Page 72 of His Improper Lady

“Maybe. Desiree, you know, he may not—”

“Don’t tell me not to get my hopes up,” Desiree said. “I know quite well that life doesn’t always turn out the way you wish, but I don’t intend to give up. Surely we can find this man Paxton.”

“We will. I’ll start on it as soon as I get back to the office,” Tom said. “I’ll find him.” He leaned in and kissed her softly—and far too briefly. “I promise.”

“Can I help?” she asked.

He shook his head. She thought—she hoped—she saw regret in his eyes. “I need to talk to some of my contacts. An extra person, let alone a female, would not be welcome.” He paused. “Are you planning to visit the club tonight?”

“Yes.” She looked at him in surprise. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because someone attacked you yesterday?”

“I am not going to let some ruffian—some incompetent ruffian, at that—keep me from living my life,” Desiree retorted, eyes flashing.

Tom chuckled. “Somehow I thought that was what you would say. Then I will see you tonight.” He paused, then added, “Unless you don’t want me.”

A slow smile spread across Desiree’s face. “Yes, I want you.”

He had no idea how much.

“MISS MALONE, LADY MORELAND is here to see you.”

Desiree looked up from the book she was reading—or, rather, trying to read, for she found her thoughts drifting off to Tom Quick and the investigation far too much. Templeton stood in the door of the library, looking awed.

“Moreland?” Desiree stood up. What was a Moreland doing here?

“I seated her in the parlor.”

“Thank you, Templeton.” Desiree hurried to the parlor, but when she entered, Desiree found a woman she’d never seen before sitting in one of the chairs, her back straight as a board. The woman turned to look at her, her chin lifted in a haughty manner.

“Lady Moreland?”

“Yes.” The woman rose to her feet. Her eyes were gray, as was the hair atop her head. Both were almost the same shade as her fashionable dress, giving her a uniformly colorless look. Diamonds sparkled at her earlobes, and on her fingers, matching the iciness of her gaze. “I am Lady Alistair Moreland.”

Tabitha. A little shiver ran through Desiree, but there was no need to use her skills to see that this woman thoroughly disliked her. Tabitha’s antipathy was written all over her face and even in her posture. Desiree went toward her, holding out her hand in greeting, determined to be polite. After all, it was understandable that a woman would resent the children who were the result of her husband’s affair. “Good afternoon. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Desiree Malone.”

The other woman’s nostrils flared slightly, and she ignored Desiree’s outstretched hand. “I am well aware of your name.”

“Please. Sit down.” This close to Tabitha, Desiree caught a whiff of alcohol. Had the woman been drinking? In the middle of the afternoon? That would certainly explain the touch of disorder that Desiree felt from her.

“I did not come to sit and chat, Miss Malone.” Tabitha remained standing. “I have heard about your monstrous claims. You must cease them at once. I don’t know what you want—I presume it is money—but I will not allow you to slander my husband’s name.” She jabbed her forefinger at Desiree. “You will not create a scandal. I can assure you that you will not get any money, either.”

“You walk into my home and accuse me of trying to take money from you?” Desiree’s voice rose. It was one thing to be polite to the woman, but she wasn’t about to meekly take an insult from her. “I have no need of your money, as you can see.” Desiree swept her hand around her, indicating the elegantly furnished room.

“This?” Tabitha looked around the room as if the Malones’ fashionable and commodious house was a hovel. Her lip curled up in something that, if not a sneer, was certainly a close cousin to it.

“Yes! This!” Desiree had helped Brock choose this house and every piece of furniture in it. “I think it’s time you leave this place that is so beneath you.”

“Your slut of a mother—”

“What!” Desiree almost shrieked, fury shooting up in her.

The other woman ignored her, plowing ahead, “Your slut of a mother may have ensnared Alistair—all men are subject to lust—but I am his wife. He belonged to me.”

“I can certainly understand why the man fled across the ocean to get away from you!”

“How dare you!” Tabitha slapped Desiree.