His Improper Lady--A Historical Romance

by Candace Camp

  “Excellent. We need to walk a large square all around this place, looking for a white stone row.” Tom paused and glanced around, then turned and started back the way they had come. “Let’s begin a couple of streets up.”

  “How shall we do it? Divide it into quadrants?” Desiree asked.

  “Yes, that’s good.”

  Tom saw a man in the next block striding toward them, but the man suddenly stopped, then whipped around and began to walk the other way. Just as Desiree and Tom were doing.

  They were being followed.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “LET’S TURN RIGHT HERE,” Tom said when they reached the first cross street.

  “Why? I thought you wanted to go to the next one,” Desiree said, but she matched her movements to his.

  “I did. But I’m running a test on someone I saw.”

  “A test?” She was silent for a moment, then said, “You think someone is following us?” Clearly, her mind ran along the same lines as his.

  “That’s what I’d like to find out. It might have been pure chance.” Tom slowed his steps a bit.

  “I’m not a great believer in chance,” Desiree responded. She took his arm and looked up at him, smiling as if they were in pleasant conversation. It was nice to have someone who quickly understood and fell in well with his pretense. It was also a trifle disturbing that she took so easily to the nefarious and the deceptive.

  “Neither am I,” Tom responded and turned his face toward hers, glancing behind them. “Blast. If he followed us, he’s too far back for me to see him without being obvious.”

  “Look. I see a square ahead. There are probably benches where we could sit.”

  “And see who turns up?” Once again, her thoughts meshed with his. “Would you care to rest for a while?”

  “That sounds like an excellent idea.”

  They continued to stroll along. Desiree was much closer to him now that she had taken his arm, her body almost but not quite touching him. Her posture had changed, subtly turning in toward him and becoming somehow more pliant.

  “You’re damnably good at this.”

  She laughed, looking up at him in a way that probably appeared flirtatious, but Tom clearly saw the mischief dancing in her eyes. “Well, after all, it’s best to seem innocent when one is scouting a place before a job.” When he made no reply, she squeezed his arm. “Come, Mr. Quick, have you really grown so sanctimonious you’ve forgotten your past?”

  “Of course I remember it. I know exactly what I did. It’s helpful in my line of work to be able to think like a criminal.” Tom knew he sounded like a terrible prig. He gave in, and the corner of his mouth twitched up. “And before you ask, yes, sometimes it was fun.”

  Desiree’s smile was pleased rather than gloating. “There’s good and bad in all of us, isn’t there?”

  “Some of us are better than others, however.”

  “Your beloved Morelands?” Her voice hardened. “They, I take it, are saints.”

  “Of course not. But they’re good people. You’d understand if you knew them.”

  “I’d like to know them,” Desiree pointed out.

  They had reached the benches in the square, and they sat down, Tom angling toward her. Not looking at her but keeping his eyes trained on the street behind them, he said, “The Morelands are the closest thing I have to a family.”

  “You really don’t have any family?”

  “No. You have the better of me...at least you knew your mother.” Tom meant to say it lightly, but somehow the words didn’t come out that way. He shrugged. The last thing he wanted was pity. “The Morelands saved me. Reed plucked me out of that life and put me in an orphanage the duchess founded, where they fed us and educated us. And when Falk snatched me back a year later, Reed came and got me and thrashed Falk in the bargain.”

  Desiree stiffened, her eyes widening, and stared at him for a long moment. “Oh, my God! You’re the Apple Boy.”

  “The what?”

  “Brock said he remembered you, and I thought I didn’t. But I do. I was little, but I remember this—once Falk had a boy tied to something.”

  Tom stared at her, astonished. “It was that great, heavy table.”

  “And I knew he was hungry, so I gave him the apple I’d swiped off the vendor’s cart when Falk wasn’t looking.”

  “I remember.” And he did. “You had blond curls, and I thought you looked like an angel.”

  Desiree laughed. “Looks can be deceiving.”

  “I didn’t recognize you when I saw you again.”

  She shrugged. “I was only four or so. My hair darkened as I grew older, and unfortunately most of the curl left, too.”

  Tom had not, would not, ever forget that moment. He had never been closer to despair—taken from the comfort and security of the orphanage, without any idea that anyone would come to rescue him. He’d been viciously hungry, made all the worse by being tied to the table where others were eating. Then the little girl had come up and gazed into his face for a long moment. She’d reached into her pocket and, after a quick glance around, slipped the apple into Tom’s bound hands.

  “You turned back around and stood so that you blocked me from sight,” he said.

  “There wouldn’t have been any point in giving it to you if the others could see you eat it. They’d have grabbed it in a second. I knew to keep my extras for when I got home.”

  “Home? That was before you lived with Falk?” Tom grabbed the diversion. He felt such a strange mix of emotions; he had to shove it aside. He’d think about it later, when he was alone. When she wasn’t watching him with that same unwavering gaze.

  “Yes. We were still with Bruna and Sid then. We only worked for Falk when our act didn’t have a job.” She paused, then said, “We got one after that, so I wasn’t there for a while. Then I never saw you again. Is that when you ran away?”

  “That was the second time I left Falk. The first time, I tried to hook Reed Moreland’s watch—that’s one of the duke’s sons—and he caught me.”

  Desiree drew in her breath sharply, and Tom saw in her eyes the knowledge of what happened to those who were caught.

  He shook his head. “He didn’t call a peeler on me. He took me back to their house and gave me food and clothes, made me take a bath. I thought he was right barmy. And he talked to me. I didn’t know what to think. I was scared and cynical and mouthy. I knew there must be some trick in it. I thought maybe he was one of those men that would pay Falk for a boy, you know, but I wasn’t pretty enough for that.”

  Beside him, Desiree shivered. “Yes, some of them wanted Wells. Me, too, sometimes. But we were too valuable to Falk for him to do it.”

  “That’s good.”

  “So what happened with this Moreland man?”

  “He took me to an orphanage, one his mother funded. I learned to read, and I had three good meals a day and milk and biscuits before bed.” Tom smiled faintly, remembering his astonishment. “At first I’d steal a roll or two at dinner to hide away for later. Finally I realized I didn’t need to. I got to like it there. The food and the beds. And the books...the books were grand. But I did hate the rules.”

  Desiree chuckled. “Of course.”

  “I’d sneak out sometimes. Maybe I was testing them, seeing if they’d catch me. Or keeping my hand in, just in case it all went away. I’d steal a wallet or grab something from a food vendor and run. I always liked the running. Getting away. Outwitting someone.” He looked at her. “You understand.”

  “Yes.” Desiree smiled. “I do.”

  “Anyway, one day I went too far away from the orphanage, and one of Falk’s men saw me and nabbed me. That’s the time that you gave me the apple.” He looked down, picking at a loose thread on his jacket. “I thought I was done. But then Reed showed up. The people at the orphanage told him I’d left a
nd he tracked me down. I couldn’t believe it. Reed took Falk down, beat the hell out of him. And he hauled me back to the orphanage. I got smart enough after that to stop sneaking out.”

  “That’s why you’re so beholden to the Morelands.”

  “It’s not just that. They—blast! I forgot what I was doing. Bloody, blinkin’ hell.” Tom looked up, his gaze roaming up and down the street. “There he is.” He relaxed. What was wrong with him? Telling Desiree all that. Paying no attention to his surroundings.

  “Where?” Desiree asked.

  “Turn to look across the street. Toward that yellowish stone house. He’s standing on the corner, looking uncomfortable.” She did as he suggested, and Tom asked, “Do you know him?”

  “No. Why would I know him? Oh.” Her gaze cleared. “You think it’s just me he’s interested in. That maybe he was the one in the carriage last night.”

  “It would certainly be a possibility. But, actually, I was thinking he might work for your brother.”

  “Brock?” Her voice slid upward in disbelief.

  Tom shrugged. “Protective older brother who’s concerned about his sister traipsing around town alone with a man. Especially after someone was lurking outside their house last night.”

  Desiree tilted her head. “I suppose that would make some sense, though he’d know I’d be mad as a wet cat if he interfered. Brock is a bit protective. But I don’t see how it’s possible. I didn’t tell him about that carriage last night. I haven’t even seen him this morning. He left the house early. And how would he know I went for a stroll with you? I didn’t know it myself until you showed up this morning.”

  “Wells could have let him know.”

  “He got word to Brock and Brock sent a man after us in time to follow us?”

  “Wells knew in general where we were going. We mentioned Upper Chelsea. But you’re right...it does seem unlikely. What about Wells? He was the one issuing a warning to me.”

  “It wasn’t Wells. He wouldn’t have sent someone—he’d have done it himself. And we wouldn’t have spotted Wells. He’s very good at being inconspicuous.”

  “Which leaves us with Falk as our main suspect.”

  “Why Falk? I mean, he’s certainly capable of it, but why would he want to follow us?”

  “Because he’s involved with all this. He’s been involved from the first. He hired you to steal something from the office.”

  “But that had nothing to do with my father or me,” she protested. “He wanted me to find some envelope, that’s all.”

  “An envelope?” Tom repeated skeptically.

  “Yes, an envelope,” she replied in an exasperated voice. “Why would I lie to you about that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “So just on general principle, you assume I’m lying.”

  “No.” Tom looked at her, torn. He wanted to believe her. Her generous gift to him as a child warmed him in a way he couldn’t describe. But a kind gesture from a child didn’t prove that she was innocent now. “But it doesn’t make sense. I have no idea how Falk fits into it.”

  “Because he doesn’t,” she said with some exasperation. “Falk wanted me to do the job for him, and he knew I wouldn’t work with him unless he offered something really important. So he promised he would tell me who my father was if I took this envelope from your office.”

  “Why would he know who your father was?”

  Desiree shrugged. “I’ve no idea. But I felt he was telling me the truth.”

  “Because of your ability to detect a lie.”

  “Because I can pick up on certain signals,” Desiree corrected. “I saw no indication Falk was lying. What I sensed was a sort of glee, really, as if he wanted me to find out who my father was. There was this evil glint in his eye. Though I’m not sure why he would care.”

  “He’d always be happy to do something against the Morelands. He hates them—or at least he hates Reed. When he took me back, Reed humiliated Falk in front of his people, and Falk’s not the sort to forget that.”

  “There is a certain...irony, I suppose, in having me search the Moreland office, knowing who my father was. That’s the sort of twist of the knife that Falk enjoys.”

  “What envelope did he want?”

  “Falk said it was a large envelope sent by an attorney named Blackstock. He didn’t say who it was addressed to. I’m not sure he even knew that. He was rather vague about the whole thing. He thought it would be a large envelope or perhaps even a file. And it would be at your office.”

  “It still makes no sense.” Tom sighed and stood up. “But we’d probably better continue or our friend will grow suspicious.”

  He politely reached down a hand to help her up. There was no reason to, of course—it was obvious the woman was anything but weak—but Tom couldn’t resist the chance to touch her.

  Desiree took it, saying, “Are we going to lose our spy?”

  “I think I’d rather keep him,” Tom said, and they started across the square.

  Desiree nodded. “I agree. What’s he going to learn from tramping all over the place after us?” She sent Tom that twinkling grin that did peculiar things to his insides. “And I wouldn’t mind making him a little footsore.”

  “I’d rather not let him know we’re onto him, at least not yet.” Tom was silent for a moment, then said, “What if Falk thinks you have what he wanted you to find? That you lied to him about not finding it. And he’s trying to get it back?”

  “That’s a possibility,” Desiree agreed after a moment of thought. “He might think I had realized its value, whatever that is, and decided to keep it for myself.”

  “Did you?”

  “No! I don’t understand why you are so convinced I’m a cheat.” Her eyes lit with anger; it was annoying that it made her even more attractive. “It isn’t as if your past is spotless. I would think you could understand that a person might give up that life. Or that they can have a sense of honor even though they’ve broken the law.”

  “I’m suspicious by nature,” Tom said. “And experience. I learned early on that it’s the best way to get by.”

  “So you trust no one? You must have very few friends.”

  “Of course I have friends,” Tom protested. As soon as he said it, he wondered if that was true. He had dozens of acquaintances. But were they really what one would call friends? There were Alex and Con, of course. They were close; he’d known them since they were children. He’d trust them with his life, and they knew he’d have their backs. But they weren’t mates that one raised a pint or two with at the pub. They weren’t the sort of friends you told your secrets to. Nobody was. Tom kept his secrets to himself.

  They continued to walk, dissecting the area as they had planned, searching for the house they wanted. They came across a church—two, in fact—as well as trains and even a small triangular piece of grass that could perhaps be called a park. But there was no sign of a row of white stone houses such as Brock had described. After completing the outer square, they crisscrossed the inside of it.

  “I think we’re going to have to accept that this area is not the one we want,” Desiree said. “Why don’t we return to the house for tea and start again tomorrow?”

  Tom agreed, and they started back. After a few minutes, Tom said, “Could you drop your handkerchief?”

  “What?”

  “Or glove or anything. I want an excuse to look for our pursuer.”

  “Of course.” Desiree let go of the handle of her parasol, and it fell to the ground behind her, tumbling down the road. Tom went chasing after it, and Desiree stopped and turned to watch him, her eyes scanning the street.

  Tom grabbed the parasol and came back to her, grinning. Desiree was as clever as they came; the bouncing, rolling parasol had given him ample opportunity to unobtrusively scour the street. She stood there waiting for him in
a perfect pose of fluttery feminine distress, leavened with just the right touch of flirtation. She looked utterly charming, and no doubt she had scouted for their pursuer, as well. Even knowing it was all an act, Tom wanted to pull her to him and kiss her.

  Which was not at all the way to be thinking.

  “Did you see him?” he asked as he handed her the parasol.

  “Across the street, about fifty feet back?”

  Tom nodded, and they started forward, still at a casual stroll. He considered the route back to the Malone house, searching his memory for just the right spot for the plan brewing in his head. At the next intersection they would turn right, and just beyond that intersection there lay a church with a small courtyard, partially separated from the street by the remains of an old wall.

  They turned the corner. The church wall was beside them, as he had remembered. Tom cast a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure their pursuer was still out of sight around the corner. Then he snaked his arm around Desiree’s waist and whisked her into the church courtyard.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “TOM! WHAT—” Desiree said as Tom pulled her behind the old stone wall, out of view of the street.

  He raised a finger to his lips, and Desiree went still. They waited in a silence broken only by the sound of their breathing. His arm was still around her, her body almost flush against his, as he turned his head, watching the sidewalk beyond the wall.

  It occurred to Desiree that this was the third time she had been in Tom’s arms, and none had been a romantic embrace. The other times Desiree’s thoughts had been on nothing but escape, but here and now she was supremely aware of Tom’s body against hers—his heat, his strength, the sound of his breath in her ear. And she felt no desire to leave. Swallowing, Desiree reminded herself that there were more important matters to deal with.

  After a moment, the man who had been following them walked past their spot and stopped, looking up and down the street in confusion. Tom released Desiree and jumped out to grab the man’s arm and yank him back into the courtyard with them. The man let out a grunt of surprise and swung at Tom. Desiree moved closer, her parasol at the ready, but her help wasn’t necessary. Tom neatly sidestepped the man and grabbed his arm, twisting it up behind his back. He slammed his opponent into the wall.