His Improper Lady--A Historical Romance

by Candace Camp

  Fortunately, Tom’s question about the location of the house from Brock’s memory was exactly the sort of thing Alex enjoyed untangling, and this morning he had handed Tom a list of areas he thought might be possibilities.

  Tom caught a hackney to the Malone house immediately. He hoped Desiree was awake and ready to get started; her late nights probably made her a late riser, but he was too eager to wait. If she wanted to join him on the search, she was going to have to put up with some inconvenience. But the butler who opened the door to Tom’s knock led him immediately down a corridor to a small dining area.

  Desiree was at the table, already dressed, though her hair was down, a silken waterfall that was decidedly distracting. A man stood nearby, dressed casually in only trousers and shirt, the sleeves rolled up and the collar unbuttoned.

  Was this her twin brother? His coloring certainly suggested that. He was slender, with golden-brown hair, blue eyes and the sort of face women swooned over. He watched Tom walk into the room, his expression one of haughty indolence that Tom had seen on many a gentleman’s face. It immediately raised Tom’s hackles.

  “Mr. Quick, Miss Malone,” the butler intoned.

  Desiree, whose back was to Tom, whipped around in her chair and glared at Tom with such ferocity that it took him aback. “You!”

  The greeting Tom had been about to give her died in his mouth. The other man said lazily, “So this is your Mr. Quick, Dez.” He ran a gaze down Tom that managed to be assessing, dismissive and vaguely amused.

  “How dare you spy on me!” Desiree ignored the man’s comment, advancing on Tom with a furious light in her eyes.

  “What?” Tom looked at her blankly. “Spy? I haven’t been sp—”

  “Oh? You mean it was someone else who was sitting outside our house last night when I came home? Someone else who almost ran me down?”

  “Ran you down!” Tom gaped. “What are you talking about?”

  The other man set down his cup with a rattle, turning to Desiree with a sharp focus that was at odds with his earlier stance. “You didn’t tell me someone tried to hit you!”

  “For goodness’ sake, Wells, you just came downstairs. I haven’t exactly had time,” Desiree said to him before she swung back to Tom. “What I’m talking about is you sitting in a carriage across the street, watching this house.”

  “I wasn’t!” Tom protested.

  “When I went over to confront you, you took off and drove right at me, and I had to jump back to keep from being run over. I got mud on the back of my dress and broke a heel off one of my slippers,” she added indignantly.

  “Blast your slippers,” Wells said with a grimace. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course I am. I don’t even have a bruise.” She scowled at Tom. “No thanks to you.”

  “It wasn’t me!” Tom insisted. “Desiree, I swear to you.” He moved toward her. “I was not here last night. I wasn’t spying on you. And I most certainly did not try to run you down.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, studying him. “Honestly?”

  “Yes, honestly. I’m telling you the truth. Why would I sit outside your house? You were at the club, weren’t you?”

  “Yes. You could have come to break in.”

  “That’s more in your line,” Tom retorted, and Wells let out a short laugh that he quickly turned into a cough.

  “Sorry,” Wells said when Desiree turned to focus her glare on him. “But he does have you there, Dez.”

  Tom decided her brother was less irritating than he had thought.

  “I could be like some and presume that everything you say is a lie,” Desiree told Tom with heavy significance. She swiped her hand through the air. “However, I choose to believe you. This time.”

  Her brother looked at her with an odd intensity, saying, “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, he’s telling the truth.” She turned back toward Tom and gestured toward the table. “Sit down and have some breakfast. This is my brother Wells, by the way.”

  Tom nodded to Wells in greeting. “Thank you. I already ate. I want to talk about this carriage.”

  “As do I.” Wells poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Tom.

  Tom took a sip and sat down across from Desiree. “Why did you assume it was me?”

  “It seemed the logical choice,” Desiree replied. “Given that you did the same thing the other night.”

  “What did they do? What did the carriage look like?” Tom asked.

  “It was just sitting there, in the darkest spot of the street, and when I started toward it, it left.” She shrugged. “Perhaps it didn’t have anything to do with me,” she said, but her tone lacked conviction.

  “You didn’t get a look at who was inside?” Wells asked, sitting down beside his sister.

  “No. The curtains were drawn, and the driver was blocking the front window.” Desiree stopped, her brow creasing.

  “What? You’ve remembered something.” Tom leaned forward, sensing something important.

  Desiree nodded slowly. “Yes. The carriage was...a little odd. I didn’t really think about it at the time. It just seemed somehow off, but looking back on it, I realize that the driver wasn’t sitting up on a high seat. He was right in front of the passenger. So it gave it a...a low look. It’s not a huge difference, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a coach exactly like that.” Using the saltcellar and jam pots, she demonstrated the two different silhouettes.

  Tom frowned, trying to envision the vehicle. “I’m not sure I’ve seen one, either.”

  “I have,” Wells said. “In America.”

  “America?”

  “Yes. I saw a number of them when I was in New York City. They’re quite popular in the States.”

  “So it was an American spying on her?” Tom’s voice rose skeptically.

  “Only if they brought their carriage with them,” Wells replied. “Seems a bit excessive, doesn’t it?”

  “Is it any less likely that an Englishman imported a carriage from the United States?” Desiree countered.

  “Maybe there’s a company here that copied the design,” Tom suggested.

  “True. Or maybe a company on the Continent makes them,” Desiree added. “They’d be easier to import from there than hauling one all the way across the ocean.”

  “Yes. I need to see if I can track down a company that makes them,” Tom said. “If the thing is rare, it might be easy to find who owns it.”

  “Why would you want to find the carriage?” she asked.

  “What do you mean why? Because they tried to hit you,” Tom shot back. A little belatedly, he added, “It might have something to do with our search.”

  “What search?” Wells asked.

  “Brock described the house where you and I were born,” Desiree told him. “Mr. Quick thought a friend of his could identify it.”

  “From a description?” Wells cocked an eyebrow. “Seems unlikely.”

  “Actually, that’s why I came over here this morning.” Tom pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and held it up before Desiree. “You ready to go hunting?”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “YOU FOUND THE HOUSE?” Desiree’s voice rose in excitement.

  “No,” Tom admitted. “But I have a list of possibilities. It’s a start.”

  “It’s more than we had before. Your friend must be awfully good,” Desiree said.

  “He is. Of course, these are only general areas, and he’s not sure they have every single one of the requirements.”

  “What are the requirements?” Wells asked as Desiree snatched the list from Tom’s hand and began to read it.

  “The right size and quality of houses.” Tom began to tick them off on his fingers. “Terraced stone houses. Close enough to walk to grander homes, as well as a church, larger parks or squares, and a smaller triangular
park. Oh, and an odd intersection of multiple streets.”

  “Upper Chelsea... Kensington...” Desiree murmured and glanced up at Tom. “Those aren’t terribly far from here.”

  Tom nodded. “I thought we could start with the Upper Chelsea first, since it’s close. We’ll have to take a cab to the others.”

  Desiree jumped up, her face alight with excitement. “Give me ten minutes. I need to change and grab a hat, and I’ll be ready.”

  Without waiting for a reply, she ran out of the room, leaving Tom alone in an awkward silence with her brother. Tom sipped at his coffee, trying to think of something to say, as the other man studied him. After a time, Wells said, “Desiree has her heart set on finding her father. I hope you aren’t planning to...mislead her in any way.”

  “No. Of course not.” Tom bristled.

  “I’m rather fond of her,” he drawled in that careless upper-crust way. Wells, Tom noticed, was pitch-perfect in his tone and speech, unlike his siblings. “I wouldn’t take kindly to anyone using her or leading her astray.”

  “Are you threatening me?” There was more surprise than alarm in Tom’s voice. He had little doubt he could hold his own with this man. Still, despite his languid air, there was something in Wells’s gaze that was cold and a trifle unnerving.

  “My dear chap, of course not.” Wells’s eyebrows rose lazily. “Merely stating a fact.”

  Tom wasn’t sure what he was supposed to make of that, so he said nothing. It seemed to Tom it took a good bit of gall for Wells to warn Tom not to mislead Desiree when she was the one trying to pull off a swindle. Tom wondered what her brothers’ roles were in this scheme. Was Wells warning him not to interfere in their plan? Or were his words meant to convince him that Desiree really believed what she’d told him?

  Desiree came downstairs several minutes later than the ten minutes she had promised. She’d apparently taken the time to sweep her hair up and pin it, which was a disappointment. But Tom had to admit that she looked very fetching beneath a large hat with a feather that curled down enticingly to her cheek. Of course, he hadn’t seen her in anything that didn’t look fetching on her.

  It was her face and form that made the clothes, not the other way around. He wasn’t sure what was so appealing about her face. She wasn’t beautiful in the way that Kyria Moreland was, so perfect in face and form that an artist might have made her. But then, Tom had always found Kyria a trifle overwhelming in her beauty.

  Desiree’s face was simply intriguing, the sort that made one keep looking at her, as if to find out why she drew him so. Perhaps it was the sparkle in her eyes, the sense of energy and laughter just waiting to bubble out. Or that delectably plump lower lip or creamy skin that looked so soft it was difficult not to reach out and touch her cheek.

  Sternly, Tom pulled his thoughts back from their wayward direction as they left the house and started along the street. “Alex—”

  “Who?”

  “My friend the architect. He added a caveat about this list. His opinions are based on the city today, and he’s not sure they’re exactly the same as they were twenty-some-odd years ago. So it may no longer be exactly the way your brother described it.”

  “I know.” Desiree’s smile was sunny. “But I think we’ll find it even so.”

  “He gave me a number of other areas, as well, but they’re all farther out. It makes sense that the man in question would have wanted a place for your mother that was fairly nearby, so it wouldn’t have been a long drive from where he lived.”

  “And his home would have been in one of the richer places, like Mayfair or Grosvenor Square or Belgravia.”

  “Exactly.” Here he was talking as if Desiree’s story was real, letting her suck him into her pretense.

  For all he knew, Brock’s words yesterday could have been a complete fairy tale designed to add verisimilitude to Desiree’s story. Perhaps the incomplete description had been intended to lead Tom to a house that the Malones had already set up. A house that had a hiding spot where they’d planted some “proof” that they were Morelands. The proof would be more convincing if Tom discovered it than if they simply handed it to him.

  But that seemed a very elaborate ruse, as well as a rather iffy way of leading him to it. What if Tom had found Brock’s description too vague to pursue it? Or if Tom hadn’t had a clever architect to ask? It also would be quite time-consuming. Perhaps if Tom had not come up with the list of areas, they would have “found” some further proof to steer him in the right direction or Desiree would nudge him toward the house they wanted.

  He looked down at her face, so bright and eager. Could she really be this good at dissembling? Wasn’t it possible Desiree believed what she’d told him? Maybe the house they were looking for had existed and Stella Malone had lived there with her children.

  And maybe he was just as gullible, as eager to believe a bewitching woman as any other mark. She was a thief, a card sharp.

  “How do you win all the time?” he asked abruptly.

  “What?” Desiree glanced at him, startled. “Oh.” She shrugged. “It’s not luck.” Her eyes narrowed. “And it’s not cheating, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “You win game after game, and when you don’t win, you fold early. It looks as if you know what’s in everyone else’s hands.”

  “Well, I don’t.” Her face, so happy before, was now sharp with anger. “I’m good at what I do, and that’s why I win. I’m not a sharp, but I’m not a flat, either. I don’t rely on luck and I don’t play games that depend solely on luck. I don’t play with emotion.”

  “And...?”

  Desiree heaved a sigh. “Well, you probably won’t believe this any more than you’ll believe I’m not an adventuress.” She hesitated a moment, then said, “I don’t read their cards, but I read the cardplayer.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that I look at the other players and I get a sense of what they’ll do.”

  “Mind reading?” Tom asked skeptically.

  “No. I can’t tell what anyone is thinking. I read the emotions in their faces—if they’re excited or disappointed in their hand. If they have that mad gambling fever light in their eyes. Probably other people can tell what one is feeling in the same way.” She hesitated, sending Tom a wary look, then said in a rush, “But I can sense when they’re hiding something or lying. It makes me good at recognizing bluffs.” She shrugged. “That’s how I knew you were telling the truth this morning about that carriage.”

  “You know whether someone is lying?”

  “Not always. It’s harder if the person is someone who lies all the time because then he’s acting in alignment with his true personality. And it’s not exactly as if I see truth or lie stamped on one’s face. But if they say things that have integrity, my inner eye will see them as particularly sharp and bright. Standing out from their surroundings, almost emitting their own light. I can see inside them in a way, see the essence of them.”

  “Their soul?” Tom asked. Surely she was making this up.

  “I suppose you could call it that. To me, it’s just their real selves, the core of their being. And when something is wrong or they’re lying, there’s another, darker outline, shifted slightly from that one. Rather like one of those photographs where you can see another image beneath it that doesn’t quite line up. Their inner reality is slightly different from their appearance. It’s a sign of disturbance. Discordance.” She glanced up at him. “This morning, you were clear, very much in harmony with yourself. I was sure you were telling the truth.”

  “Do you always know what everyone around you is feeling?” That thought took him aback.

  “No, thank goodness. That would be terrible. I have to concentrate on it, unless it’s so strong it just bursts out of them. That happens most often with anger.” She glanced over at him and smiled a little ruefully. “So do you
think I’m insane or lying?”

  “Neither. I believe that some people have abilities that others don’t have.” The Morelands certainly had enough peculiar skills. Was it possible that this odd ability of Desiree’s meant she actually was a Moreland? “Do you dream?”

  She gave him a strange look. “Of course I dream. Everyone does.”

  “I don’t mean ordinary dreams like being in a crowd and suddenly realizing you have no clothes on.”

  Desiree chuckled. “That’s what you dream?”

  He ignored her. “The kind of dreams I’m asking about are important dreams. Like ones about the future or people you don’t know or something like that.”

  “No.” She looked at him as if she thought he was crazy. “Do you have dreams like that?”

  “No. But sometimes people do.”

  “If you say so.” They walked on in silence for a moment, then Desiree said, “Falk believed me. I hated it.”

  “Believed what? That you could read people?”

  “That I could tell if they were lying. He’d call me in and ask me if somebody who worked for him was lying, and I didn’t want to do it. I was glad if they’d managed to hold back something from him or lied to him.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell him they weren’t lying?”

  “I did sometimes. But others told such obvious lies that I think he knew before I told him. And some people...well, I was happy if he tossed them out. If I hid too much from him, he wouldn’t believe me when I said someone was innocent.”

  “So you had to decide who to let go and when?” Tom felt a pang in his chest. “That’s a terrible thing to put on a child.”

  “I suppose. I didn’t know any different, though. I had to stay on his good side. To protect Wells and me, to have better food and a warmer place to sleep, to not get a kick or a cuff to the ear. You know.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He knew the life all too well.

  “Look! There’s one of those intersections!” Desiree pointed ahead of them, where four streets ran into one another at odd angles, creating a sort of misshapen star.