Page 17 of His Improper Lady

“I left him years before you were there, I’m sure.” He stepped back and hardened his voice. “That doesn’t mean I’m your friend.”

“Clearly.”

“You’re still working for him. I don’t believe it was coincidence that you broke into our office two days before Falk shows up, wanting me to steal something from the Morelands for him.”

“It’s not. But I told you the truth. I don’t work for him. This was a one-time job. He said he’d tell me who my father was.”

“That seems to be a common theme with him.”

“But I’m not doing anything more for him. I’m not going to pursue it. I don’t need to.” She hesitated, then took the plunge. “I found out my father’s name—Moreland.”

Tom couldn’t have looked more dumbfounded if she’d told him her father was Prince Edward. “The duke?” He let out a short, scornful laugh. “If that’s your tale, you’d better rethink it. No one is going to believe that the duke was unfaithful to his duchess.”

Desiree could feel herself flush at his laughter. But she was not going to be deterred by ridicule, even if it did sting more than his laughter. “There’s more than one Moreland. I don’t know his first name.”

“The Moreland men are notorious for falling hard and staying that way. They aren’t the sort to stray.”

“I don’t know whether you’re naive or lying,” she retorted.

“Neither. I just know the Morelands. Whatever scheme you have in your head is not going to work.”

“I have proof.” When Tom raised a disbelieving eyebrow, Desiree rushed on, “My brother has a Moreland ring.”

“A what?”

“A ring like the one in the upper desk drawer in your office. It has their coat of arms on it.”

“That’s your proof? A ring? Anyone could have a similar ring.”

“I didn’t say similar. It’s the same. I’ll show it to the duke, and—”

“Don’t!” His eyes blazed. “Don’t you dare bother the duke. Stay away from his house and stay away from my office.”

“You can’t stop me!” Desiree shot back, clenching her fists and taking a step forward.

“The hell I can’t!”

“What the devil is all this?” Brock barked from the open doorway. “Who the hell are you? How dare you yell at my sister?”

“I’ll tell you who I am.” Tom swung toward her brother. “I’m the man who’s going to blow up your little swindle.”

“Swindle!” Brock’s eyebrows rushed together. “What the—”

“You—” Quick jabbed a finger at Brock, then at Desiree “—and your sister, peddle your scheme somewhere else. Leave the Morelands alone.”

Brock glared at Tom, lowering his head in a way that reminded Desiree of a bull about to charge. Tom faced him, his fists clenched and his eyes bright, looking as though he’d welcome a brawl. Desiree stepped between them, holding out a hand to her brother. “Brock, don’t...”

“Don’t worry, Dez, I won’t break up your furniture. He’s not worth it.” Brock turned a contemptuous look on Tom. “Get out of my house.”

“Gladly.” With a last dark glance at Desiree, Tom stalked out the door.

CHAPTER EIGHT

AFTER QUICK STORMED out of their house, Brock turned to Desiree. “Care to explain what that was all about? Wasn’t that the fellow you were talking to last night?”

“Yes.” Desiree let out an angry huff of air. “His name’s Tom Quick.”

“Of Moreland & Quick.” Brock studied her. “Is he pressing charges? Do I need to call my solicitor?”