by Candace Camp
“I don’t remember ever feeling that way when I was a child,” Tom said honestly. “Certainly not before Reed helped me. When Falk had grabbed me back that time, I never had the hope that anyone would rescue me from him. It was a miracle that it had happened once, and truthfully, I had been expecting it to be taken away from me the whole time I was with the Morelands.”
“But then Reed came for you.”
“Yeah. After that, I hoped, I half believed Reed would help me, but it was years before I really trusted it.” He glanced at her, suddenly embarrassed. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
“Because you know you can.” She studied him for a moment. “What about you? Do you wish you’d lived a different life?”
“I don’t know. I have trouble imagining anything else. But no, I don’t think so. I wouldn’t be who I am now, have what I have now, if my life had been different. I’ve wished I’d known my mother. But who’s to say it wouldn’t have been worse to have grown up with her? When you don’t know who or what you are, when you don’t have a place in life, you can be whatever you want. It’s freeing.”
“What is it that you want?”
“Oh...” Tom shrugged, aware of the familiar tug of discomfort, the desire to wrap a protective silence around himself. He thought of what Desiree had said about Gregory—he was insulated. He said, “Pretty much what everyone wants, I suppose. A place of my own.” His voice came out almost fiercely on the last words, and he added, unable to hold it back, “Something that belongs to me. Somewhere I belong.” He glanced away, then leaned forward and gave their driver an address.
“Where are we going?” Desiree asked.
“You’ll see.” Tom felt a flush rising up his neck. Why had he done that? But he would look even more foolish to tell Merriwell he’d changed his mind.
They drove back to Marylebone, and the carriage rolled to a stop on a quiet street.
“Where are we? Whose house is this?” Desiree leaned across to look out Tom’s window. She was so close he could see each eyelash and the vein that beat in her throat. Her perfume wrapped around him, as intoxicating as it had been the night he met her.
“It’s no one’s,” he replied, his voice gravelly. He cleared his throat. “It’s for sale.”
“Are you thinking of buying it?” Desiree turned her head to him, eyes bright with interest. She reached for the door handle. “Let’s look at it properly.”
“That’s not necessary,” Tom began, but Desiree was already opening the door and scrambling out. There was nothing he could do but follow her.
“It’s charming.” Desiree studied the narrow gray house, walking up and down in front of it. It was a modest home, set in a row of modest homes, but its red shutters and door set it apart, and it looked very cozy and snug. She turned to him. “Do you plan to buy it?”
Tom shook his head. Looking up at the house, the yearning he’d felt for it from the first rose in him again, but he did his best to keep his voice flat and pragmatic. “No. I haven’t enough money for it yet. It’s been tied up in probate court for a few months, but that won’t last forever. It’ll be at least two more years before I can afford it.” He shrugged. “But this is the sort of place I’d like to have one day.”
Desiree turned to gaze at him instead of the house. “You really want this one, though, don’t you?”
He should have remembered Desiree’s perceptiveness. Of course she would sense just how deep his longing for the house went. “It appeals to me, yes, but there will be others I could like just as much.”
“Couldn’t you borrow money from one of the Morelands? I’m sure they’d be happy to help you.”
“No.” He almost barked the word at her. He drew a breath. “Sorry. But I won’t ask the Morelands for anything. They’ve already given me too much. Con handed over half the agency to me and he wouldn’t take anything in return. Said I’d earned it working there so long. I’m sure they’d be the same way about a loan. I won’t take advantage of them.”
“Of course. I should have realized.” Desiree took a last look. “It’s a lovely house.”
She was right. It was a lovely house. And Tom would have it one day. It seemed even more important now.
* * *
BROCK STILL REFUSED to attend the Morelands’ dinner party. Desiree told him that Mr. Paxton had confirmed that Alistair Moreland was their father, but Brock merely growled, “He’s not mine.”
So it was only Wells and Desiree who arrived at Broughton House the following evening. Desiree’s chest tightened with anxiety; however nice the Morelands she had met had been, she was afraid that there were some who would come only to find fault in the Malones. Wells, of course, seemed completely unaffected by nerves.
The butler ushered them into a large anteroom adjacent to the formal dining room. Despite the room’s size, it seemed to be filled with people and noise. Desiree and Wells halted; she thought even Wells was a bit taken aback. Lilah turned and saw them and started toward them, smiling, and Desiree relaxed.
“Welcome to the family.” Lilah reached out to take Desiree’s hand. “Tom told us about your meeting with Mr. Paxton.”
“Not really a surprise,” Con added, coming up behind her. “I was sure you were a Moreland after talking to you the other day.”
They exchanged polite greetings with Wells, and Lilah said, “Allow me to introduce you to everyone. I’m sorry it’s such a madhouse. That’s the children. Nurse will take them upstairs in a few minutes. But they were terribly eager to meet you.”
Looking at the group again, Desiree could see that much of the noise came from a large number of children who seemed in perpetual motion. Seeing Desiree and Wells, the children converged on the pair, chattering eagerly. There was a dizzying array of them in all sizes, shapes and hair colors. There was even another set of twins, an adolescent boy and girl whom Con introduced as the Littles.
Desiree and her brother were pelted with questions from all sides. One young boy pulled a small green snake out of his pocket to show them, which set off a few shrieks as well as a cry or two of delight and caused the tallest girl to exclaim, “Jason, you didn’t! Papa told you not to bring Pierpont.”
Con swooped in to resolve the matter of the snake by handing it over to a resigned-looking footman, and a few minutes later, a middle-aged woman herded the children away. The volume in the room lowered dramatically, and Lilah began to make a circuit of the room, introducing the Malones to the adults of the family.
There were three of the duke’s and duchess’s brood whom Desiree had not met the other day, along with their spouses. Kyria was a tall, attractive redhead who greatly resembled the duchess, and her husband, Rafe, was an American with a lazy drawl and a great deal of charm.
“I hope my boy didn’t frighten you with that little snake,” he told Desiree, his bright blue eyes twinkling.
“I’m sure Emily took care of it,” his wife added with some amusement. “She regards herself as the general of the group. What I want to know is, are you really going to teach Sabrina and Lilah acrobatics? I do hope you’ll allow us older ones to join.”
Beside her, Rafe groaned. “That’s all I need—you learning cartwheels.”
“Of course you may join us,” Desiree replied, no longer surprised by the Morelands’ statements. “I’m not sure what everyone wants to do.”
“Thisbe.” Kyria raised her voice and gestured at an equally tall, slender woman with coal-black hair. A striking swath of silver swept back from one temple. “Come here and listen to this.”
Thisbe—some of the Morelands had the oddest names—joined them, followed by her husband, Desmond, a quiet, bespectacled man, and within moments, the youngest of the Moreland sisters, Olivia, and her husband, Stephen, entered the ever-widening circle.
There was little need to talk, for the Morelands swept the conversation along, and Desire
e was able to study the others. Olivia was the only one of the Moreland women who wasn’t tall, and her more subdued coloring and almost shy manner could lead one to assume she was more ordinary...until she began to talk about ghost hunting and the detective agency, which she had founded. Kyria was the most sparkling member of the family and the only one who seemed interested in clothes and parties. Thisbe was the most serious and was apt to embark on conversations about topics that only her husband understood.
But none of them were in the least aloof, and before supper even began, Desiree found herself not only adding all the women to the invitation to visit her studio but also agreeing to go shopping with Kyria and Sabrina, book hunting with Olivia and Lilah, and to attend a new exhibition at the British Museum with Thisbe.
As they talked, the men drifted away to form another group surrounding Wells. Desiree glanced over at him from time to time, but Wells was laughing with the others, so she decided he didn’t need rescuing. It was a good thing, for the duchess soon pulled Desiree away to introduce her to a number of other women who were sitting with Aunt Wilhemina and her daughter Susan. They all appeared to be aunts and cousins of varying degrees.
The groups ebbed and flowed throughout the evening, breaking up and re-forming, filled with conversation ranging from the latest gossip to Mesopotamia to something called the Arrhenius equation. It was during this latter conversation that someone touched her arm and said, “Excuse me, could I steal Miss Malone from you for a moment?”
“Tom!” Desiree turned to him in relief and nodded to the others, so deep in their conversation that they barely glanced over when she left. Desiree took Tom’s arm, whispering as they walked away, “Oh, thank you! They were talking about acids and bases and constants, and I hadn’t the slightest idea what they were saying.”
Tom chuckled. “That’s often the case with Thisbe and Desmond.”
“I haven’t seen you except across the room this evening,” Desiree said. “Even at supper, you were far away.”
“At least you were between Rafe and Stephen. I got stuck with Aunt Verity and her daughter-in-law, who have the distinction of being the only boring Morelands you can find...well, except for Cousin Albert.”
“I kept hoping you would join me.” The truth was Desiree had felt a trifle hurt that he had not.
“I didn’t want to take up any of your time with the Morelands. But when I saw your eyes glazing over, I decided you wouldn’t mind.”
“No. Frankly, my head was spinning even before science came into it. I’ll never remember half their names, and they must have talked about a hundred different things.”
“Want a moment of peace?” he asked and tilted his head toward the door. “Come, I’ll show you something.”
Intrigued, she left the room with him. As he led her through the house, Desiree asked, “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see. I don’t want to spoil it.” Tom went on, “I talked to Smeggars about Mrs. McGee when I arrived tonight.”
“The butler? Did he know Mrs. McGee?” Desiree asked hopefully.
“No, but he said he’d make inquiries. If anyone can locate her, it’s Smeggars. But it may take a day or two.” Tom opened a door at the back of the house. “Here we are.”
Desiree sucked in her breath as she stepped out onto a terrace. Before them lay the back of the Morelands’ property, a wide expanse of green, unexpectedly large in the crowded city. A high wall ran all around the outer boundary. There were a couple of small buildings to the left of the house, as well as a neatly tended herb garden. Clusters of flowers and trees were scattered around the yard, and lights glowed here and there, softly illuminating the grounds.
“It’s beautiful!” Desiree went to the low wall that marked the edge of the terrace and looked out. “It’s their own personal park.”
Tom took her hand and led her down the shallow steps to the lawn. They strolled beside the rose garden, the night heady with the flowers’ perfume. There seemed something magical to Desiree about this place, hushed and walled, a hidden Eden amid the rush and noise of the city.
When Tom stopped beneath one of the spreading trees and turned to her, it seemed only natural to go into his arms. Their lips met.
And the world around them fell away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
THEIR KISS WAS slow and sweet, savoring the moment. Hunger blossomed in Desiree, and she pressed against Tom, her kiss turning demanding. She felt his body tense and flare with heat, and his arms tightened around her.
Desiree slid her hands up his neck and into his hair, luxuriating in the feel of the silken strands sliding through her fingers. Everything in her was pounding, aching to have more of him. To feel more, taste more, do more. She trembled in her need, and in response Tom made a low noise in his throat and slid his hands down over her back, cupping and lifting her into him. Even through the barrier of their clothes, she knew the hard pressure of his flesh. Knew what it meant, knew what she wanted.
She moved her hips against him, sending desire soaring through them both. Tom kissed his way down her throat and across the expanse of her chest exposed by her evening gown’s low neckline. It took only a nudge for him to move aside the flounce of lace and kiss the soft breast beneath.
“Desiree...” Tom breathed her name as his hand came up to cup her breast, caressing her through the cloth.
Hunger pooled low in her abdomen. “More,” she whispered.
Her word shook him, and Tom slid his hand under her dress, pushing down the dress and chemise to reveal her breast. His mouth left a trail of fire across the soft skin, ending by circling her nipple with his tongue. The touch electrified her, and Desiree gasped as his mouth settled on her nipple, each tug sending ripples of pleasure through her. Desiree’s fingers clenched in his hair, her breath coming hard and fast in her throat. She wanted this to last forever and at the same time craved to rush forward.
Tom groaned and pulled up his head, leaning back against the trunk of the tree. He let out a short expletive, his arms loosening around her. “We can’t, Desiree.” His breath came in short, hard pants. “Not here. Not now.”
He was right, of course, but the passion thrumming through Desiree’s veins didn’t want to hear it. She wanted to protest, to snake her hands up his body and pull him back to her, to sink her lips into his and dare him to resist.
It took an effort of will for her to step back and turn aside. She busied the fingers that ached to caress him by straightening the bodice of her dress and smoothing her hair. It took some time for her breathing to slow and the heat in her to subside, and only then did she risk looking at Tom again.
He had combed through his hair with his fingers, restoring it to some order, and he’d moved farther away. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t bring you out here to seduce you.”
“You didn’t?” Desiree’s lips curved up, and she couldn’t keep the flirtatious tone from her voice. “How disappointing.”
Tom released a huff of a laugh. “You aren’t making it easier.”
“I know. Not for myself, either.” Desiree smoothed her hands down her skirt and took another shaky breath. “Perhaps we should return to the party.”
He thrust his hands into his pockets and looked around, then sighed. “I agree.”
They turned and walked back to the house, keeping a careful distance apart. Neither the time nor the place, Desiree repeated to herself. But there would come a time. She was certain of that.
It took Smeggars a few days to come up with an address for a housekeeper named Nan McGee. Two days in which Desiree had all too much time to think. She had set out to find out who her father was, and that had been done. It could be said that she had no more reason to investigate. Yet her anxiety, even dread, was increasing every day. What was it that was so important?
There was this strange matter of the will. Perhaps they should look for that will.
Given what had happened the other day in her studio, it seemed to present a danger to her. But her inner feeling, the thing that had set her on this whole search to begin with, told her it was tied to her parents. And anyway, how was she supposed to find this will? She knew nothing about it other than it supposedly was sent to Tom’s office, and both Tom and Con had searched their office thoroughly.
There was nothing left to do in her search for her parents other than interview the housekeeper. Desiree was doubtful that Mrs. McGee—who Brock had agreed was his remembered ‘Nan’—would be able to provide them with any more information than they already had. And after that, Desiree feared she would be left with an unabated sense of urgency...and no reason to see Tom Quick anymore.
And that prospect filled her with dismay. These days without Tom had been flat. In the evenings he had escorted her to the club and back, but that was very little time, no more than a few minutes of chatting, carefully avoiding the subject of their passionate kisses in the Morelands’ garden.
Yet she found herself waiting with embarrassing eagerness for those moments to arrive. She wasted an inordinate amount of time trying (and failing) to come up with a reasonable excuse to go to his office. The remainder of her days she spent thinking about him and their kisses and worrying that soon she might never see him again. The prospect of her life, which had once been so comfortable, now seemed bleak without Tom Quick in it.
She had always been an independent woman, content and able on her own, but now she felt as if she was missing some essential part. Each evening when Tom arrived, that absent part slid back into place.
No other man had made her feel as she did when they kissed, so eager, so sizzling with heat and excitement. It had been easy in the past to let her head overrule her physical attraction, but now she realized that she had not really tested that control until she kissed Tom Quick.