by Candace Camp
Neither did she. “I know.”
For the only time in her life that Desiree could remember, she wanted to let a man make the decision for her. It would be so easy to let Tom seduce her, to not have to face the reality that she would be breaking her own principles. Just let his touch pull her into the vortex of passion.
Tom’s hand slid farther down her arm and back up, and his eyes flamed as he looked at her body, at his hand gliding across the top of her chest, fingers tracing the line of her collarbone beneath the material of her costume. He trailed his forefinger over the hollow of her throat and down, following the bony path of her sternum until it ended.
Desiree waited, her flesh quivering, not knowing what she would do if he explored further. He laid his palm flat against her stomach and drifted upward, until it brushed against her breast. Tom leaned over, bracing himself with his arms on either side of her, and bent to touch his lips to hers. Once, twice, he brushed her mouth softly, until Desiree ached to reach up and sink her hands into his hair and pull him in for a proper kiss. But there was no need to do that, for then he kissed her.
Not a proper kiss, she thought. A most improper one that went on and on, claiming her mouth with his lips and teeth and tongue, and the whole time his hands remained against the mat, not touching her anywhere, using only his mouth to tease and inflame. Desiree dug her fingers into the front of his shirt, pulling, her body aching to feel him against her.
She felt his knee crook to cover her legs, his body beginning to roll over to cover her. And then, with a groan, he rolled away and sat up. Desiree swallowed a growl of frustration. Tom sat with his feet flat on the mat, arms braced on his upraised knees and both hands plunged deep into his hair. His back rose and fell in quick, hard breaths.
Desiree wanted to follow him, to press herself against his back and wrap her arms around him from behind. She wanted to press her lips to that spot at the nape of his neck just above his shirt. In fact, surprising herself a bit, she wanted to nip at that spot with her teeth. But all that would be unfair to him. Tom had managed to leash his hunger and do the right thing. She shouldn’t try to make him slip his leash. So she stayed where she was, drinking in the sight of him, her body humming with the desire he’d awakened in her.
“I should go,” Tom said finally, his voice low and hoarse.
Desiree wanted to protest, but she did not. He was right. They shouldn’t have come here. She shouldn’t have worn her costume with him around. They shouldn’t have played and sweated or clasped hands to help each other up. She knew all that.
But what she said was “We could practice again sometime. If you wanted.”
He let out a harsh little huff of air, half laugh and half groan. “Desiree, you’ll be the death of me.” He rose to his feet and rolled down his cuffs, not looking at her. “You know I want to.” He swung his head toward her. “You know exactly what I want and how much I want it.”
“I know.” Desiree’s voice was a trifle shaky. She did know. And she knew how much she wanted the same thing.
“But that’s something you’re going to have to decide.” He redressed, pulling on his vest and jacket, running his hand through his hair, trying to straighten out the mess he’d made of it. Desiree liked it better this way, tousled and silky and looking as if he’d just been pulled from his bed. “I’m not going to try to inveigle you into anything.”
“I know,” Desiree replied.
He put on his shoes last. As he knelt, tying them, Desiree said, suddenly a little alarmed, “But you don’t mean—you’re still going to escort me to the club, aren’t you?”
Tom straightened and turned to her. “Oh, yes. You can’t get rid of me that easily. I’ll be here tonight at eight.” Then he grinned and was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
DESIREE DID NOT follow Tom out of the building. Instead, she went back to her exercises, funneling all her turmoil and frustration into the work. By the time she finished, she was exhausted, her muscles quivering and her lungs heaving. She dropped to the mat, lying back as she had with Tom. She had been successful in her efforts; she was now too tired to think. Turning over on her side, she closed her eyes, and after a moment she dozed off.
She jerked awake as a heavy weight hit her shoulder. Her eyes flew open, but she was already being flipped over onto her stomach, and a knee landed on her back, knocking the breath from her and pinning her down. A rough hand clamped over her cheek and mouth, and a point of cold metal touched her throat.
“Not so full of fight now, are you?” a voice growled. The assailant bent low, his voice oddly muffled. “No man to punch for you.”
Desiree’s mind raced. No point in screaming; she was too far from the house for anyone to hear. She was in a bad position to fight him, with no leverage to push off his heavy weight. But she could bargain. This must be the man who had followed them the other day or Falk’s man from the night before. In either case, they wanted something from her.
“What do you want?” Desiree whispered, putting a tremor in her voice. It was always an advantage to appear weaker and more frightened than she was, giving her the element of surprise. She dared not turn her head lest the knife slice her, but she cut her eyes as far as she could to see the man. She could catch only a glimpse, but it wouldn’t have mattered if she had seen his entire face. He wore a mask.
Her attacker grated out a laugh. “You know what I want. The bloody will.”
“You can have the will. I don’t want it. I was just after the money.”
“Money? I don’t know about any money.”
“There was money, too. You can have it. I’ll give you all of it, if you promise not to hurt me. But it’s in the house. I put it in the safe. I have to get it.”
“You think I’m stupid?” her assailant asked. Desiree thought it better not to answer. “I’m not letting you go get it.”
“Then how can I give it to you?”
“Oh, you’ll give it to me. But I’m going with you.” He jumped to his feet, yanking Desiree up with him.
He could not keep the knife at her throat as he pulled her up, and Desiree, instead of resisting or pulling away, went with his movement, pushing up with her own strong legs. She slammed into him, adding a sharp jab of her elbow into his midsection. The man staggered backward, and she pivoted, ripping her arm from his grasp, and ran. He came pounding after her, but with a leap, she grabbed the rope that hung from the ceiling, lifting herself up and twisting to kick out with her feet.
Her kick landed solidly against his chest, and her attacker staggered back and fell heavily. Desiree whirled and ran. Flinging open the door, she pelted out into the alleyway, shouting for help. Her voice echoed around the small alleyway, and, as she had hoped, doors along the row of mews opened and heads popped out in curiosity.
Merriwell, the Malones’ coachman, gaped at her for an instant, but then his eyes went past her, and he shouted, “Oy! You!”
Merriwell shot past her, and Desiree looked back to see her attacker dashing away from her, with Merriwell chasing him. Desiree stopped, breathing hard, watching as the two men ran out of sight. It occurred to her that she was standing there in only her formfitting costume in public view.
She hurried back to the studio to don her cloak and shoes. Desiree hadn’t noticed it while she was running, but she could feel now that she had stepped on several pebbles in her flight down the alley. And there was blood trickling down her neck; his knife must have sliced her a bit as she lunged away.
As she left the building and locked the door, Merriwell came into view, breathing heavily. “He got away, miss. I’m sorry. Jumped in a hack before I could catch him.”
“That’s all right, Merriwell. I’m just glad you chased him off.”
Desiree returned to the house, where a quick look in her mirror told her that the cut on her neck, while not deep, was long and obvious. Everyone would be
sure to notice it. She wouldn’t be able to hide it from her brothers, who would be bound to fuss about it, but perhaps it would be best not to go to the club this evening. A long red scratch across her throat would hardly complement her elegant low-necked evening gowns. She sent a note to Tom, canceling their visit to Farrington. She was a little surprised how disappointed she felt.
She was even more surprised when Tom Quick showed up at her door. “Tom?” She stood up, happiness rising in her chest. “What are you—did you not get my note?”
“Yes, I got it. What’s wrong? Are you ill?” He stopped, his eyes going to her neck. “What the devil is that?”
He strode forward, reaching out to tilt up her chin and inspect her neck.
“It’s a scratch,” Desiree replied with a sigh.
“That’s not a scratch, it’s a cut.” He frowned at her. “What happened? I knew there was something wrong about that note. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, don’t you start, too. Brock and Wells already harangued me about it. It’s not as if I did it on purpose. Yes, I should have been more careful. Yes, I should have locked the door to the exercise room, and I will next time. It isn’t normally a dangerous area. In any case, I handled it.”
“Handled what?” Tom was looking grimmer by the moment.
Desiree told him about the attack. He continued to scowl, but when she described her escape from her assailant, he relaxed into a chuckle. “Trust you to damage him more than he did to you. I hope he has feet-sized bruises on his front.”
She gave him a smile. “I rather enjoyed that part of it.”
“Who was it? What did he want?”
“The will. No surprise there.” She added irritably, “And I don’t know who he was. I don’t even know what he looks like. The blasted man had on a mask. I wish I’d torn it off.”
“Don’t worry about that. All that matters was you got away from him.”
“It was either Falk’s man or the fellow that followed us the other day, because he said something about you hitting him,” Desiree went on.
“I should have hit him harder,” Tom muttered. He thought for a moment. “Your message to Falk’s man was pretty clear. Falk is distrusting but he also should know you well enough to know you told him the truth about not having the envelope.”
It warmed Desiree to hear Tom’s faith in her honesty, so different from his past attitude, but she said only, “Yes, and Falk never mentioned a will, only an envelope. I’m not sure he knew what was inside. Which would lead to the conclusion that it was the man with Pax’s cuff links. I couldn’t tell if it was the same voice.”
“It still seems odd to me that Alistair’s friend would be so interested in his will. My money is on Gregory Moreland being behind this. He’s the one who was trying to find it yesterday morning. It’s most suspicious that you were attacked the very afternoon after he learned that Con didn’t have it.”
“Yes, but you said he didn’t know about us and Con didn’t tell him our name. How would he know to come here?”
“There’s nothing to say Gregory was telling the truth. I thought he seemed surprised, but maybe he’s just good at lying. Maybe he’s known who you were all along, but it didn’t matter because this new will didn’t surface until now. But when Con mentioned you, he decided you must have it.”
“But if Gregory is the man who hired the man who followed us, who hired Falk?”
Tom sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve no idea. It’s as confusing as ever.” He went to her. “The important thing is that nothing happened to you.” He stroked a finger down her throat beside the scratch. “I hate to think of anyone hurting you. Promise me you’ll be more careful in the future.”
“I will.” Desiree looked up into his eyes, and the air between them was suddenly electric.
Tom’s fingers tightened on her arms, and he leaned closer. But then he dropped his hands and stepped back, clearing his throat. “I...ah, should leave.”
“Tom.” Desiree wanted to take Tom’s hand and tell him to stay.
He stopped. “What?”
Desiree’s fingers clenched at her sides, and she said, “Nothing. I will see you tomorrow.”
Then he was gone, leaving Desiree standing in the parlor alone. She looked around her and sighed. It was better this way. Really.
All she had to do was convince herself.
* * *
DESIREE MET TOM the next morning at the office, and they drove to the Morelands’ home. They were to meet the three wives of the Moreland siblings for a call on Aunt Wilhemina. Desiree was silent, stomach dancing, and she had to clasp her hands firmly together to keep them from fidgeting.
Tom glanced over at her once or twice. “Nervous?”
“A little.” It continued to surprise her how easily she admitted her doubts and mistakes to Tom. All her life she had kept them a carefully guarded secret. If you admitted fear, if you let them know you had made a slip, people didn’t let you do things. But somehow with Tom, it didn’t bother her.
“About meeting Aunt Wilhemina?” Tom asked.
“Some. But more about meeting Con’s and Alex’s wives.”
“Sabrina and Lilah?” He smiled. “Don’t worry. You’ll like them.”
“It’s not that. I’m worried whether they will like me. I think they’re more apt to be like Megan than the others. I’m fairly certain she was suspicious of me.”
He shrugged. “Megan doesn’t give her trust as easily. You have to remember, though, that she’s a reporter. Sabrina and Lilah aren’t—and you have to be pretty open-minded to marry a Moreland. They’ll give you a chance, even if they might be more protective of the family. The Morelands tend to have that effect on people close to them.”
“I know.” Desiree smiled, relaxing slightly. “Tell me about Sabrina and Lilah.”
“Well, they were very good friends before they met the Greats, which makes for a happy situation. Sabrina is sweet and kind, and she just had a baby. Ooh and aah over the baby, and she’ll like you. Lilah is more conventional in manner. She was raised by a very proper person. And she can be tarter than Sabrina. But underneath, she’s...well, she married Con, which should give you some idea of how tolerant she is.”
Desiree laughed. “Poor Con! Everyone picks on him!”
Tom joined in her laughter. “Don’t feel sorry for him. Con enjoys being outrageous. But he’ll be glad to know he has a champion in you.”
Tom had chased away her nerves, and when they were ushered into the Sultan Room, Desiree was able to greet the occupants of the room with confidence. Sabrina was a small woman with black hair and blue eyes, and she held a baby in her arms. Lilah was taller, her eyes gray and her hair a striking red-gold color. Both of them had more reserve in their gazes than the duchess, who took Desiree’s hands and greeted her warmly, but neither of them seemed haughty or antagonistic.
Desiree admired the baby, who was sound asleep and did indeed look like a perfect angel, as her mother described her.
“We had an intruder last night,” Megan told them. “I’m not sure if it’s related to the people who’ve been after you.”
“Oh, no!” Desiree cried. “I’m so sorry to have brought any trouble to you.”
The duchess gave a dismissive wave of her hand, as if such things were a minor annoyance. “No need to be alarmed. He came in through the kitchen, and the cook heard him. She threatened him with a meat cleaver, so he ran. Con was a bit irritated that she chased him off because he wanted to question the man, but really, one cannot expect the servants to capture intruders, as well. And Mrs. Hooper is getting up in years now.”
Desiree could think of nothing to say to that. Tom said, “This chap was certainly busy yesterday.”
“Why do you say that?” Megan asked. “Did they break in at the office again?”
Desi
ree related the attack on her, though she left out the part about the knife, not wanting to alarm them. That, however, proved to be wasted effort. The others applauded Desiree’s escape; Lilah asked her if the scratch on her neck had come from a knife; and they all seemed more intrigued by Desiree’s converted mews than alarmed by the attack.
“I wonder if we could build something like that here?” Megan mused. “There’s ample room for another building in back. We could use it to practice some of those defenses Tom and Con have been teaching us. Theo would love to have a place to spar, as well.”
“Con will be imploring you to teach him acrobatic tricks,” Lilah put in.
By the end of the discussion, Desiree had invited the Morelands to visit her exercise room. Sabrina handed the child over to the duchess, and they left the house. In the carriage, they debated whether or not to reveal Desiree’s identity to Aunt Wilhemina and her daughter Susan.
“She’s a terrible gossip,” Lilah said. “If we tell her who you are, it will be all over London soon. Would you rather keep it secret?”
“I wouldn’t want to embarrass the family,” Desiree assured them. She was surprised when the other three women laughed.
“The Morelands don’t care what people think of them,” Sabrina explained. “Well, Aunt Wilhemina might, because she’s a bit stodgy. But really, I think she rather revels in the attention, whether it’s good or bad, and since she would be the one spreading it, she would have only herself to blame. The duke and duchess and their children would not care at all. I promise.”
“It might be hard to explain our interest in Alistair to her without revealing it,” Tom pointed out.
“True. If Uncle Bellard is right about her being close to Alistair, she might not want to admit he did anything wrong,” Megan said. “On the other hand, it might make her want to help.”
