as she took in the detailed anatomy of an archer with his bow drawn. He had one leg extended while the other stretched behind him, revealing a muscular backside and extraordinarily large…er…phallus.
“They are Greek Gods,” drawled a masculine voice from directly behind her.
On a gasp, Joanna whirled around. “You—you shouldn’t sneak up on people like that,” she said as she found herself face to face with a young, blonde-haired gentleman with brown eyes that were crinkled with amusement at the corners and a slightly sardonic tilt to his mouth.
“How else am I to get close to beautiful women?” he asked, canting his head to the side while his gaze traveled leisurely across her body as if she were standing there for his own personal enjoyment.
Flushing beneath his intimate—not to mention rude—perusal, Joanna hugged her arms around herself to ward off a sudden chill of warning that trickled down her spine like a bead of condensation sliding down the outside of a glass. “You could introduce yourself,” she suggested. “And not lurk in the shadows.”
“Was I lurking?” he said. “I hadn’t any idea. My apologies, sweet. Colin Farnsworth, Duke of Telford.
At your pleasure.”
This was a duke?
This was what Evie had crossed an ocean to marry?
How utterly disappointing.
Oh, he was pleasant enough to look at. Joanna would give him that. But his obvious sense of self-importance, combined with his lewd staring, left an unpleasant taste in her mouth. A taste that only grew more bitter when he reached out with all the quickness of a snake, grabbed her arm, and jerked her against him.
“Don’t be impolite, sweet.” His breath reeked of strong spirits as it wafted past her nose. “I told you who I am. Who are you?” He slid a hand around her waist, fingers digging painfully into her hip. “Besides a goddess sent from the heavens above to tempt this poor mortal’s soul.”
Joanna craned away from him. “Does that bit work?”
“Usually.” There was a flicker of annoyance in his dark eyes, and then he shrugged. “But it doesn’t matter. I don’t really need to know your name. Even if you did tell me, I’d probably forget it tomorrow. What do you have under this bustle, sweet?”
“Let me go!” Joanna snapped, outraged when his hand slipped around her waist to squeeze her bottom. She brought her arms up between them and tried to push herself free, but the duke’s grip only tightened, like a serpent coiling around its prey.
“Now, now,” he said, leering at her. “No need to play hard to get. We both know why you came to the gardens.”
“I came here to find my sister!” Bringing her leg back, she kicked it forward with all the strength she could muster and hit him squarely in the middle of his shin.
With a howl, he released her, but before she could escape back down the path he grabbed her wrist and spun her towards him. She struggled to free herself, but it was to no avail. The duke was physically stronger and, within seconds, he had her pinned against the base of the archer statue with his knee thrust between her thighs and her arms stretched high above her head.
Bewitched by the Bluestocking Page 11