Page 68 of His Improper Lady

“But that’s something you’re going to have to decide.” He redressed, pulling on his vest and jacket, running his hand through his hair, trying to straighten out the mess he’d made of it. Desiree liked it better this way, tousled and silky and looking as if he’d just been pulled from his bed. “I’m not going to try to inveigle you into anything.”

“I know,” Desiree replied.

He put on his shoes last. As he knelt, tying them, Desiree said, suddenly a little alarmed, “But you don’t mean—you’re still going to escort me to the club, aren’t you?”

Tom straightened and turned to her. “Oh, yes. You can’t get rid of me that easily. I’ll be here tonight at eight.” Then he grinned and was gone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

DESIREE DID NOT follow Tom out of the building. Instead, she went back to her exercises, funneling all her turmoil and frustration into the work. By the time she finished, she was exhausted, her muscles quivering and her lungs heaving. She dropped to the mat, lying back as she had with Tom. She had been successful in her efforts; she was now too tired to think. Turning over on her side, she closed her eyes, and after a moment she dozed off.

She jerked awake as a heavy weight hit her shoulder. Her eyes flew open, but she was already being flipped over onto her stomach, and a knee landed on her back, knocking the breath from her and pinning her down. A rough hand clamped over her cheek and mouth, and a point of cold metal touched her throat.

“Not so full of fight now, are you?” a voice growled. The assailant bent low, his voice oddly muffled. “No man to punch for you.”

Desiree’s mind raced. No point in screaming; she was too far from the house for anyone to hear. She was in a bad position to fight him, with no leverage to push off his heavy weight. But she could bargain. This must be the man who had followed them the other day or Falk’s man from the night before. In either case, they wanted something from her.

“What do you want?” Desiree whispered, putting a tremor in her voice. It was always an advantage to appear weaker and more frightened than she was, giving her the element of surprise. She dared not turn her head lest the knife slice her, but she cut her eyes as far as she could to see the man. She could catch only a glimpse, but it wouldn’t have mattered if she had seen his entire face. He wore a mask.

Her attacker grated out a laugh. “You know what I want. The bloody will.”

“You can have the will. I don’t want it. I was just after the money.”

“Money? I don’t know about any money.”

“There was money, too. You can have it. I’ll give you all of it, if you promise not to hurt me. But it’s in the house. I put it in the safe. I have to get it.”

“You think I’m stupid?” her assailant asked. Desiree thought it better not to answer. “I’m not letting you go get it.”

“Then how can I give it to you?”

“Oh, you’ll give it to me. But I’m going with you.” He jumped to his feet, yanking Desiree up with him.

He could not keep the knife at her throat as he pulled her up, and Desiree, instead of resisting or pulling away, went with his movement, pushing up with her own strong legs. She slammed into him, adding a sharp jab of her elbow into his midsection. The man staggered backward, and she pivoted, ripping her arm from his grasp, and ran. He came pounding after her, but with a leap, she grabbed the rope that hung from the ceiling, lifting herself up and twisting to kick out with her feet.

Her kick landed solidly against his chest, and her attacker staggered back and fell heavily. Desiree whirled and ran. Flinging open the door, she pelted out into the alleyway, shouting for help. Her voice echoed around the small alleyway, and, as she had hoped, doors along the row of mews opened and heads popped out in curiosity.

Merriwell, the Malones’ coachman, gaped at her for an instant, but then his eyes went past her, and he shouted, “Oy! You!”

Merriwell shot past her, and Desiree looked back to see her attacker dashing away from her, with Merriwell chasing him. Desiree stopped, breathing hard, watching as the two men ran out of sight. It occurred to her that she was standing there in only her formfitting costume in public view.

She hurried back to the studio to don her cloak and shoes. Desiree hadn’t noticed it while she was running, but she could feel now that she had stepped on several pebbles in her flight down the alley. And there was blood trickling down her neck; his knife must have sliced her a bit as she lunged away.

As she left the building and locked the door, Merriwell came into view, breathing heavily. “He got away, miss. I’m sorry. Jumped in a hack before I could catch him.”

“That’s all right, Merriwell. I’m just glad you chased him off.”

Desiree returned to the house, where a quick look in her mirror told her that the cut on her neck, while not deep, was long and obvious. Everyone would be sure to notice it. She wouldn’t be able to hide it from her brothers, who would be bound to fuss about it, but perhaps it would be best not to go to the club this evening. A long red scratch across her throat would hardly complement her elegant low-necked evening gowns. She sent a note to Tom, canceling their visit to Farrington. She was a little surprised how disappointed she felt.

She was even more surprised when Tom Quick showed up at her door. “Tom?” She stood up, happiness rising in her chest. “What are you—did you not get my note?”

“Yes, I got it. What’s wrong? Are you ill?” He stopped, his eyes going to her neck. “What the devil is that?”

He strode forward, reaching out to tilt up her chin and inspect her neck.

“It’s a scratch,” Desiree replied with a sigh.

“That’s not a scratch, it’s a cut.” He frowned at her. “What happened? I knew there was something wrong about that note. Why didn’t you tell me?”