Page 74 of His Improper Lady

Tom tilted his head, considering. “I guess Wells does have the Moreland jaw.”

“It was a trifle eerie. Wells said he couldn’t see it, but I’m sure of it.”

“What did you think of Gregory?”

“Very stiff and formal, as you said. It was so peculiar to think that he was my half brother, as closely related to me as Brock. I felt no connection to him whatever. I was more at home with the duke and duchess than with him. I thought he might have been the one who had us followed, but I looked at his carriage, and it was not the same one.”

“Carriage aside, those cuff links would make one think the culprit has to be Pax. But Gregory has the motive. I can’t figure out why Paxton would be following you.” The corner of Tom’s mouth quirked up. “I guess we’ll have to ask him tomorrow when we pay him a call.”

“Tom! You found him! That’s wonderful!” Desiree’s smile was so beautiful it was enough to stop his heart. She reached toward him, and Tom thought she was about to hug him, but then Desiree pulled her hands back.

Disappointment swelled in Tom’s chest. It was stupid to feel that way, of course. Desiree was right to hold herself too valuable for casual entanglements. And what else could there be between them? He could offer her nothing but a flat above the agency and a nest egg for a future house. And even that future house wouldn’t be a worthy setting for a woman like Desiree. She should have a man like...well, he wasn’t sure who would be the right match for Desiree, who was so unusual, so lovely, so free and daring. But obviously it wasn’t someone like him. She was a Moreland, and he didn’t even know his last name.

Tom turned his head away and stared out the window as the carriage rumbled through the night.

LLOYD PAXTON LIVED near Grosvenor Square. The house was an elegant one in the Queen Anne style, but up close it was obvious that it was suffering from neglect. Tom wondered if that was due to lack of interest or lack of money.

The servant who answered the door looked to be at least a hundred years old. It was a long wait for him to shuffle off and return, after which he led them at a snail’s pace to the drawing room. The man seated there was middle-aged, his blond hair threaded with gray, a bit of a paunch developing around his midsection. He wore a casual smoking jacket over his white shirt, with no cravat, obviously at leisure.

He stood up as they entered the room, saying, “Mr. Quick? I don’t believe—” His gaze went to Desiree standing beside Tom, and he stopped, a faint frown forming on his brow.

“I apologize for arriving without notice, Mr. Paxton,” Tom said. “I am Tom Quick, of Moreland & Quick Agency.”

“Moreland & Quick!” Paxton’s eyes widened. His gaze flickered to Desiree and back. “Why are you here?”

“I would like to introduce you to Miss Desiree Malone.” Tom turned toward Desiree.

The older man’s face went blank. “Malone?” He turned to Desiree. “I say.” He grabbed a pair of spectacles from the table beside him and settled them on his nose, peering at Desiree more closely. “Good Gad—are you—”

“I am Stella Malone’s daughter,” Desiree said.

“Good Gad,” Paxton repeated, looking dazed. “You do have something of her in your look.” He recovered from his astonishment. “I’m sorry. Come in. Sit down. My goodness, I never expected... Would you like some tea?”

He made a movement to ring for a servant. Tom, envisioning the ancient butler shuffling in and out, quickly said, “Thank you, but no. We only came to talk to you.”

“I’m so glad you did.” Paxton seemed genuinely pleased, taking his seat across from them and smiling. “I’ve wondered now and then what happened with the three of you.”

“You didn’t inquire about the children?” Tom asked.

Paxton looked surprised at his question. “Me? No. I knew they were in good hands. That friend of Stella’s took them, the foreign one, can’t remember her name.”

“Bruna Upton,” Desiree supplied.

“Bruna! Yes. It was the best thing, of course. The little boy knew her, and Mrs. McGee couldn’t continue to stay there taking care of them after Stella left.”

“Mrs. McGee?” Tom jumped on the name. “Who was she?”

“The housekeeper. Can’t remember her first name. Lord, I’m surprised I remember her last name. Probably wouldn’t have if I’d had to think about it.” He chuckled. “It’s been twenty-five years ago or more.”

“Do you know where Mrs. McGee went? Where she lives now?”

“Me? Goodness, no. She was just the housekeeper.”

Tom gritted his teeth at the man’s careless dismissal of a servant, but Desiree quickly took over the questioning. “Mr. Paxton, do you remember anyone else who visited the house at that time? Who knew my mother?”

He lifted his eyes toward the ceiling in a ruminating manner. “There was Bruna, of course. Falk sometimes.”

“Falk!” Tom exclaimed. “What the devil was he doing there?”