His Improper Lady--A Historical Romance

by Candace Camp

  “Yes, I’ll go, too.” It warmed him to think she wanted him there, that perhaps she needed him. “But you’ll like Sabrina and Lilah. They’re very easy to be around—well, they’re married to Alex and Con, so they’d have to be.”

  “I liked Alex and Con.”

  “Most people do. Bit harder, I imagine, to live with them.” Tom grinned.

  They continued to chat lightly through the meal, then drove to the area in Pimlico that Alex had circled. The driver let them down at the small triangular park. Tom cast a careful eye all around them to check for anyone following them. Reassured they were alone, they began to stroll, moving away from the park in a methodical path.

  It was an hour later that they turned a corner and Desiree grabbed Tom’s arm. “Look!”

  “I see it.” His gaze was focused on the next block and a row of white stone houses. They started forward in a rapid walk.

  When they reached the row, they paused, looking all around them. The scene was just as Brock had described: a row of white stone terraced houses on one side of the street and across from it another row of terraced houses in differing materials and styles. They moved farther down the street, hardly daring to believe what they saw, and stopped in front of a door with a number five in gold above it.

  “This is it.” Desiree’s voice was barely above a whisper. “We found it.”

  “Do you know that—I mean, does your talent tell you that?”

  “I’m not sure. Sometimes it’s difficult to separate what I think rationally from what my instinct tells me. Perhaps it’s both.” Desiree tilted her head and squinted. “Either way, it certainly fits Brock’s description.”

  “Yes. Let’s walk,” Tom said, starting forward again. “We don’t want to be too obvious.” As they strolled, he said, “You want to break in, don’t you?”

  “Of course. Don’t you? It’ll be dead easy—all we have to do is take the service steps down to the trade door, and then we’re hidden from sight while we break in.”

  “It’s still theft.”

  “It’s not theft. The things in the hiding place belong to my family,” Desiree argued.

  Tom couldn’t help but laugh. “Try telling that to a bobby.”

  “The bobbies don’t matter. We won’t get caught,” she tossed back. She bumped her shoulder against his arm lightly. “Come on. You know you want to see what’s hidden beside the mantel.”

  Tom grinned at her. “You’re right. Let’s walk back and take another look.”

  So it was that at one o’clock that night, Tom and Desiree stood in the same place, looking at the front of number five. There were no lights inside; the same was true of every house around them. It was a quiet street of early risers. A streetlamp cast its light directly in front of the house, but luckily they would only have to cross the short distance to the service steps down to the sublevel. Once down the stairs, they would be invisible to the street. The entrance stood in a pool of shadow at the base of the stairs.

  Tom looked over at Desiree. She wasn’t dressed in her thief’s costume, which he thought a pity, but in the same simple dark dress she had worn the night Tom had followed her. “Ready?”

  She nodded, and they slipped quietly from the shadows to the almost hidden staircase. Desiree carried the lantern, which was shielded into darkness, and when they reached the bottom of the stairs, she lifted the shield a narrow slit and held it over the lock. Tom pulled out his picks and inserted them. She immediately lowered the cover. The rest of the job was more by feel than by sight.

  Tension built in Tom’s chest as he worked, a familiar mingling of excitement and fear. He smiled as he heard the telltale click, and he eased the door open. They were in the kitchen. There was enough light coming through the high windows that lay aboveground for them to make out the general bulk of objects around the room and make their way into the servants’ hall.

  Here was where the most danger of discovery lay, where the servants lived and might be awakened. Desiree stopped and expanded her awareness, focusing on the possibility of danger. No dart of alarm arrowed through her chest; there was only a sense of emptiness.

  Desiree opened the lantern a sliver, and they crept down the dark hallway and up the narrow servants’ stairs to the floor above. This should be the safest area, with the owners’ bedrooms on the floors above. It was a narrow house and thus easy to find the front parlor.

  As they started across the hall beside the main staircase, there was the sound of a cough from the floor above. Desiree and Tom stopped and melted back into the shadows beneath the staircase. Desiree immediately covered the lantern, holding it behind her skirts. They stood in complete silence for several long minutes, but there was no further sound from upstairs and no light appeared.

  They slipped out and crossed to the parlor, casting a wary glance up at the stairs. Inside the parlor, they didn’t close the door behind them—the squeak of the cabinet door that had awakened Tom fresh in their minds—but went immediately to the fireplace.

  The fireplace was set into bricks, as Brock had described, confirming their theory that this was indeed the house he remembered. Setting down the lantern at their feet, they began a swift search of the bricks to the left of the fireplace, tugging and pushing to no avail. They turned to look at each other. Desiree frowned in consternation.

  “What if someone who lived here later sealed it up?” Desiree whispered.

  Tom thought it was better not to suggest that it had never been here and Brock was mistaken, or they were in the wrong house. Instead, he pointed to the other side of the fireplace. “Maybe he didn’t remember correctly. It’s been almost thirty years.”

  They moved to the other side of the fireplace. Desiree took the strip beside the hearth and Tom concentrated on the higher areas that she could not reach. Nothing moved. As Desiree turned away, Tom shifted aside, bracing his hand against the mantel. There was, he realized, a small circle of wood that protruded a little on the underside of the mantel. He brushed his thumb over it, following the contour, then, acting on instinct, he pressed it. The circle of wood went up into the mantel, and on the other side of the fireplace there was a scraping sound, brick against brick.

  Desiree whirled and hurried toward to the opposite side. There, two joined bricks now stuck out an inch from the others. Even in the dim light, Tom could see the gleam in Desiree’s eyes, and his own breath came faster. Desiree pulled out the set of bricks and handed it to Tom before raising the lantern to peer into the hole that had been revealed.

  Her hand trembled as she reached in and pulled out a rectangular wooden box.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  DESIREE’S HEART THUDDED wildly in her chest. She’d hoped, but she hadn’t dared to really believe they would find anything. She clutched the box in both hands, emotions whirling through her, paralyzing her in an uncharacteristic way.

  Tom slid the brick back in place and picked up the lantern, then took her arm and started toward the door. Desiree went with him, happy to let him take the lead. Tom peered out the long, narrow window beside the door, looking up and down the street, then quietly unlocked the door and opened it. He followed Desiree out, easing the door closed behind him.

  Desiree had recovered her senses enough that she was already hurrying down the steps. It had made sense for Tom to choose to go out the front door even though they would be in the light of the streetlamp for a moment; that bit of exposure to an empty street was less dangerous than traveling back down through the servants’ hall, where someone might wake up and see them. But it was prudent to move out of the circle of lamplight as quickly as she could.

  Tom was right on her heels, both of them stopping to cast a look all around after they stepped beyond the light. Desiree had a vague sense of uneasiness, but she could see no movement on the street in either direction. She was just jumpy from the storm of excitement, hope and fear that the sight of th
e box had engendered in her.

  They started up the street. Desiree clutched the box tightly to her chest, her arms wrapped around it as if it were a baby. Neither of them spoke as they crossed the road and turned right onto Sussex Street. They were moving in the direction of Victoria Station, where they were more likely to find a cab even at this time of night. They crossed George Road, as darkly silent as the other streets they passed.

  Suddenly a shock of alarm ran through Desiree, a dark tangle of tension knotting her stomach. She whirled around, just as a dark shape hurtled out of the night, straight at her. Tom jumped to the side, pulling her with him, but the man grabbed the box from Desiree’s grasp and charged past them down the street.

  “No!” Desiree shrieked and ran after him, but Tom quickly passed her, gaining on the man. His quarry threw an anxious glance behind him and turned toward Warwick Square. Tom ran across the street at an angle that cut off more of the man’s lead, recklessly ignoring the carriage rolling toward him. He caught the thief as he reached Warwick Square, leaping forward to take him down to the ground. The box flew out of the man’s hand and skidded into the street.

  As the two men grappled on the ground, Desiree ran for the box. It didn’t break as it tumbled across the pavement, and she grabbed it up, coming back to Tom, who had hauled the other man to his feet.

  “Who are you?” Tom shook him. “Who sent you?”

  “Let go of me.” The man wobbled but said defiantly, “I don’t have to tell you nothing.”

  “You bloody well will.” Tom drew back his fist, but Desiree laid a hand on his arm, stopping him.

  “There’s no need,” she said. “I recognize him. He’s one of Falk’s men. I saw him there the other day.” She turned to him. “Tell Falk I don’t have his blasted envelope. I didn’t find it. This isn’t an envelope!” Desiree held up the box, shaking it. “I’m not looking for the envelope. I have no idea where it is, and I don’t care. Falk is wasting his time having you follow us around.”

  The other man sneered, jerking out of Tom’s hold, which had relaxed. Tom grabbed him by the lapels and pulled him forward, his voice cold and hard. “Stay away from us. I’m letting you go now so you can give Falk Miss Malone’s message. But if I catch sight of you anywhere near her, I promise you, you won’t be walking again anytime soon.” He shoved him back. “Now get out of here. Tell Falk that if he doesn’t stop, it’s him I’ll be coming after.”

  The man backed up sullenly, wiping the blood from his nose. “Big talk.”

  Tom’s eyes lit up and he started forward. Falk’s man turned and ran. Tom muttered an oath and turned back to Desiree. “Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine. I didn’t fall. I’m afraid the box isn’t in as good a condition.” She ran a finger ruefully over the scratch. “But at least it didn’t break.”

  The rest of their walk was without incident, and they managed to hail a hackney when they reached Vauxhall Bridge Road. “At least we know now who was having us followed,” Tom said as they settled into their seats. “Obviously this chap was better than the one the other day. I didn’t spot him—which is something of a blow to my pride, even if he was a professional.”

  “I didn’t see him, either. He’s no brighter than the other man if he mistook this for an envelope.” Desiree once again cradled the box against her chest. “But...what about the cuff links you took off the other man? The ones that said Pax?”

  Tom shrugged. “I’ve no idea. Nothing about this case makes sense. If Pax is one of Falk’s men, I can’t see how it could be the gentleman Brock remembers being a friend of your father’s.”

  “He was clumsy, though, as one would expect a gentleman to be,” Desiree replied.

  “True. It seems bizarre, but I’m beginning to wonder if we might have two different sets of people following us—this Pax person, who was obvious, and Falk’s man, who was skillful.”

  “That would require a good deal of coincidence,” Desiree pointed out. “Falk looking for this envelope and this other fellow, Pax, looking for...what?”

  “It wouldn’t be such a coincidence if they both want whatever’s in this envelope. Maybe the envelope has to do with your past. With your father.”

  She looked at him doubtfully. “Such as?”

  “Such as...” He thought for a moment. “Proof of some sort that you’re Alistair Moreland’s daughter?”

  “Why would Pax care about my parentage? Or Falk, either, for that matter?”

  “What if this lawyer chap found out about you and he wants to extort money from the Morelands?”

  “And Falk found that out and is trying to do the same thing?” Desiree straightened. “Now, that would make sense. Let’s say that Blackstock discovered our parentage, so he sent proof to the Morelands, and whatever it was, Falk found out, as well. Falk wants this letter so he can be the one to swindle the Morelands. But what about Pax?”

  “He found out, too.”

  “I must say, this doesn’t seem a very well-kept secret,” Desiree said. “But let’s say that’s so. Why would Pax want the letter? He’s a gentleman, not a crook. And Alistair was his friend.”

  “I have to point out that a gentleman can be every bit as much a crook as a lawyer or a kidsman. However, let’s say our Pax is the loyal friend and gentleman. Maybe he wants to get this proof so that he can destroy it and save his friend’s reputation.”

  Excitement fizzed in Desiree’s chest. “Falk could have learned my father’s identity from servants’ gossip. He buys information as well as stolen jewelry from servants. It’s invaluable for breaking into people’s houses. This Blackstock fellow or maybe Pax let it slip in front of his valet or maid or whoever, and they sold it to Falk.”

  “Falk would notice anything that had to do with the Morelands. He’d be glad to do them a disservice. Especially if it would bring you back to the fold.”

  Desiree gazed at him intently. “I wouldn’t have done anything to hurt the Morelands. Even before I met them.”

  “I know.”

  Warmth spread through Desiree’s chest at his belief in her. She smoothed her hands over the wood. “I wonder what’s inside.”

  “Open it and see.”

  She shook her head. “It’s locked. We’ll have to break it.” She sighed. “I hate to damage it, but I suppose it doesn’t matter with that scratch already there.”

  Tom picked it up and studied the tiny keyhole. “I can probably pick it with a hairpin. This is the sort of box the Greats were always wanting to open. Diaries and keepsake boxes.”

  “Of their sisters, no doubt. And you helped them!”

  Tom cast her a grin. “You should try withstanding their pestering. Besides, they didn’t really care what was inside—they just wanted to figure out how it worked. In my defense, I’m only a few years older than them.”

  “How many years?”

  Tom shrugged. “I don’t know. No idea when I was born.”

  Desiree put her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right. Just a fact of life. I don’t know anything before I was at Falk’s. I don’t even know when I wound up with him.”

  Desiree’s chest ached for him. No wonder Tom was a suspicious man. Growing up in Falk’s world without anyone to call your own would make you raise impenetrable barriers. “Have you ever tried to find out? I could help you.”

  “I wouldn’t know where to start. Falk tried to bribe me with information about my mother when he wanted me to steal from the Morelands, but I’m not going to do anything for him, and there’s no way he’d tell me something for free. Besides, I wouldn’t trust anything he said. He could just pluck a name out of the air, and I wouldn’t know any different.”

  Desiree wanted to say something to make it better, but she could think of nothing.

  Tom smiled at her and reached over to take her chin between his thumb and f
orefinger. “Don’t look so sad.” Tom leaned in and kissed her lips softly. He lifted his head, gazing into her eyes, and for a moment she thought that he would kiss her again. Everything in her rose in anticipation. But then he sighed and sat back, his hand dropping from her chin. “I’m my own man—no one to curse and no one to thank.”

  It seemed a lonely way to live. No one else might own you, but you didn’t belong to anyone, either. She wondered if Tom truly believed it or if he was trying to convince himself.

  The carriage pulled up in front of the Moreland & Quick office building, and the conversation ended. Tom unlocked the building and ushered her inside, turning up the gaslights. As they climbed the stairs, he said, “I could use a cup of tea. Or something stronger. Would you like some?”

  “Please.” Alcohol was something Desiree had never had much of a taste for; she remembered too well the gin-soaked, vacant-eyed women of the rookeries, escaping their hellish lives in a bottle of blue ruin. But her nerves were jittering about so tonight that she thought it might be wise to calm them a little.

  Tom nodded and started up the next flight of stairs. When he opened the door upstairs, though, he halted and looked at her in some uncertainty. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—this is my flat. Perhaps you wouldn’t want to be—that is, I could bring it down to the office if you’d rather.”

  Desiree cast him a teasing smile and walked past him into the room. “Are you planning to ravish me, Mr. Quick?”

  “Of course not.” The light he turned on showed the tinge of pink along his cheekbones.

  “Then I see no problem. Don’t worry. I’m not the sort of woman who has to maintain a spotless reputation.”

  As Tom walked over to a small cabinet and pulled out a bottle, Desiree surveyed the room. It was tidy and rather Spartan in appearance, which didn’t surprise Desiree. The only thing except the most necessary of furniture was an overflowing bookcase. Books were stacked on the floor in front of it, and another pile stood beside a comfortable-looking chair with a standing lamp next to it.