by Candace Camp
“By you,” Desiree retorted.
“I’d give you a better cut now, of course.”
“Better than nothing? Impressive.”
“Now, I always let you have some of the baubles,” he said in a wheedling tone.
Desiree snorted. “Enough to buy more food than the gruel you gave us.” Sad to say, Desiree knew she and Wells had been treated better than some of the others. At least he had refrained from beating them, since sore bruises and broken bones would interfere with their work. “That doesn’t mean you weren’t scum. You still are.”
Falk scowled, slamming his palm down on his desk. “I rescued you. You’d have starved if I hadn’t taken you in.”
“You took Brock from us! You knocked him over the head and threw him on a boat to Australia!”
He opened his hands and swept them out, palms up. “And look where it got him.”
“You’re saying you did him a favor?” Desiree wanted to jump across the desk at Falk and take him by the throat. But there was nothing to be gained by railing at him. The man had no conscience; he would never feel guilt over what he had done. She pushed down her anger and said tightly, “I’m not coming back, Falk.”
He grimaced, but he dropped the subject. “Did you get the letter?”
“No. Quick came in on me, and I barely got away. Why didn’t you warn me that he watched the place at night?”
“I didn’t know. You can’t expect me to do your work for you,” Falk retorted. “Go back.”
“I searched most of it, and I don’t think the envelope is there. The only things I didn’t check were some old files.”
“If it’s not there, go to the Morelands’ house. I know they have it.”
“Well, you’ll have to find someone else to get it for you. I quit.”
“You can’t quit.” Falk glared at her in the way that had always struck fear in her heart when she was a child, his eyes piercing and cruel, his lips drawing back, like a dog about to attack. “I’m not giving you your father’s name until you bring me that envelope.”
“That look doesn’t scare me anymore, Falk.” Desiree was pleased to realize that her words weren’t a lie. The scrawny little girl had trembled before him, but the present Desiree felt nothing but contempt. “And your bribe won’t work, either. I already know my father was a Moreland.”
Falk’s eyebrows shot up, confirming her theory, but he covered his surprise quickly. “Ah...but which one?”
“That’s what I’m going to find out.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
TOM MANAGED TO extricate himself from the clutches of the bobby. Fortunately, he was dressed like a gentleman tonight, which made the policeman more inclined to believe his story that he was struggling with a woman who’d tried to steal his wallet. But by the time he did so, Desiree was long gone, and there was no hope of finding her, so he returned to the office.
Tom didn’t think even someone as brash as Desiree would attempt to break in again tonight, but he slept in the office, just in case. He’d slept in places a lot less comfortable. Still, he had trouble going to sleep. He kept thinking about the events of the evening. About Desiree.
He found that she was on his mind when he woke up the next morning, as well. He was torn between chagrin at losing her—again—and a sneaking admiration for her cleverness. Tom was not a man to take defeat well, but somehow her outwitting him made his attraction to her all the more compelling.
She was a challenge. She was a mystery. He had lived much of his life around the women of the Moreland family—intelligent, independent women who frequently broke the rules. They had, he supposed, formed his image of an ideal woman. It seemed cruelly ironic that when he finally stumbled upon a woman who was as fascinating and unique, as unconventional, even outrageous, she would turn out to be his adversary.
Unfortunately, that adversary currently had the upper hand. She knew about him now, and she would be very careful not to let him follow her again. In fact, if he was able to follow her, it was all too likely to mean that she was leading him into a trap. But he couldn’t think of a way to draw her out, to get her to come to him. He had no idea what it was she was after.
He knew where she lived. He could confront her, but he had no idea how he could make her tell him what he wanted to know. There was, however, a possibility that he could negotiate with her. He was positive she was working for hire. Desiree was professional enough to realize that she was unlikely to be able to filch anything from the office now that Tom was on guard.
If she couldn’t produce what the employer wanted, she was unlikely to get paid. So if Tom offered her money to reveal who had hired her and what that person wanted, she might be willing to do it. Of course, it was just as likely, if not more so, that she might not.
Still, it would be worth a try. Of course, he’d have to get her to talk to him long enough to hear his offer. That could be a problem.
As he pondered the matter, he heard someone climbing the stairs. It was a heavy tread, unlike the way Con or Alex usually trotted up, and that roused his interest. There was only one other office on this floor besides this agency and Alex’s business, and it was empty. He and Con were considering expanding into it.
The footsteps passed Alex’s office, and Tom looked toward the open door, curious about the possibility of a new client. The visitor stopped in the doorway, and Tom’s jaw dropped. The man was the last person he would have expected to see.
“Falk!” Tom jumped to his feet, a turbulent mix of emotions flooding him—anger, resentment, wariness, and even a faint echo of the years-old trepidation. “What the devil are you doing here?”
Tom couldn’t remember his life before this man. Falk had always been there; the cramped room he shared with the other children the only home he’d known until he was eight years old. Falk had been a kidsman, and Tom had been one of the lads he used to pick pockets or beg for coins. Tom hated him as he hated no one else.
“Now, is that any way to greet the man who raised you?” Falk strolled into the room and sat down uninvited in the client chair beside Tom’s desk. “Sit down, lad, and let’s talk.” He glanced around the office. “You’ve done pretty well for yourself, haven’t you?”
“Get out of my office.” Tom remained standing, unwilling to give any indication that he accepted Falk in this place.
“Now, lad, is that any way to talk? After all I did for you?”
“The only good thing you ever did for me was tell me to steal Reed Moreland’s wallet.”
Falk’s eyes flashed, his lip curling, but he said nothing.
“I’m surprised you’d risk coming here without a guard,” Tom went on. “I understand you keep a punisher with you nowadays.” He crossed his arms and regarded the older man. It had been over twenty years since Tom had last seen Falk; his nemesis had grown flabby and gray. He’d always had an ingrained fear of the man; the last vestiges of that fell away. Tom let out a sigh and sat down. “What do you want, Falk?”
Falk gave him a poor imitation of a smile. “I came here to make you a proposition, lad.”
“You can’t be serious. Why would you think I would be willing to do anything for you? You couldn’t offer me enough money.”
“How about information about your mother?” The sly smile on Falk’s face was more natural.
Tom’s heart began to pound, but there was no way he’d let the man see how much he wanted what Falk offered. He kept his voice level. “I wouldn’t believe anything you told me.”
“No? Who do you think gave you to me? I didn’t pick you up on someone’s doorstep.”
Tom hated to give Falk the satisfaction, but he couldn’t keep from asking, “And what is it you want me to do for you in return?”
“Just a small thing. Hardly anything, really. The Morelands will never miss it.”
“You want me to steal something from the
Morelands?” Tom was so astonished that for a moment he didn’t even feel angry. Then rage came flooding in, turning his eyes to blue flames, and he stood up, planted his hands on the desk and leaned forward, looming over Falk. “You think I’d do anything to harm the duke? To harm any of them?”
“It’s no harm. Nothing that’ll hurt the duke. He’ll never even know it’s gone. Not anything to do with him, really.”
“It was you!” The realization burst into Tom’s head. “You’re the one who sent her here to rob us. You’re the one who hired her!” If he had been capable of more rational thought, Tom might have wondered why the idea that Desiree worked for his old enemy enraged him so much, but he was far too consumed with anger to analyze it.
“Desiree? So you figured that out?” Falk’s mouth twitched in irritation. “She really has lost her touch.”
Cursing, Tom grabbed the other man by the lapels of his jacket and jerked him out of the chair. “What the hell do you want with the Morelands?”
Falk let out a scornful laugh. “You think I’m going to tell you?”
“Who is she? What do you want?”
The other man sneered. “I don’t give anything away for free. You ought to know that.”
“Tell me, dammit.” Tom shook him. “What are you after?”
“You want answers? Do the job for me, and I’ll give them to you.”
Blood pounded in Tom’s brain, and he wanted to slam his fist into the other man’s face. But he knew he would get nothing from Falk now. Any answer Falk gave him was more likely to be a lie than the truth. Tom cursed himself for refusing the man’s offer so quickly and fiercely. He’d let his anger overcome his good sense. He should have pretended to be interested in the job long enough to find out what Falk was after.
Tom flung Falk back down in the chair in disgust and stepped back. “Stay away from the Morelands. You hurt any of them, and I’ll make you regret it for the rest of your short, miserable life. Now get out of my office.”
Falk stood up, ostentatiously straightening the jacket Tom had twisted, and Tom roared, “Now!”
The other man gave up his attempt at dignity and whirled around to hurry from the office. Tom stood for a moment, fists knotted, then grabbed his jacket and shot out the door.
He didn’t need Falk. There was another person who knew the answer to his question.
* * *
DESIREE HAD FINISHED her breakfast—the household always had a late-morning meal, given their late-night schedules—and was climbing the stairs to her room when there was a thunderous pounding at the front door.
Behind her, Templeton opened the door. “Sir! What do you—”
“Where is she? I want to see her.”
Desiree stopped. She knew that voice. Her pulse began to race, and she turned to look down at the entry.
Tom Quick had pushed his way past the butler, swinging the door shut behind him. Desiree gripped the banister and leaned down to see him better. Was he really as intriguing as he’d appeared last night? She decided he looked even better in the daylight. His blue eyes were bright, his hair attractively tousled.
Why was he here? A treacherous hope leaped in her chest, even though she knew it was untrue.
“Really, sir!” The butler huffed, clearly putting on his most imperious air. “I have no idea who you are or what you’re talking about, but you cannot simply—”
“Desiree!” Quick snapped. “Get Desiree. Now.”
No. He was definitely not here to make amends. Desiree started back down the stairs. “I’m here. I don’t know what you think you’re about, but there’s no need to bully Templeton.”
“Miss Malone, I’m so sorry.” Templeton turned to her, his face flushed. “I don’t know who this man is, but there’s no need for you to worry. I’ll send him on his way.”
Tom snorted. “You think you’re going to toss me out?”
Templeton turned almost purple, and Desiree hurried forward. “It’s all right, Templeton. I know this very rude man. I’ll talk to him.”
“Miss, I don’t think it’s safe to be alone with him.”
“It’s fine,” she assured the older man, alarmed that he might actually try to restrain Quick and get himself hurt. “I can handle it, I assure you.”
The butler stepped back, looking uneasy, and Tom walked past him, his attention focused on Desiree. “You belong to Falk!”
Desiree’s brows shot up, her own temper rising. “I don’t belong to Falk or anyone else. If you’ll lower your tone and act like a civilized person, we can go into the parlor to speak. Templeton, some tea, perhaps?”
“I don’t want any bloody tea,” Tom barked, but he turned toward the door she indicated and strode before her into the parlor.
Desiree nodded reassuringly at the butler and followed him. She was certain Quick, for all his anger, wasn’t about to get violent with her.
Tom swung toward her, his eyes still flashing with fury. “I just talked to Falk. He wanted me to do the job since you’d failed at it.”
She quirked a brow, a little stung by his description of her break-in. “I haven’t ‘failed’ at anything. That was merely a first effort.”
“There won’t be another one.” He strode forward, looming over her. “I’m not letting you or Falk or anyone else steal anything from the Morelands.”
Desiree crossed her arms and gazed back at him coolly. “And you think you’re going to stop me? You haven’t exactly done a good job of that so far.”
“You try it again, and this time I’ll put you in jail. I know who you are, Miss Malone.” He said her name as if it were an insult. “I know where you live. I’ll have the peelers here in five minutes. How do you think all those toffs that come to Farrington Club are going to feel about losing their money to a known thief?”
“Your threats don’t frighten me.”
“Falk is scum. How the devil can you work for him?” Quick asked, his voice calmer now. He sounded almost disappointed.
“I agree, he is. And I don’t work for him. I haven’t for fourteen years.”
Quick’s face changed subtly. “You were one of his ‘kids,’ too?”
“Too? You worked for Falk, as well?” Desiree looked at him doubtfully. “I don’t remember you.”
“I left him years before you were there, I’m sure.” He stepped back and hardened his voice. “That doesn’t mean I’m your friend.”
“Clearly.”
“You’re still working for him. I don’t believe it was coincidence that you broke into our office two days before Falk shows up, wanting me to steal something from the Morelands for him.”
“It’s not. But I told you the truth. I don’t work for him. This was a one-time job. He said he’d tell me who my father was.”
“That seems to be a common theme with him.”
“But I’m not doing anything more for him. I’m not going to pursue it. I don’t need to.” She hesitated, then took the plunge. “I found out my father’s name—Moreland.”
Tom couldn’t have looked more dumbfounded if she’d told him her father was Prince Edward. “The duke?” He let out a short, scornful laugh. “If that’s your tale, you’d better rethink it. No one is going to believe that the duke was unfaithful to his duchess.”
Desiree could feel herself flush at his laughter. But she was not going to be deterred by ridicule, even if it did sting more than his laughter. “There’s more than one Moreland. I don’t know his first name.”
“The Moreland men are notorious for falling hard and staying that way. They aren’t the sort to stray.”
“I don’t know whether you’re naive or lying,” she retorted.
“Neither. I just know the Morelands. Whatever scheme you have in your head is not going to work.”
“I have proof.” When Tom raised a disbelieving eyebrow, Desiree rush
ed on, “My brother has a Moreland ring.”
“A what?”
“A ring like the one in the upper desk drawer in your office. It has their coat of arms on it.”
“That’s your proof? A ring? Anyone could have a similar ring.”
“I didn’t say similar. It’s the same. I’ll show it to the duke, and—”
“Don’t!” His eyes blazed. “Don’t you dare bother the duke. Stay away from his house and stay away from my office.”
“You can’t stop me!” Desiree shot back, clenching her fists and taking a step forward.
“The hell I can’t!”
“What the devil is all this?” Brock barked from the open doorway. “Who the hell are you? How dare you yell at my sister?”
“I’ll tell you who I am.” Tom swung toward her brother. “I’m the man who’s going to blow up your little swindle.”
“Swindle!” Brock’s eyebrows rushed together. “What the—”
“You—” Quick jabbed a finger at Brock, then at Desiree “—and your sister, peddle your scheme somewhere else. Leave the Morelands alone.”
Brock glared at Tom, lowering his head in a way that reminded Desiree of a bull about to charge. Tom faced him, his fists clenched and his eyes bright, looking as though he’d welcome a brawl. Desiree stepped between them, holding out a hand to her brother. “Brock, don’t...”
“Don’t worry, Dez, I won’t break up your furniture. He’s not worth it.” Brock turned a contemptuous look on Tom. “Get out of my house.”
“Gladly.” With a last dark glance at Desiree, Tom stalked out the door.
CHAPTER EIGHT
AFTER QUICK STORMED out of their house, Brock turned to Desiree. “Care to explain what that was all about? Wasn’t that the fellow you were talking to last night?”
“Yes.” Desiree let out an angry huff of air. “His name’s Tom Quick.”
“Of Moreland & Quick.” Brock studied her. “Is he pressing charges? Do I need to call my solicitor?”