by Candace Camp
“Trying to find out who your real father was,” he replied. It lifted Desiree’s spirits a bit to see that he looked thoroughly frustrated. “But Mr. Upton refuses to answer any questions.”
“Does he, now?” Desiree smiled.
An old, stooped man came up behind Tom, his cane thumping against the floor, and Sid Upton appeared behind Tom. Since Tom filled the small doorway, he gave Quick a sharp jab in the ribs. Tom stepped aside, scowling, and Sid moved into the doorway to peer at Desiree.
“Hello, Sid. It’s me.”
“Dezzy?” He adjusted his spectacles, and his sour expression changed to a grin. “Why, so it is! Come in, come in, lass. You’re a sight for sore eyes. Unlike some.” He gave Tom a glare. “That ’un’s been digging for dirt on your ma.”
“I was not—” Tom began, then sighed and threw up his hands. “What’s the point? If you’ve come to tell him to keep his mouth shut, Miss Malone, there is no need.”
“I haven’t done any such thing. I brought Sid a plum cake.” She held it up, and Sid broke into a grin. Seeing his delight, Desiree thought guiltily that she should have visited him more often since his retirement.
“Did you, now? You always were a sweet girl.”
Desiree didn’t bother to look at Tom to see how he reacted to that statement. She was sure she already knew. She came inside, closing the door behind her. The next few minutes were spent unpacking the cake and making tea to go with it. Feeling gratifyingly generous, she even cut a slice for Tom Quick, who obviously intended to stay.
Let him. If he learned who her father was, it would only help her.
Sid spent some time complimenting the cake and inquiring about her brothers, and then they settled into reminiscences about the old days and questions about former friends and acquaintances. Desiree could feel Tom’s impatience, but to give him credit, he didn’t interrupt or try to push them along.
Finally, a break fell in the conversation, and Tom said, “Mr. Upton, I understand that you and your wife took in the Malone children when they were quite young.”
“Aye, we did.” Sid crossed his arms and gazed back at him, offering nothing more.
“Why was that? What happened?”
The old man regarded him stonily for a moment, then looked toward Desiree.
“It’s all right, Sid,” Desiree told him. “Go ahead. I want to know, too. Brock was too young to remember much of anything about my mother leaving.”
“Aye, well...” He sighed and cast his eyes up toward the ceiling, as if his answers might lie there. “You were just a baby, Dezzy, you and Wells. Brock must have been, oh, five or six. And, well, your ma left. She went off one day with her man, and she didn’t come back. After a few days, that woman, the housekeeper, got tired of looking after you, and she remembered about Bruna coming to visit, so she came to her and told her about Stella not coming home. Well, Bruna couldn’t just leave Stella’s children there, now could she? The housekeeper wasn’t going to keep on taking care of them. And Bruna was right fond of babies...we couldn’t have any ourselves.”
“It was a very generous thing for her to do,” Tom said.
“She was a good woman, Bruna.” Sid’s eyes turned a little watery. “I’ve missed her every day. The heart just went out of me when she passed on.”
Desiree reached out and curled her hand around his wrist. It was bony, almost fragile, and it made Desiree’s heart hurt a little. She remembered how he once was, the strength in his arms and hands. She remembered the first time he had latched his hands around her forearms and she had left her trapeze, swinging suspended in the air. She remembered the rush of excitement, the security of his hold.
“She was a good woman,” Desiree told him in a soft voice. “I miss her, too.”
Tom said nothing, and Desiree was glad he didn’t spoil the small moment of shared grief. Desiree patted Sid’s wrist and leaned back, turning to Tom. He took the glance to be a signal he could start again, as she had meant it to be. It was a little annoying, really, that he understood her, that they connected so easily.
“Did you think that Stella Malone might be coming back?” Tom asked. “That maybe keeping the children was only temporary?”
“No. There was a letter. That’s when the housekeeper came to us. Stella said she’d gone to America with his lordship.” The twist of his mouth as he said the words indicated little liking for the lord in question.
“A letter?” Desiree leaned forward. “I never heard there was a letter.”
“Aye, well, I guess we never talked about it. No reason to.”
“Did you keep the letter?”
“No. Bruna couldn’t read, and I can’t do that elegant kind. The housekeeper told us what it said.”
“What did it say?” Desiree asked, hungry to hear her mother’s words.
Sid shrugged. “I don’t remember exactly. Bunch of romantic nonsense. They couldn’t bear to be apart and whatnot.”
“She didn’t say anything about us?” Even as she asked the question, Desiree knew the answer from the uncomfortable expression on Sid’s face. She struggled to keep her face smooth; she didn’t want Quick to see the disappointment that swept her.
“I don’t remember,” Sid said. Desiree was certain it was a lie to ease her hurt, and Sid confirmed that with his next words. “I’m sorry, Dez.”
Tom jumped into the silence. “What was his lordship’s name?”
“Ah, well, that I don’t know.”
“Surely you saw him. Stella Malone must have mentioned him.”
“I didn’t go over there much. Bruna went to see her sometimes, but in the afternoon when he wasn’t there—it would have been awkward, running into him.”
“Not even early on? He didn’t come to see her perform?” Tom pressed.
“I don’t know about that. I guess he could have. Must have, to begin with. But he wasn’t one of the ones who hung around the stage door all the time, trying to court her. Just all of a sudden, Stella left her act and moved into that house.”
“Your wife was her very good friend,” Tom said. “Wouldn’t Stella have told her his name?”
“Aye. But Bruna promised she’d never tell anyone, and she didn’t. She was a woman that kept her word, my Bruna was.”
“She kept it hidden even from you?” Skepticism colored Quick’s tone.
“Please, Sid.” Desiree leaned forward again, laying her hand on his arm. “Don’t worry it might hurt me or make my mother look bad or anything. I want to know who my father is, no matter what.”
“I know.” Sid patted her hand. “I’d tell you if I could. But Bruna didn’t say, and I wasn’t going to ask her to break her word. I’m sorry.”
“Could his name have been Moreland?” Desiree asked. “Do you remember ever hearing Stella say that name?” Desiree dug into her reticule and pulled out Brock’s ring, holding it out to Sid. “He gave Brock this ring. Do you remember seeing him wearing it? I believe it’s a family ring.”
Sid took the ring and brought it up close to his eyes, examining it. With a sigh, he handed it back to Desiree. “No. I don’t remember that name. Or the ring. I doubt I saw the fellow more than once at a distance. Like I said, it would have been awkward. We’re not the sort he’d be chatting with.”
“What about friends? Did anyone visit them? A friend of his lordship?”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I don’t know of any.”
There seemed little to ask after that, and Desiree took her leave not long afterward. Tom followed her out the door. She glanced over at him. The sun glinted off his blond hair, and she couldn’t help but gaze at his eyes, that striking combination of blue fractured by ice very noticeable in the light. Desiree wished she was indifferent to his looks, that she hadn’t stolen glances at him all through the interview with Sid.
Tom gazed back at her, and for a m
oment she thought he was going to say something, but he did not. Silence stretched awkwardly between them, and Desiree turned away, walking to her carriage. Tom started off down the street. Desiree stared after him, her brain whirring, then climbed into her carriage. The driver turned the vehicle and started back in the direction they’d come from. As they reached Tom, Desiree told the coachman to stop.
“Mr. Quick,” she called, and he turned. “Are you taking the train?”
“Yes.” His expression was faintly wary.
“Why don’t you ride with me back into the city? It will be faster than the train.” She opened the door in invitation.
The wariness in his gaze deepened into suspicion, but he came to the door, looking into the carriage. “Why would you offer me a ride?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” She raised her brows, then smiled archly and said, “I don’t bite.”
“I’m not too sure about that.” But he swung up into the carriage.
Theirs was a small town carriage, meant for only two people, so Tom had no place to sit but next to her. Desiree was intensely aware of how close he was, only inches separating them. Her heart beat a little faster.
“What do you want?” Tom asked as the carriage once again rolled forward.
“Must I want something from you?”
“Yes,” he answered bluntly. “You’re the kind who always has a hidden purpose.”
“It’s not hidden.” She ignored the judgment in his statement and kept her voice businesslike. “I have a proposition for you.”
He said nothing, just raised his brows in an irritating way.
Desiree took a breath and plunged forward. “I suggest that you and I work together.”
CHAPTER TEN
TOM STARED BACK at her. He wasn’t sure what he had expected her to say, but it certainly had not been this. “I beg your pardon?”
“Work together. You and I,” she said with emphasis—like he was a bleedin’ idiot. “We can pool our resources, share our thoughts.”
“So you can learn everything I find out, you mean. You must be daft.”
“I assure you, I am not,” Desiree said crisply. “I am simply practical. It makes perfect sense—we are looking for the same thing.”
“No. I am looking for the truth,” Tom said.
“And you think I’m not?” Desiree’s eyes flashed and color flared along her cheekbones.
She looked beautiful in her anger—he had to admit that, and it galled him. It would be a great deal easier maintaining his dislike of her if he didn’t have this urge to kiss her. When he opened Upton’s door this morning and saw her standing on the doorstep, his chest had suddenly lightened, and he’d wanted to smile. He’d had to frown to keep from doing so.
Desiree’s presence had distracted him throughout the interview; he feared he would later remember some important question he had forgotten to ask or a point he had missed because he’d been too occupied watching her. He hated that even knowing what chicanery she was trying to pull on the Morelands, he was still drawn to her.
He had warmed to the glint of laughter in her eyes, even when she was taking a jab at him; he had enjoyed hearing her laugh; he had wanted to see her smile. It had touched him to see her comfort the old man. The disappointment in her voice when she realized her mother had not given a thought to her children in her farewell letter made him want to help her. He’d jumped in with a question to move the conversation off that obviously painful topic.
All of that made it a very bad idea to be in her company. He should not have even accepted her invitation to ride in the carriage. She was too close: he could smell the subtle hint of her perfume and see the perfection of her skin, the softness of her lips. Tom had the completely unreasonable desire to reach out and trace the delicate curve of her eyebrows, a brown that was a shade or two darker than her hair.
“You apparently think I want to bilk your beloved Morelands. I fail to understand why you are so extremely devoted to a family of aristocrats who no doubt look upon you as little more than a servant, but that doesn’t matter. I can assure you that I don’t want their money. I want to know who my father is. That’s all.”
“You want to find out he’s a Moreland,” Tom corrected.
“No. I think he is a Moreland. There’s a difference. It isn’t a matter of desire. It’s a matter of proof. The Moreland connection seems likely, but if you should find out that my father was someone else, I won’t be upset. I want to learn who he is. I want the truth.”
“And I will be happy to tell you when I find out. There’s no reason for us to work together.”
“Don’t be absurd. It’s obviously an advantage to have two minds working on the same subject. We can talk, we can present theories or break them down. We will come at the issue from different perspectives. You have a partner—surely you understand the value of two people working together.”
“You will impede my investigation.”
“I will not. Look at the interview you just had with Sid. You were getting nowhere with him until I came along and helped.”
That was certainly true enough, but Tom wasn’t about to admit it. He crossed his arms and gazed stonily back at her. Her mouth tightened, her eyes blazing brighter. Tom knew he was irritating her, and that fact gave him a certain satisfaction, though he wasn’t sure why.
“We have different abilities to bring to the case,” Desiree pointed out. “Different assets. It will be more effective if we combine them.”
“I don’t plan to break into any houses or scale any walls, so I don’t think your skills will be of much use to me.”
“I don’t understand,” she snapped. “I could help you. There are people who won’t talk to you unless I’m there. And you don’t know what skills you might need. You’re just being stubborn. Why won’t you let me work with you?”
“Maybe because you broke into my office? Because you work for Falk? Because you lie?” He’d started out in a light sarcastic manner, but his voice turned flat and harsh as he said, “I can’t trust you.”
Desiree twisted around so that she was facing him, her body taut with anger. “I don’t work for Falk. I told him I wouldn’t do anything else for him. And I didn’t lie to you. I never told you I didn’t break in or that it wasn’t a job for Falk. You didn’t ask. You’re the one who was sneaking around, following me, spying on me, putting on that pretense at the club. All I want is the truth. How can you be so positive I’m lying? So sure that I’m untrustworthy? You don’t know me.”
“I do know you.” Tom’s voice was low and fierce. “I know you right down to the bone. Because you’re the same as me. You grew up just like I did in that same hellhole of lies, thievery and deceit. I picked pockets for Falk just like all the ones who did it while you distracted the marks with flips and cartwheels. I stole and I lied and I did whatever it took to survive to live another day, and so did you. That’s who we are. That’s how I know I can’t trust you.”
They gazed at each other for a moment in a charged silence, then Tom turned his head sharply away, appalled at the way he’d lashed out at her and embarrassed by how much of himself he had revealed. “Stop the carriage. This is impossible.”
He reached for the door handle, but Desiree clamped her hand down on his arm, stopping him. He turned to her. He was faintly relieved to see that it wasn’t hurt that shone in her eyes, but fury.
“I don’t care what you think of me.” Her fingers dug into his arm. “All I care about is finding out who my father is. If you won’t help me to do that, then I have no choice but to ask the Morelands about him.”
Any regret Tom had had over the harshness of his answer vanished. “So you’re adding extortion to your array of skills?”
“Call it whatever you want.” Desiree’s hand fell away, and she sat back, folding her arms. “I will do whatever it takes to get my answers.”
&nb
sp; Tom wanted to storm at her, to tell her that he would make sure she couldn’t talk to the Morelands. But he’d spoken the truth when he said he did what it took to survive. And surviving this thing meant maintaining control over the search. And over himself. He had let emotion rule him too much already. He needed to be coldly practical.
The fact was he couldn’t keep her from talking to one of the Morelands. There were a lot of them, and they were a freewheeling group. The only thing he could do was warn the butlers, but he couldn’t possibly stop Desiree from approaching one of the Morelands outside the house, and he couldn’t imagine any of them haughtily refusing to talk to a stranger. And if Tom warned the Morelands about her, he would himself be bringing them into the thing.
On the other hand, if he was working with her, Tom could exercise some control over what she did. At the very least, he’d know what she was doing. She was right in saying she would be able to provide him an entrée to people who wouldn’t say anything to him otherwise. She knew the background, the people involved. Yes, no doubt she would lead him to people who would answer the way she wanted them to, but at least he would be able to question them and perhaps worm some real answers out of them, as well. Desiree could plant evidence, of course, but she could do that anyway, and this way he could keep a close eye on her.
“Very well.” Tom leaned back. “Then let’s use one of your ‘assets’ now. I want to talk to your brother.”
“Brock? I already asked him, and he didn’t remember much.”
“I want to talk to him myself.”
“Of course.” Her eyes twinkled unexpectedly. “He may not be too eager to talk to you, given your last conversation with him, but I’ll ask him when he could see you.”
“No. I want to see him now.” He wasn’t about to give the two of them time to plan Brock’s answers. No doubt they had a story in place, but the man might slip up somewhere if Tom caught him unawares.
“Then we’ll talk to him now,” Desiree replied. “I imagine he’s already gone to his office.”
Tom felt somewhat disgruntled by her acquiescence. He would have liked to have something to continue to argue about. It might have eased his disgust at having been outmaneuvered by Desiree once more. Yes, it was more practical for him to work with her. But it still felt like a defeat.