by Candace Camp
“Yes, I know.” Tom had been on the receiving end of such remarks more than a few times himself. “She said she ‘wouldn’t let you’ get money, not that she wouldn’t pay you?”
Desiree nodded. “Yes. I noticed that, too. It didn’t seem that she was worried about me blackmailing her. She seemed more afraid that I would bleed her son. She was very protective of him.”
“Or she’s worried about what’s in that will. There’s a reason someone is after it, and with wills, that reason is usually money.”
“His son is surely his heir,” Desiree said. “I can’t imagine why anyone would think Alistair left his money to his illegitimate children.”
“He wouldn’t have to have left all of it. A small bequest or even a mention of you would be enough to create scandal,” Tom pointed out.
“If the lawyer sent the will to Con, it’s possible Gregory doesn’t even know what’s in it,” Desiree mused. “He may just fear what it might contain.”
“Sending his mother to harangue you substantiates the idea that Gregory is the most likely suspect for that attack on you.”
“I don’t think he sent her. I think it was more that he came running in to take her home and keep her from embarrassing herself. And him.” She paused. “It was odd seeing him and Wells together. Their coloring is different, but there was a recognizable resemblance. Their build, the structure of their faces.”
Tom tilted his head, considering. “I guess Wells does have the Moreland jaw.”
“It was a trifle eerie. Wells said he couldn’t see it, but I’m sure of it.”
“What did you think of Gregory?”
“Very stiff and formal, as you said. It was so peculiar to think that he was my half brother, as closely related to me as Brock. I felt no connection to him whatever. I was more at home with the duke and duchess than with him. I thought he might have been the one who had us followed, but I looked at his carriage, and it was not the same one.”
“Carriage aside, those cuff links would make one think the culprit has to be Pax. But Gregory has the motive. I can’t figure out why Paxton would be following you.” The corner of Tom’s mouth quirked up. “I guess we’ll have to ask him tomorrow when we pay him a call.”
“Tom! You found him! That’s wonderful!” Desiree’s smile was so beautiful it was enough to stop his heart. She reached toward him, and Tom thought she was about to hug him, but then Desiree pulled her hands back.
Disappointment swelled in Tom’s chest. It was stupid to feel that way, of course. Desiree was right to hold herself too valuable for casual entanglements. And what else could there be between them? He could offer her nothing but a flat above the agency and a nest egg for a future house. And even that future house wouldn’t be a worthy setting for a woman like Desiree. She should have a man like...well, he wasn’t sure who would be the right match for Desiree, who was so unusual, so lovely, so free and daring. But obviously it wasn’t someone like him. She was a Moreland, and he didn’t even know his last name.
Tom turned his head away and stared out the window as the carriage rumbled through the night.
* * *
LLOYD PAXTON LIVED near Grosvenor Square. The house was an elegant one in the Queen Anne style, but up close it was obvious that it was suffering from neglect. Tom wondered if that was due to lack of interest or lack of money.
The servant who answered the door looked to be at least a hundred years old. It was a long wait for him to shuffle off and return, after which he led them at a snail’s pace to the drawing room. The man seated there was middle-aged, his blond hair threaded with gray, a bit of a paunch developing around his midsection. He wore a casual smoking jacket over his white shirt, with no cravat, obviously at leisure.
He stood up as they entered the room, saying, “Mr. Quick? I don’t believe—” His gaze went to Desiree standing beside Tom, and he stopped, a faint frown forming on his brow.
“I apologize for arriving without notice, Mr. Paxton,” Tom said. “I am Tom Quick, of Moreland & Quick Agency.”
“Moreland & Quick!” Paxton’s eyes widened. His gaze flickered to Desiree and back. “Why are you here?”
“I would like to introduce you to Miss Desiree Malone.” Tom turned toward Desiree.
The older man’s face went blank. “Malone?” He turned to Desiree. “I say.” He grabbed a pair of spectacles from the table beside him and settled them on his nose, peering at Desiree more closely. “Good Gad—are you—”
“I am Stella Malone’s daughter,” Desiree said.
“Good Gad,” Paxton repeated, looking dazed. “You do have something of her in your look.” He recovered from his astonishment. “I’m sorry. Come in. Sit down. My goodness, I never expected... Would you like some tea?”
He made a movement to ring for a servant. Tom, envisioning the ancient butler shuffling in and out, quickly said, “Thank you, but no. We only came to talk to you.”
“I’m so glad you did.” Paxton seemed genuinely pleased, taking his seat across from them and smiling. “I’ve wondered now and then what happened with the three of you.”
“You didn’t inquire about the children?” Tom asked.
Paxton looked surprised at his question. “Me? No. I knew they were in good hands. That friend of Stella’s took them, the foreign one, can’t remember her name.”
“Bruna Upton,” Desiree supplied.
“Bruna! Yes. It was the best thing, of course. The little boy knew her, and Mrs. McGee couldn’t continue to stay there taking care of them after Stella left.”
“Mrs. McGee?” Tom jumped on the name. “Who was she?”
“The housekeeper. Can’t remember her first name. Lord, I’m surprised I remember her last name. Probably wouldn’t have if I’d had to think about it.” He chuckled. “It’s been twenty-five years ago or more.”
“Do you know where Mrs. McGee went? Where she lives now?”
“Me? Goodness, no. She was just the housekeeper.”
Tom gritted his teeth at the man’s careless dismissal of a servant, but Desiree quickly took over the questioning. “Mr. Paxton, do you remember anyone else who visited the house at that time? Who knew my mother?”
He lifted his eyes toward the ceiling in a ruminating manner. “There was Bruna, of course. Falk sometimes.”
“Falk!” Tom exclaimed. “What the devil was he doing there?”
“I can’t imagine why Alistair let the fellow hang about,” Paxton said in a confiding tone. “He wasn’t there often—he was never received, naturally—but every once in a while, I’d see him lurking around the place.” He shrugged. “Perhaps he was a friend of the housekeeper.”
Tom contemplated the idea of Falk turning up once again, but Desiree had obviously been caught by something else Paxton had said. “You said ‘Alistair.’ Was Alistair Moreland our father?”
“Yes, of course.” Paxton’s brows shot up in surprise. “Didn’t you know? Surely Bruna must have told you.”
“No. She said my mother wanted to keep it a secret. Bruna had promised her not to say a word.”
“Well, of course, Alistair didn’t want it spread around. He was cousin to a duke, after all. And he didn’t want his wife to find out. There would have been the very devil to pay with Tabitha, and, more than that, he didn’t want to embarrass the woman. I found Tabitha a dead bore, and I suspect Alistair did as well, but she was his wife and the mother of his son.”
“Could you tell me a bit about Alistair?” Desiree smiled sweetly at the man.
Paxton apparently had as little ability to resist Desiree’s smile as any other man, for he beamed and said, “Of course. I actually met your mother first, you know. Pursued her like mad, but she chose Alistair instead. I couldn’t even be angry. Alistair was a splendid chap. We were friends since childhood. He was loyal. Honorable. A good man and a true friend.” His eyes glistened, and
he blinked, offering them a crooked smile. “He was a bit too bookish for me, of course.”
“Did you know about their plans to run away?” Tom asked.
“No. I was completely surprised. I had just seen Alistair the night before, and he didn’t say a word about it. We had plans to meet that evening at Stella’s house, but when I went there, the housekeeper said they’d left. Of course, we thought they’d only gone to his cottage in Dorset and would be back in a few days. They’d visited there before. But I began to worry when they didn’t return the next week. I couldn’t believe that they left you children behind. Stella was so over-the-moon happy when you were born. She was devoted to her children. Alistair, too. He positively doted on you.”
“Did you make inquiries when they didn’t come back?” Tom asked.
“Well, it was a bit delicate, you see,” Paxton said uncomfortably. “I couldn’t reveal Alistair’s secret. I could hardly ask Tabitha if she’d heard from him. But I was at the point of going to the cottage myself to inquire. Then I got Alistair’s letter telling me they’d taken off to the States.” He looked suddenly older, his affable expression falling away.
“Do you have the letter?” Desiree asked eagerly.
Paxton shook his head. “Goodness, no, child. Got rid of it years ago. After Alistair left, well, I went through a bad period. I was angry with him, you see, for leaving and not even telling me goodbye. A letter! As if I were a mere acquaintance or one of his relatives! Somewhere in there, I tossed the note. Regretted it after I settled down, but...” He shrugged, staring off into the distance for a moment. “Well, there you have it. I’m afraid that’s all I know. If you don’t have any other questions...” He started to stand up.
“I do have one other question,” Tom told him, his gaze fixed on the other man’s face. “I’m wondering why you’ve been watching Miss Malone’s house. Why did you have us followed?”
“What?” Paxton looked at him blankly. “What are you talking about?” He glanced over at Desiree. “I had no idea you were even in London until today.” His tone turned indignant. “I can’t imagine why you would accuse me of such a thing.”
“Because,” Tom said, reaching into his pocket. He opened his hand and held it out, showing Paxton two gold cuff links engraved with Pax. “Your man left these behind.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
PAXTON’S FACE WAS as astonished as Tom could have hoped. What he hadn’t expected was that the older man’s eyes would fill with tears. “My studs!”
Tom and Desiree glanced at each other as Paxton picked up the engraved jewelry and examined it more closely. Tom felt that he had somehow lost the advantage here, but he went on, “So you admit those are yours?”
“Yes, of course they’re mine, though I don’t understand how you came to have them.”
“They were in the pocket of the man you had follow us.”
“Yes, you said that, but that doesn’t make it any clearer. I don’t know what man you’re talking about, and I’ve certainly never asked someone to follow you.” Paxton looked at Tom as if Tom had lost his wits. “These weren’t even in my possession. I haven’t seen them in years and years.”
“If you didn’t have them, who did?”
“I lent them to Alistair one evening when one of his broke, and he forgot to give them back. This wasn’t long, you see, before he and Stella left. After that, I never felt comfortable asking Tabitha to return them. Alistair’s wife and I...well, we didn’t have the best relationship. But I’m surprised she got rid of them. They say she kept everything of Alistair’s. But I suppose his jewelry and such would be his son’s now. Gregory might have sold the set when he saw it wasn’t his father’s. Though it does seem to me he might have had the decency to return these to me, since they had my name on it. I hope you don’t mind if I keep them.” His hand curled around the cuff links, rendering his question moot. “I’ll pay you for them.”
Tom looked over at Desiree, his brows lifting in question. She nodded slightly, and Tom knew she was signaling that Paxton was telling the truth. Tom’s instinct was to keep them as evidence, but since he didn’t see how they could be used against anyone other than Paxton, he shook his head. “No, they aren’t ours. We didn’t pay anything for them.”
Paxton smiled faintly. “I’d say not, if you took them from somebody.” He looked at Desiree, frowning a little. “Why would anyone be following you?”
“That’s what we’re trying to discover,” Tom replied.
“Hmm. Well. It seems very odd,” Paxton went on. “I hope you will be careful, my dear.” He paused. “Um...any other questions you have for me?”
Tom could think of nothing else to ask, and a glance at Desiree told him she couldn’t, either. “No, sir. You’ve been most kind.”
“Yes, thank you,” Desiree said, rising.
“Think nothing of it,” Paxton answered and stood up to take Desiree’s hand again, his gaze lingering on her face. “Yes, I think there’s quite a bit of Stella in you. Such a beautiful woman.”
He sighed, his hand sliding from hers, and after an exchange of polite farewells, Tom and Desiree left the house.
“That was quite successful, don’t you think?” Desiree bubbled, taking Tom’s arm as they walked to the carriage. “We confirmed that Alistair was my father and that he wrote Paxton a farewell letter. And that my father had those cuff links, not Mr. Paxton.”
“Are you sure he wasn’t lying about the cuff links?” Tom asked, though he was already certain of the answer.
“Yes, reasonably sure. It’s not a science. What I sense, really, is an underlying disturbance, a distortion or corruption in a person or an object—I can see that something’s not right just under the surface. With people it looks like a dark-edged double image. Like staring at someone through a pane of blackened glass. It’s easier to see with some people than others. The more free they are with their emotions or the more corrupt they are, the more I can actually see it. When it is faint, it’s more a vague sense of something wrong, so it is difficult to separate it from just a...”
“Just normal intuition?” Tom supplied.
“Exactly. I had difficulty getting anything from Gregory yesterday because he’s very...insulated. He’s wrapped up tightly. Now, his mother was positively bursting with clashing emotions. When we first met Mr. Paxton, I felt a flash of disturbance, but it disappeared after he knew who we were. Perhaps it was just surprise, for after that he was quite open and relaxed. I don’t think he lied to us, but still... I felt that there was something he wasn’t telling us. He didn’t have that bright, clear glow that people have when they are totally truthful and in harmony. But very few of us have that—most people are holding something back.”
“Any idea what?”
She shook her head. “No. It might not have been related to any of this. Or something that isn’t important. But I felt as if I just knew the right question to ask, I could find out more.”
“Well, as you said, we’ve learned a good deal. It eliminates one of our suspects. It makes sense—there really wasn’t any reason for Paxton to be spying on you. Gregory, on the other hand, has a great deal of motive. I wouldn’t be surprised if he both hired Falk and set his own man on it, too.”
“Tom, don’t you see? I know you think my father’s coach is not significant. But these cuff links, too? The carriage was his favorite. The cuff links were in Alistair’s possession. Maybe it really was Alistair in that carriage. Maybe it was both of them.”
“Why would your parents spy on you? Why not just come up to the door?”
“Because they’re afraid of how we might react. I mean, they abandoned us. It wouldn’t be all that surprising if we despised them. Brock does. Maybe they’re trying to work up the courage to approach us. Or they just wanted to see what we look like, what we’re doing. Make sure that we’re all right.”
Looking into her
shining eyes, Tom didn’t have the heart to try to dissuade her. “You could be right. I think it’s more likely that Gregory is watching you. But obviously your father or both your parents could have returned to the country. It’s not as if there’s anything to stop them.”
“But you hate for me to get my hopes up,” Desiree said. “I know it’s not likely that they would suddenly decide they wanted to see us after all these years. I’m not going to count on it. But it’s not impossible, either.” She sighed and settled back in the seat, and after a moment, she asked, “What do you make of Paxton saying he saw Falk at my mother’s house?”
“I don’t know.” Tom shook his head. “I can’t conceive of Falk being friends with Alistair. Or with anyone, really.”
“The idea of Falk carrying on a romance with one of the servants seems equally unlikely.”
They were silent for a moment, then Tom said quietly, “At least this is solid proof that Alistair was your father.”
“Yes.” Desiree smiled gently, her expression reflective. “And it was comforting to learn that his family didn’t ignore us, that they just didn’t know.”
“That’s certain.” Tom smiled faintly. “The duchess would have been on it like a shot. I’m sorry they didn’t know, that you grew up without the Morelands.”
“I can’t regret my life,” Desiree told him. “I hated Falk, and I hated being hungry. But we were happy with Bruna and Sid, even if we were frequently short on money. I loved the circus and I loved the acrobatics. Bruna taught me so much. Even Falk found someone to train us more. The things that I can do make me happy. Wells and Brock and I love each other and know we can always count on the others. When Falk took Brock away from us and Brock told me he would come back and get us, I knew he would.”
