His Improper Lady--A Historical Romance

by Candace Camp

  At last she began to undo the buttons, lingering on the process. Then, grasping the waistband, she pulled down his clothes and took him in her hands. Tom hissed as the spasms of pleasure went through him.

  “Did I hurt you?” Desiree asked anxiously.

  “No. God, no,” Tom murmured, leaning his head against hers as his hands slid up and down her arms. “Your touch is...beyond pleasurable.”

  He tilted her face up and kissed her, his mouth telling her better than words the wild feelings that rippled through him. Finally, he broke from her, his voice hoarse. “Enough. I have to be inside you. Now.”

  Kicking off the garments that had fallen to his ankles, he lifted her up, and Desiree wrapped her legs around him, so that his pulsing member was pressed against the very place he most desired to be, slick and hot. Tom kissed her neck and shoulders as he walked almost blindly to the bed, and they fell onto it.

  He pushed inside her at once, too far gone in his passion to tease either of them any longer, and Desiree responded with the same frenzied eagerness. Her nails raked his back as he began to move, his strokes deep and smooth, until at last his climax rolled over him like thunder. Tom cried out, feeling Desiree clamp tightly around him, her own release rippling through her.

  Tom sank onto the bed, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her over onto him. He lay there panting, her head resting over his heart, her hair spreading over his chest and arm. And he knew, with his body as much as his mind, that he could not live without this woman.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  DESIREE AWAKENED THE following morning in a buoyant mood. She rose and put on the plain dark carriage dress she wore for traveling, and did up her hair in a simple style—her mind on tonight and the ease with which such a style could be undone.

  She wanted, of course, to discover whatever she could about her parents at the cottage; the compelling pull inside her was impossible to ignore. But she could not help but look forward, as well, to the night before her, when she and Tom could be alone, free to be together the entire night without considerations of family or any other obligations. For precisely that opportunity, she had been sure to pack her laciest, most beguiling nightgown.

  Downstairs, she was pleased to find Brock at the breakfast table. She had not seen him the night before, so she had yet to tell him the discoveries they had made. He listened, frowning, as she described what she and Tom had done the day before (leaving out, of course, the most personal details).

  “Desiree, I’m not sure what you think you’re going to find out,” he said when she finished. “It all sounds most peculiar, I’ll admit, but...”

  “I know. I realize we may not discover anything that will help us, but I can’t just sit here and do nothing. I would always wonder what we might have found.”

  “Yes, but traveling alone with Quick...” He scowled. “You do understand how it will look, don’t you?”

  Desiree cocked an eyebrow. “Yes. Scandalous. But when have I ever been anything but scandalous? I’ve spent my entire adult life being chaste, but you know good and well that everyone already assumes that I’m a scarlet woman. I’m sorry, but I’m not a lady, Brock, however much you wanted me to be one.”

  “Desiree, no,” Brock said, taken aback. “I have never wanted you to be anything but exactly what you want. I didn’t send you to finishing school because I wanted to mold you into a lady. I wanted to give you the opportunity to...to enter the world that you deserve, the one that should be yours by birth. You are a lady and my much-loved sister, and I would never regard you as anything but that. If you want Quick, then that is what I want for you. He doesn’t deserve you, but I can’t think of any man who would. I just don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

  “I won’t be disappointed,” Desiree told him. “Do you honestly think I’m not capable of catching the man I set my cap for?”

  Brock had to smile. “Well, no, not when you put it that way.”

  “That’s why I’d like you to do something for me, if you would.”

  “What?” He looked wary.

  “Nothing horrid.” Desiree laughed. “Do you have a pencil and paper?” Her brother reached into an inside pocket and handed her a small notebook and a pencil stub, and Desiree opened it to the first blank page and began to write. “I want you to look at this for me. You know a good deal more about this sort of thing than I. I want it, but I’d like to make sure it’s a good investment.”

  Brock looked at what she had written, and his brows sailed upward. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.” She leaned forward. “I know, Brock. I know in here.” Desiree tapped her closed fist over her heart. “He is the only man for me.”

  Her brother looked at her for a long moment, then said, “I told you I remember him from the days with Falk.”

  “Yes.”

  “What I didn’t tell you was that I saw it—I knew he was important, valuable, somehow to you. I thought it was something that would happen back then, something immediate. But I saw it again the day you brought him here.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Desiree asked, puzzled.

  “I didn’t want to influence you. I didn’t want you to think that this was preordained. I’m—it’s easy to let what I see rule me. I’m not sure I can trust it.”

  “Even after all this time?”

  Brock nodded. “Yes. And when it concerns you, I must be especially careful. I don’t want to make a mistake.”

  “Well, this is no mistake,” Desiree told him, putting her hand over his on the table. “I’m certain, Brock. I love him. And it’s for life.”

  * * *

  WHEN DESIREE ARRIVED at Tom’s office an hour later, he greeted her with a long, burning kiss.

  “Well,” Desiree said when at last he lifted his head. “That’s quite a hello.”

  “Good morning,” he offered and smiled, taking her hand. “I’ve been thinking about that since I woke up this morning.”

  “I’m glad. I’ve been thinking about tonight.”

  Light flared in his eyes. “That, too.” He cleared his throat and stepped away. “I checked the schedule. There’s a train to Weymouth at eleven. That gives us enough time to see Falk first.”

  “Falk? Why?”

  “You said he knew something more than he told us. I’d really like to know what it is.”

  “Even if we have to pay him?” Desiree asked.

  Tom grimaced. “Maybe. I was hopeful, though, that if we asked him some more specific things about your parents, like what day they left, whether they left together, or what he saw or overheard, you might be able to get some idea of what he’s hiding. At least enough to know whether his information is valuable enough to pay the crook.”

  “It’s worth a try,” Desiree agreed.

  As they rode to Falk’s office, Desiree’s stomach began to knot. She assumed her anxiety arose from her desire to find the cottage, but as they walked toward Falk’s employee at the foot of the stairs, a sharp frisson of alarm shot through her, and it occurred to her that perhaps her dark feeling was about something else altogether.

  “We need to see Falk,” she told the guard abruptly.

  The man was the one they had encountered yesterday, and he regarded her with a sour expression. “He’s not in yet.”

  Desiree turned to Tom. “Something’s wrong. Falk’s always here early, taking in last night’s receipts.”

  “You mean, you’re having—” Tom began, but Desiree didn’t answer. She was already running up the stairs to Falk’s office. Tom followed her, and after a moment, the guard climbed after them. She grabbed the door handle, but it would not turn.

  Dread was humming in Desiree now. She squatted down to peer through the keyhole. “I can’t see. It’s locked from the inside.” She stood up and looked at the guard. “Did you knock?”


  “Aye. I ain’t stupid. That’s how I knew he weren’t here.”

  Tom banged loudly on the door. “Falk! Open up!”

  “We need to get inside,” Desiree said sharply.

  Tom reached into his pocket and extracted his case of tools, then squatted down and went to work. “There, knocked the key out.” He peered through the hole. “But I can’t see anything except the opposite wall.” He went back to his picks.

  “The boss isn’t going to like this,” their companion said, shifting on his feet and glancing around.

  “Blame it on me,” Tom told him and turned the handle. He opened the door and stepped inside, but he stopped abruptly, stretching out his arm to hold back Desiree.

  It was too late for that. Over his arm she could clearly see Falk seated at the desk. He was slumped in his chair, his head hanging down, a black hole in his temple and blood streaking the side of his face. To her eyes, tendrils of darkness curled all around him. Desiree’s stomach lurched. Behind her, Falk’s guard let out an oath.

  “He never shot himself, did he?” the man said in shocked tones.

  “I seriously doubt it, though I think perhaps the killer may have hoped it would look that way if they locked the door from the inside.” Tom moved forward and crouched down beside the chair. “Yes, here’s a gun on the floor.”

  “But how they’d get out, then?” the guard asked, a frown creasing his forehead.

  “Same way we did yesterday. He has—had—another exit,” Desiree replied, swallowing the gorge that rose in her throat. The scene in front of her was so dark and fractured that she felt dizzy. She made no move to go closer to Tom and the body.

  Tom nodded. “It would have to be someone who knew about his secret entrance.” He stood up and turned toward Falk’s man. “You better go tell a bobby.”

  “A blue bottle?” The man stared, apparently as aghast at this idea as he was at Falk’s death. “Are you cracked?” He hung there for a moment, then said in a relieved tone, “I’ll go find Trotter.”

  After the man left, Tom looked over the desk, then opened drawers and rummaged around in them.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Not sure. Some reason why he was shot,” Tom replied.

  “There are any number of reasons to shoot Falk,” Desiree retorted, adding shakily, “but I think it was because of our search.”

  Tom nodded grimly. “Something about this information Falk was hiding would be my guess. He could have tried to sell it to someone who didn’t want to pay the price. Or someone was afraid he’d sell it to us instead.” Tom shut the last drawer and looked speculatively at the hidden door. “It would have to have been someone very close to him for him to reveal that escape hatch.”

  “I’m not sure Falk had anyone that close to him. But I figured out where it was. Others could have, too.”

  “Or he could have told someone who conducted business with him, someone who would be embarrassed to be seen coming in the front. A gentleman, say.”

  “Like Paxton,” Desiree said.

  “Or Gregory. We know Falk was into blackmail. Or perhaps Falk actually found that will and was withholding it for more money.”

  Desiree looked once more at Falk’s lifeless body. “I don’t even know what to feel. I’ve always hated the man. He was despicable. But it’s so awful, seeing him there. I feel guilty for all the times I wished he was dead. It’s not something I really meant.”

  “Of course not.” Tom curled his arm around her shoulders, turning her away from the sight. “Even though his absence will only improve the world, no one had the right to kill him. But perhaps if we can figure this out, it might lead us to his murderer.”

  Desiree nodded. “You’re right.”

  “We should go. We’ll miss our train if we have to stay and talk to the police. There’s nothing we can tell them that they can’t see for themselves, and we can always go to them when we get back. And if this Trotter fellow decides to do something besides call the police, it’s just as well not to know about it.”

  “Yes, you’re right.” Desiree looked up at him, her hand going to her stomach. “It’s urgent, Tom. We must get to that cottage. Now.”

  * * *

  THERE WAS NO possibility of getting there quickly, for the train rumbled along at its own speed, and it was teatime before they arrived in Weymouth. They had planned to spend the night here and go to the cottage the next morning, but Desiree could not wait. The urgency in her chest had been growing the entire trip, and now the pull from the cottage was too strong to resist.

  “We have to get there as soon as possible,” she told Tom.

  He glanced at the sky. “It’s summer. The days are long. It will be hours before complete darkness falls. Let’s rent a trap and drive on to Redham.”

  The trap seemed impossibly slow, and the knot in Desiree’s chest tightened with every mile. They had not yet reached Redham when they met a farmer driving his cart in the other direction, and they stopped to ask for directions to Alistair’s cottage.

  “Oh, aye, Sea Gift, that’s Lord Moreland’s place. It’s ’fore you get to town. Only another mile or so. But there’s nothing there to see. It’s just been sitting there for years now, and it’s a ruin.”

  “Yes, but we really need to go there,” Tom told him, and with a shrug the man gave them detailed instructions of where to turn off the road, and Tom was able to follow them to a narrow lane that was rough and pocked with holes. A house came into view in the distance, sitting at the edge of the cliff. Every nerve in Desiree’s body shivered to life.

  As they drew closer, they could see that the farmer had not exaggerated the house’s condition. Though the cottage had not collapsed, it had been worn by time and the salt air. It was small, and Desiree suspected that if it had been repaired and painted, it might have a certain cozy charm. As it was, it looked desolate, an impression that was not helped by the barren landscape around it. There were a few trees in front of the house, stunted and bent by the constant sea wind. Beyond the cliff was a gray expanse of ocean.

  The house was gray and weathered, windows broken and shutters dangling or fallen. Two shallow steps led up to the cracked and weathered front door. Not far from one side of the house stood a rickety staircase leading down to the beach. A little farther along the cliff was a small shed, and attached to it was a wooden boxlike structure.

  The entire scene was drenched in gloom, and Desiree’s stomach knotted. She didn’t want to be here, but she could not leave. This, she was certain, was where she was supposed to go.

  “What is that?” Tom tied their horse to a stunted tree and walked over to the odd structure at the edge of the cliff. Desiree followed, grateful to put off entering the house for a moment.

  The box seemed fastened to a set of rails, and it hung by a sturdy rope from the pulley above it. The rails were set all the way down the cliff, ending at the beach.

  “It looks like a kind of lift to go down to the beach. Like a dumbwaiter,” Desiree suggested.

  “But inclined,” Tom mused. “Like that funicular railway in Scarborough, only smaller and just one car.” He gazed down at the rocky beach, where the sea surged and crashed around enormous rocks. “I wouldn’t risk my life on it just to go down there.”

  “Mm. Not terribly inviting.” She shivered, though it was not cold. “Nothing here is. This whole area reeks of something awful.” She turned to face the house.

  “You ready to go in?” Tom asked.

  “No.” Desiree stiffened her spine. “But I have to.”

  They walked toward the house, the urgency in Desiree growing with every step. Tom turned the rusty door handle, but he had to put his shoulder to the damp-warped door before it opened. They stepped inside. Sand had drifted in over all the floors and furniture. Both the front and side windows were broken out. There were stairs to the left, as well as a
short hallway leading to what looked to be a kitchen and another room. The room where they stood ran the width of the house. A sturdy stone fireplace stood in the center of the outside wall. A caned-seat straight chair stood on one side of the fireplace. A small sofa and comfortable chair, along with a couple of small tables, were the only other furniture. In front of the fireplace was a large woven rug, its colors muted by the pervasive sand.

  Despite the abandoned look of the place, there was an eerie look to it, as if someone had just left. There were no dustcovers over the furniture, and the ragged curtains hung open. A teacup sat on a table by the sofa, and there was a hod half-full of coal beside the fireplace. A shiver ran down Desiree’s spine.

  Grit crunched beneath their feet as they walked through the room. Desiree went to the other window and looked out. The view it offered of the ocean and rocky beach was just as gray and grim as that in front of the house. “This hardly seems an ideal love nest.”

  “Presumably it looked more pleasant at the time.” Tom went to the fireplace and picked up the poker. “Look, there are still ashes in the fireplace. I mean, obviously most of it’s been blown about, but it’s...” His voice trailed off as he shoved the ashes around.

  “What?” Desiree joined him in front of the fireplace. The house was sad and cold, and the urgency inside her bubbled up, ever stronger. “What did you find?”

  “I don’t know. There are a couple of chunks of something. They’re scorched but not completely burned.” Tom dragged a blackened piece forward with the poker and bent to pick it up. He brushed away the ashes covering it. “It’s metal. Looks like a clasp, perhaps?”

  “A clasp?” Desiree’s chest turned icy, and she had to force herself to breathe. “You mean, the sort that’s on a portmanteau? Or a valise?”

  Tom lifted his eyes to her, question mingling with trepidation. “Yes. Very like that.” He stood up, holding out the object to her.