Bewitched by the Bluestocking

by Eaton, Jillian

  Using his thumbs, he delicately parted her folds to reveal the glistening pearl within. His hands sliding around to cup her plump bottom, he lifted her to his lips, a king dining on a banquet of riches.

  “Kincaid? Kincaid. Kincaid!” She spoke his name as a question, an answer, and a plea as he began to lick with slow, lazy sweeps of his tongue. Her fingers tangled in his hair, nails digging into his scalp.

  When the flames threatened to consume them both, he slid a finger into her. Just up to the first knuckle and then back out as he used his mouth to tease and torment her small nub. Gradually, he worked his way to the second knuckle, and then the third.

  Her head thrashed. Her legs wrapped convulsively around his hips. He sensed that she was teetering on the brink, and even the gentlest of nudges would send her spiraling into oblivion. But this time, he wanted to go with her. This time, he wanted to jump off that peak together.

  Drawing out her ecstasy, he loosened his trousers and sought his own. Using the moisture gathered at the head of his cock to stroke himself as he stroked her, he brought them swiftly to the brink where they teetered, their breaths and souls entwined, before he tightened his fist while simultaneously plunging his tongue into all that slick, satin heat.

  Side by side, they fell.

  *

  “My other stocking is under the bed, I believe. Thank you,” Joanna said when Kincaid retrieved it for her.

  Pointing her toes, she guided the crumpled linen up and over her calf before securing it with a plain ribbon tied in a knot. “I think that should do it,” she said breathlessly. “Except for my shoes.”

  “And your hair,” he said quietly as he lifted a curl off her shoulder, a rare half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  The same mouth that had just brought her unimaginable pleasure.

  It looked the same, she thought. It was the same shape. The same color. But, of course, it wasn’t the same at all. Not now, not when she knew what that mouth was capable of.

  Pure, unadulterated sin.

  And she’d loved every decadent second of it.

  In all of her wildest imaginings, she never dreamed of a man doing to her what Kincaid had just done. When he first kissed her down there she’d been stunned speechless. Even a tad embarrassed. Now, she wondered if anything of a carnal nature would ever shock her again.

  She very much hoped it would.

  “Evie’s going to be furious with me,” she said ruefully as she gathered her disheveled hair at the nape of her neck.

  “Your sister.” Kincaid’s countenance went blank. “I forgot about her. Had she walked in…”

  “But she didn’t,” Joanna said when he trailed away.

  And thank goodness for that, or Evie would have seen much more than she wanted.

  “Still, I should have known better.” Retrieving his spectacles from his waistcoat, he gave them a brief cleaning before placing them on his face. “I could have behaved better. Miss Thorncroft—”

  “If you apologize, I am going to take this shoe,”—reaching blindly under the chair, she managed to retrieve an ankle boot—“and hit you over the head with it. We were both willing participants in what happened, Kincaid. If anything, I should be the one to apologize for taking advantage of your weakened emotional state.”

  His eyes narrowed. “My weakened what?”

  “Nothing,” she said cheerfully. Dropping the shoe, she bounded to her feet.

  She felt…weightless. Energized. As if she could conquer anything in her path. Which was a good thing, as the object currently in her path was a six foot, three inch, scowling detective who appeared as if he didn’t know whether he wanted to kiss her again or bolt out the door.

  Kiss, she decided, making the choice for him.

  Lightly pursing her lips, she pressed them to his rough cheek where he’d allowed a day’s worth of bristle to grow, then tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “Thank you entrusting such a personal piece of your past with me. It helps me to understand why you’ve put up such a guard.”

  His gaze endearingly tender, he trailed a fingertip along her jawline, then flicked the middle of her chin. “I do not have my guard up.”

  Joanna gave a tiny snort. “Any higher and the Chinese would accuse you of stealing a section of their Great Wall.”

  “You’re not nearly as amusing as you think you are, Miss Thorncroft.”

  “And you’re not nearly as cold as you think you are, Mr. Kincaid.” Canting her head, she poked the middle of his chest. “Given where your mouth has been, I believe it would be socially acceptable if you began calling me Joanna.”

  To her great delight, he actually blushed.

  How utterly adorable.

  As she went to the dressing mirror and attempted to repair her coiffure, all traces of lingering anger faded away as stars brightened her eyes and love swept into her heart, carried on a wind of hope and possibility.

  Now that she knew why Kincaid was the way he was, his infuriating behavior made perfect sense. Why he would start to get close to her, only to abruptly withdraw. Why he always seemed to be fighting himself as much as he fought her. Why he was so fixated on her role as his client, as if it were an insurmountable hurdle that couldn’t possibly be overcome.

  She did not blame him for the way he’d acted. Not after learning how Lady Townsend had used him, manipulated him, and then discarded him as if he were a shawl that had fallen out of favor.

  What a wretched, vile thing to do.

  Collecting a handful of pins, she began to place them indiscriminately amidst her curls. Without Evie’s skill or patience for elaborate hairstyles, the best she could manage was a loose bun coiled on top of her head that was more or less centered, but it would have to do.

  When Kincaid came up behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders, she met his gaze in the mirror. “What do you think?” she asked, batting her lashes.

  “I think you look perfect. Miss Thorncroft—”

  “Joanna,” she reminded him.

  A shadow flickered across his face. “Joanna, there is much we need to—”

  The door burst open.

  “Are you coming with us to the hotel or not?” Evie demanded, her expression vexed. “Mrs. Benedict and I have been waiting downstairs for hours.”

  “Oh, it hasn’t been hours.” Joanna frowned when she saw that Kincaid was now all the way on the other side of the room by the window. Given his quickness, and his abhorrence for being caught in any sort of intimate position with her, she supposed she was lucky he wasn’t on the roof. But how nice it would have been if he’d stayed right where he was.

  “Well it’s been a long time and—what on earth happened to your hair?” Evie gasped.

  Joanna touched the bun. “It…fell out.”

  “It fell out?” She looked at Kincaid in suspicion. “I do not want to speculate what you two were doing up here, but I am nearly positive it wasn’t proper. Jo, let us go. I can fix that nest on your head in the carriage. We’ve reservations, and Mrs. Benedict said the host is very strict with them. If we miss our table, it will be given to someone else!”

  “The horror,” Joanna said dryly. Gathering her coat, hat, and gloves, she slipped back into her ankle boots, then slanted Kincaid a glance. “Would you be kind enough to accompany us to the door?”

  Together, they reached the receiving parlor where Mrs. Benedict was fretfully pacing.

  “There you are,” she said, visibly relieved. “Our hansom cab is waiting.”

  “Our apologies, my sister and the detective were discussing the case,” Evie said smoothly.

  “Oh! Have you managed to locate the ring yet?” Mrs. Benedict asked Kincaid. “So tragic, what happened.”

  “Not yet,” said Kincaid. “Although I have a solid lead.”

  “You do?” Joanna and Evie said in unison.

  “What didn’t you tell me?” Joanna demanded.

  “I was going to,” he said meaningfully, “but we discussed the othe
r case instead.”

  “Ah, yes. The…the other case,” she said as her cheeks warmed.

  Evie’s gaze swept back and forth between them before she grabbed Joanna’s arm. “Whatever it is will have to wait until tomorrow, because our table will not. Goodbye, Mr. Kincaid. It was nice to meet you at last.”

  “You as well, Miss Thorncroft.” He tipped his head at Joanna. “Miss Thorncroft.”

  “Joanna” she mouthed over her shoulder as Evie dragged her away.

  She thought—but couldn’t be sure—that Kincaid smiled.

  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 misunders
tanding. 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.

  Damn her.

  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?