Page 33 of His Improper Lady

“Exactly.” Here he was talking as if Desiree’s story was real, letting her suck him into her pretense.

For all he knew, Brock’s words yesterday could have been a complete fairy tale designed to add verisimilitude to Desiree’s story. Perhaps the incomplete description had been intended to lead Tom to a house that the Malones had already set up. A house that had a hiding spot where they’d planted some “proof” that they were Morelands. The proof would be more convincing if Tom discovered it than if they simply handed it to him.

But that seemed a very elaborate ruse, as well as a rather iffy way of leading him to it. What if Tom had found Brock’s description too vague to pursue it? Or if Tom hadn’t had a clever architect to ask? It also would be quite time-consuming. Perhaps if Tom had not come up with the list of areas, they would have “found” some further proof to steer him in the right direction or Desiree would nudge him toward the house they wanted.

He looked down at her face, so bright and eager. Could she really be this good at dissembling? Wasn’t it possible Desiree believed what she’d told him? Maybe the house they were looking for had existed and Stella Malone had lived there with her children.

And maybe he was just as gullible, as eager to believe a bewitching woman as any other mark. She was a thief, a card sharp.

“How do you win all the time?” he asked abruptly.

“What?” Desiree glanced at him, startled. “Oh.” She shrugged. “It’s not luck.” Her eyes narrowed. “And it’s not cheating, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“You win game after game, and when you don’t win, you fold early. It looks as if you know what’s in everyone else’s hands.”

“Well, I don’t.” Her face, so happy before, was now sharp with anger. “I’m good at what I do, and that’s why I win. I’m not a sharp, but I’m not a flat, either. I don’t rely on luck and I don’t play games that depend solely on luck. I don’t play with emotion.”

“And...?”

Desiree heaved a sigh. “Well, you probably won’t believe this any more than you’ll believe I’m not an adventuress.” She hesitated a moment, then said, “I don’t read their cards, but I read the cardplayer.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I look at the other players and I get a sense of what they’ll do.”

“Mind reading?” Tom asked skeptically.

“No. I can’t tell what anyone is thinking. I read the emotions in their faces—if they’re excited or disappointed in their hand. If they have that mad gambling fever light in their eyes. Probably other people can tell what one is feeling in the same way.” She hesitated, sending Tom a wary look, then said in a rush, “But I can sense when they’re hiding something or lying. It makes me good at recognizing bluffs.” She shrugged. “That’s how I knew you were telling the truth this morning about that carriage.”

“You know whether someone is lying?”

“Not always. It’s harder if the person is someone who lies all the time because then he’s acting in alignment with his true personality. And it’s not exactly as if I see truth or lie stamped on one’s face. But if they say things that have integrity, my inner eye will see them as particularly sharp and bright. Standing out from their surroundings, almost emitting their own light. I can see inside them in a way, see the essence of them.”

“Their soul?” Tom asked. Surely she was making this up.

“I suppose you could call it that. To me, it’s just their real selves, the core of their being. And when something is wrong or they’re lying, there’s another, darker outline, shifted slightly from that one. Rather like one of those photographs where you can see another image beneath it that doesn’t quite line up. Their inner reality is slightly different from their appearance. It’s a sign of disturbance. Discordance.” She glanced up at him. “This morning, you were clear, very much in harmony with yourself. I was sure you were telling the truth.”

“Do you always know what everyone around you is feeling?” That thought took him aback.

“No, thank goodness. That would be terrible. I have to concentrate on it, unless it’s so strong it just bursts out of them. That happens most often with anger.” She glanced over at him and smiled a little ruefully. “So do you think I’m insane or lying?”

“Neither. I believe that some people have abilities that others don’t have.” The Morelands certainly had enough peculiar skills. Was it possible that this odd ability of Desiree’s meant she actually was a Moreland? “Do you dream?”

She gave him a strange look. “Of course I dream. Everyone does.”

“I don’t mean ordinary dreams like being in a crowd and suddenly realizing you have no clothes on.”

Desiree chuckled. “That’s what you dream?”

He ignored her. “The kind of dreams I’m asking about are important dreams. Like ones about the future or people you don’t know or something like that.”

“No.” She looked at him as if she thought he was crazy. “Do you have dreams like that?”

“No. But sometimes people do.”

“If you say so.” They walked on in silence for a moment, then Desiree said, “Falk believed me. I hated it.”

“Believed what? That you could read people?”