by Candace Camp
Gregory, who was still staring at Con with a puzzled look, said, “I need to assume my place as his heir. I’m about to be married. I need to get on with my life. So I informed my attorney that I wanted to petition to have Alistair Moreland declared dead.”
“What if he isn’t dead?” Alex asked.
“He is to me.”
“Your lawyer is this Blackstock fellow?” Con asked.
“His son is my attorney. The elder Blackstock was my father’s lawyer, and when he learned what I was doing, he sent some legal papers to you.”
“To me?” Con stared at him. “Why send them to me? Why not to you? Or the duke?”
“Believe me, I have asked that many times,” Gregory said sharply. “The man was on his deathbed, and, frankly, I think he’d gotten a bit dotty. Whatever the reason, he told his son he’d sent it to the Moreland business. I thought perhaps he meant your father’s man of business, Cummings, but the younger Blackstock spoke to Cummings, and the man said he’d received nothing from either of the attorneys.”
“I cannot imagine why he’d send anything here. Why doesn’t Blackstock’s son ask his father about it?”
“I told you, the man was on his deathbed, and now he is no longer conscious. Needless to say, my problem is not the most important thing on his son’s mind right now. However, it’s rather important to me. It may be nothing, just the product of an ill and confused mind, but it’s possible it could be a more recent version of my father’s will.”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Con said. “Nothing like that has come here. Trust me, we’ve scoured the office.”
Gregory stood for a moment, studying Con. “Someone broke into your office? Are you sure they didn’t get it?”
“Positive,” Con replied.
Tom spoke up. “I chased off the thief. There was nothing in her hands.”
“The thief was a woman?” Gregory asked dubiously. “Are you certain?”
Tom nodded but didn’t elaborate.
“Why would anyone else want it?” Gregory seemed to be asking himself more than anyone else. He straightened and asked Con, “Will you tell me if you do receive it? Or if you hear any word of it?”
“Of course. It’s your business, as you said.”
Gregory nodded and started toward the door, but he stopped and turned. “You said—what did you mean when you asked if I knew about Stella?” He paused, then went on as if the words were pulled out of him. “Was that her name? His mistress? And how the devil do you know that?”
“Because I’ve met one of her children.”
“Her children! You can’t mean—my father’s—there were no children.”
“There very well may have been,” Con replied. “They have a Moreland ring. Their mother ran away with her lover at the same time Alistair left.”
Tom noticed that Gregory’s thumb went to the bare ring finger on his right hand. “That’s nonsense.” Color surged in Gregory’s face, and he took a step forward, his hands clenching. “It’s no proof of anything. Anyone who told you that is lying. I have no idea who his mistress was. My mother and I were not privy to my father’s secrets. But there weren’t any children. It’s impossible. If there had been, they would have taken them along.”
“Not all parents are so caring about their children.”
“I am well aware of that.” Gregory’s gray eyes were stormy now, everything about him so tightly clenched it was a wonder something didn’t snap. “My father was weak and faithless and a fool, but he didn’t do that. Someone is trying to take advantage of you. You may be gullible enough to believe them, and God knows you have no compunction about embarrassing the family, but I am not so foolish.”
“You could meet them yourself,” Con said. “Aren’t you interested in seeing if you have any siblings? Mother is having a dinner for them. You could come and talk to them.”
“Meet them? Sit down and chat? You really are mad if you think I’d want to do that. I have no interest in talking to swindlers,” Gregory retorted. “I have no siblings. And if you go running all over the city telling people that my father left a string of bastards in his wake, I will kill you. I will not allow you to humiliate my mother any more than the Moreland family already has. Do you hear me?”
“Yes. You’re quite audible,” Con snapped back. “I might have known you’d be too stiff-necked to consider anything but what you want to believe. I don’t know why I even bothered to ask.”
Gregory’s jaw worked, and for an instant, Tom thought he was going to erupt, but he spun on his heel and left the room. The room was silent for a moment, the only sound Gregory’s footsteps ringing through the hall and down the stairs, punctuated at the end by a slamming of the outside door.
“Well, you’re as diplomatic as ever,” Alex said wryly.
“And Gregory’s just as rigid and self-absorbed,” Con responded. He let out a sigh and plopped down in his chair. “I suppose now we have a new suspect for thievery.”
“He certainly didn’t appear to know anything about the break-in,” Tom commented.
“No. And I wouldn’t think our cousin is a tremendous actor,” Alex added. “I imagine he’s right—it’s a new will. I wonder what it says.”
“I wonder why anyone would send it here,” Con said.
“A lawyer giving a new will to anyone except the heir seems suspicious,” Tom said. “Maybe he thought it would be safer at a detective agency.”
“Yes, it would be easy for the heir to tear it up if it wasn’t to his liking,” Con agreed. “It doesn’t seem likely, though, that Alistair would have cut out his only legitimate heir.”
“Maybe Alistair left something for the Malones,” Alex posited. “Or acknowledged them, at least. Gregory wouldn’t like that getting out, obviously.”
“Or maybe the will wasn’t written long ago,” Tom mused. “Alistair could have sent it to his lawyer from America or wherever they went. He and Stella could have had a whole other family that he wanted to leave money to. After all, there’s nothing to say when Alistair died. In fact, he could still be alive. Alistair wouldn’t even be as old as your father.”
Tom’s mind went to Desiree’s wild theory that her father had returned to England, but he didn’t say anything. It was exactly the sort of idea that would intrigue Con and make him run with it, which Tom feared would only wind up hurting Desiree. And, as much as Tom liked Con, there was a selfish urge in him to keep the investigation to him and Desiree only.
Con nodded. “If that’s true, it would certainly create a problem for Gregory’s plan to have him declared dead. It didn’t sound as though Gregory knew for sure there was a will in that envelope. It might be something else. Maybe proof that Alistair is alive.”
“I should tell Desiree.” Tom jumped to his feet and started toward the door.
He caught the look that Alex and Con shared as he left the room. He knew they were sure that he simply wanted to go see Desiree again. But that wasn’t it. Well, only partly it. Desiree should know this latest development. Still, he couldn’t deny the eagerness rising in his chest as his hack pulled up in front of the Malone house. Tom bounded out of the carriage and up the steps to the front door.
The butler admitted him, saying, “Miss Malone was about to leave, sir. I’ll see if she is available.”
Before Templeton could even turn, there was the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and Tom looked up. Desiree was coming toward him. And she was wearing her formfitting acrobatic costume.
Tom swallowed. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“TOM!” DESIREE SMILED, happiness surging in her chest when she saw him standing in the entry. “I didn’t expect you this early.”
“Yes, well...” His eyes ran down her form before he pulled his gaze back to her face. He yanked off his cap, holding it be
tween his hands. “I, ah, something came up. I mean, I had a bit of news I thought I should tell you.”
A warmth spread all through Desiree at the look on his face, a little stunned and wholly hungry. She suspected she was blushing. Her costume had only a short skirt, revealing her legs in the clinging outfit from her midthigh down. The bodice was equally fitted to her body. She had never worn the costume around anyone but her twin, as they’d always been alone together on their jobs.
Desiree was fully aware of how revealing the outfit was and what the look in Tom’s eyes meant. She wasn’t sure if the heat inside her was more from embarrassment or pleasure at having his gaze linger on her. Desiree took the cloak she was carrying over her arm and pulled it on as she continued down the stairs.
“I was about to practice. Would you like to come along? We could talk there.”
“Of course.”
Desiree led Tom through the house and down the alley to the converted mews where she practiced her skills. She kept her eyes on Tom’s face as he followed her inside, and it filled her with delight that he gazed around the room in awe.
“This is amazing,” he said. “It’s like—well, I don’t know what it’s like because I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“Brock renovated the mews for Wells and me so we could continue doing what we enjoyed. We were both terribly bored when Brock rescued us and we quit ‘the life.’” Tom walked around, looking at all the various ropes and bars and barriers. Desiree followed. “Would you like to try some of it? I could teach you a few things.”
Tom threw a laughing glance at her. “I’m afraid I’m long past the age of learning how to tumble.”
“Somersaults aren’t terribly useful, but you could climb.” She pointed to the wall dotted with handholds, and to the center, where a rope hung from the ceiling. “That’s quite useful.”
“If I’m going to be around you, I suppose so.”
“Take off your shoes and jacket. That waistcoat, too.”
Desiree watched as Tom did as she suggested, something deep within her responding to the sight of him undressing. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and unbuttoned the top button, revealing a tempting V of his skin.
His shirt, though not clinging like her own bodice, showed more of his form than the multiple garments men usually wore. And his was a very nice form. Tom was not as tall as Brock or as wide shouldered, but he had a muscular build. His hands, which she had admired from the first, were long fingered and supple, and his forearms were equally attractive, firmly muscled and lightly dusted with blond hairs. Even the knobby bones of his wrists somehow stirred her. Desiree did her best not to stare—or, at least, not to let him see her stare.
She cleared her throat. “It’s best to stretch before one starts.”
Desiree began to demonstrate, and Tom watched her. She could feel the blood pulsing through her veins, her abdomen turning molten under his gaze. “Come, do this with me.”
“I can’t do that.” His voice was slightly rougher and lower than usual.
“Not as far as I,” she agreed. “But you can do it a little.”
He joined her, and Desiree soon understood why he enjoyed watching her. It made her heart beat faster, her breath turn unsteady as she watched his shirt stretch across his back and the muscles of his forearms clench and loosen.
Desiree went through a few of her warming-up exercises before they started climbing the wall. The next hour passed quickly, full of laughter and quips and the satisfaction of physical motion. They climbed the wall and the rope, swung from ring to ring—though Tom refused to try a turn on the trapeze—and she even persuaded him to walk the low beam.
She reached out to steady him once, her fingers curling around the firm muscle of his forearm, and a shiver shot straight down to her abdomen. It was all she could do not to let her hand slide up and down his arm. Tom’s shirt began to cling to his chest and back, and his forearms glistened. Her gaze was again drawn to that V of skin at the top of his shirt, her mouth going dry as she watched a drop of sweat trickle down to nestle in the hollow of his throat.
Desiree thought of their kisses last night, of the heat and hunger. Was she being foolish not to grab at that pleasure? Their search would come to an end before long; she could think of nothing to do after they had visited Aunt Wilhemina. She’d have no reason to see Tom anymore.
Her heart contracted at the thought, but she had to be realistic. It never helped to pretend. They would go back to their lives. Even if they established that Alistair Moreland was her father, it wouldn’t really change anything. She would know and be satisfied; hopefully the anxiety that nagged at her would go away. But beyond that, she would still live here and go to the club in the evenings. She would flirt with ineligible men, but her heart would stay whole and apart.
What were the odds that she would ever meet a man like Tom again? A man who knew her past and wasn’t appalled by it? Who lived, as she did, in some shadow world between gentility and the slums? Who admired her skill and understood her? Perhaps this was her one chance, and she was letting her pride stand in the way.
Desiree pondered these things as she took to the trapeze while Tom lay back on one of the mats, recovering his breath and watching her. But she came to no decision, still torn between hunger and her lifelong determination not to fall into the trap her mother had.
Her concentration fractured, Desiree climbed down from the high bar and sat down with Tom, then lay back on the mat beside him. Even this, she thought, was fraught, lying only a foot or two apart, their bodies still heated and tingling.
“You came to tell me something,” Desiree said, turning her face toward him.
Tom nodded and rolled onto his side, going up on one forearm. “Gregory Moreland visited the office today.”
“Gre—Alistair’s son?” Desiree’s eyes widened. “What did he want?”
“He’s looking for an envelope from a man named Blackstock, who was Alistair Moreland’s lawyer.”
“No! He’s the one who wants it? What’s in it?”
“That’s the thing. No one knows exactly. It seems the lawyer is dying, and all Gregory knows is that Blackstock sent some legal papers to our office.”
“Why would he have done that? Why send it to you and Con?”
Tom shrugged. “That’s the question. One can only think that whatever is in that envelope is something the lawyer wanted to keep away from Alistair’s heir.”
“That’s...very intriguing. Is Gregory the one who hired Falk? Is that why Falk knew who my father was?”
“Possibly, though Gregory seemed genuinely confused when Con asked him about it. He wasn’t the man who followed us. I would have recognized him. But Gregory could have hired the man.”
“But what about the cuff links you took from him? They said Pax.”
He nodded. “I know. It’s stretching belief to think that there might be two different parties after it. A third seems ludicrous.”
“Perhaps Alistair’s friend is helping Gregory?” Desiree suggested.
“That’s possible.”
After a moment Desiree asked softly, “What was he like? Alistair’s son.”
“He dresses well.”
Desiree laughed. “That’s all you can say about him?”
“No, not all,” Tom protested. “But it seemed very much who he was. Expensive clothes and shoes, expert tailoring, but everything quite muted and understated. As if everyone knows he has wealth and power and it would be crass to flash it about.”
“I know the attitude.”
“Not haughty exactly, but very aware that he’s at the top. Very correct and rigid, as if his butler starched and ironed him every day. Didn’t fly into a temper with Con until the very end.”
“Did he say anything—does he know about us? The Malones, I mean?”
Tom hesitated, and she sa
id, “Tell me. I don’t—I don’t expect him to like us. I just wondered if he knew we existed.”
“He didn’t seem to. He disputed it quite vehemently when Con told him Alistair had other children.”
Her eyes flew to his. “Con told him who we are?”
“No. Gregory obviously knew that his father ran off with his...with someone.”
“You can say mistress, Tom. It’s what she was.”
“Very well. He knew Alistair ran away with her. He was clearly bitter about it and the insult to his mother.”
“One would be,” Desiree said.
“But Con called your mother Stella, and Gregory didn’t seem to recognize the name. Of course, he wouldn’t have been more than a child—he looks to be my age or Brock’s, and it’s likely that no one brought it up with him later on. He was adamant that Alistair had no offspring. That was when he got mad at Con. He thinks you’re lying. Trying to swindle him.”
“Ah. The way you did.” Desiree gave him an arch look.
“Yes, the way I did.” Tom smiled. “Are you going to hold that against me the rest of our lives?”
The rest of our lives. Desiree’s heart stumbled. Was he planning to continue to see her? Did he believe they would...what? Be lifelong friends? Marry? Have an affair? Or was it just a figure of speech? She kept her breath even as she replied lightly, “Only for a decade or two. Truth is, I don’t blame you. I’d have distrusted me, too. Now that I’ve met the Morelands, I can understand why you wouldn’t like anyone who might hurt them.”
He reached out to cup her cheek in his hand. “It was never that I didn’t like you. I liked you far too much. I was afraid I’d let it cloud my judgment. I didn’t want to be your mark.”
“You weren’t. Ever.” His touch sent shivers through her, melting her core. Was he about to kiss her? He was gazing at her so intently that it made her heart pound, her flesh heat. She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted to ignore all her earlier thoughtful decisions about men and relationships and act solely on instinct.
“Desiree...” Tom’s fingers drifted over to stroke her hair, then slid slowly down her neck, making her breath catch in her throat. “We shouldn’t be here like this. It’s too tempting.” But he made no effort to sit up or move away.