Page 88 of His Improper Lady

Tom got out of bed, every ache in his body making itself known. The soles of his feet burned; his cheek throbbed; and there didn’t seem to be a muscle in his body that hadn’t been strained. He found his suit, cleaned, repaired and neatly pressed, on a stand, his cleaned and polished shoes beneath it. There was even a fresh, starched shirt folded on the dresser; he presumed it must belong to one of her brothers. An open door showed the tiled room beyond, which he had discovered last night was a small but modern water closet. It boasted all the necessities from a comb to a shaving razor.

Sometime later, he emerged from his room, clean, shaved and dressed. The upper hallway was quiet, so he went downstairs, where the sound of voices led him into the breakfast room.

All three of the Malones were sitting at the table, and they looked up as Tom came into the room. Desiree jumped up, smiling, and came to take his arm and lead him to the chair beside her. He had hardly sat down before their efficient butler was there, pouring him a cup of tea, then dishing out a variety of eggs, sausages and pastries onto the plate before him.

“Desiree was telling us about your adventures yesterday evening,” Brock said. He seemed, Tom thought, somewhat friendlier than before—or, at least, less antagonistic. “It’s very fortunate you were with her. Thank you.”

“I think Desiree helped me more than I helped her.” Tom grinned at her, realizing a shade too late that perhaps his look held more affection than was seemly. “I couldn’t have escaped them if she hadn’t been there.”

“Took you across the rooftops, did she?” Wells grinned. “There’s none better than Dezzy up there.”

“Who were these men?” Brock asked.

“I don’t know,” Tom admitted. “I guess they must have been Falk’s crew, though why he would be so violent about it, I don’t know. Frankly, it seemed to me that they were more intent on harming us than trying to get something from us. More accurately, I think they wanted to harm Desiree. When they first attacked us, they yelled, ‘Get her,’ not ‘get them.’ And later, when they spotted us, they yelled, ‘There she is.’ I think it was Desiree they wanted, and I was just in their way.”

Desiree’s brothers turned frowning gazes on her. She grimaced at Tom. “You were in more danger than I. They just wanted to kidnap me and make me give them the will. They wouldn’t have had any qualms about killing you.”

“But why take you to the East End?” Wells pointed out. “Surely they didn’t think you carried the thing around with you. It seems more reasonable to attack you here, as they did before.”

“Well, they weren’t very successful before, were they? They realized it would take more men, especially with Tom escorting me back and forth to the club. And three men attacking people is less likely to get noticed there than in Knightsbridge.”

“That makes sense,” Wells said thoughtfully. “Or they might have realized that if they held you hostage, Brock and I would give them the will.”

“If we had it,” Brock interjected dryly. “What I want to know is who in the world were the men who came to your rescue?”

“I have even less understanding of that,” Tom told him. “I suppose they could have belonged to some rival gang, continual enemies who seized the opportunity to take them on.”

“Falk certainly has plenty of enemies,” Brock commented. “Still, it seems a bit of a coincidence.”

“The only people who have evinced interest in this will are Falk, who hired Desiree, and Gregory Moreland,” Wells said.

“Except we assumed that Gregory hired Falk to begin with. I can stretch my belief to say that perhaps Gregory was so eager to find it that he hired both Falk and another set of men,” Desiree said. “But why would they try to stop Falk’s gang, or vice versa?”

“But who else would have any interest in it?” Wells asked.

“The problem is, we can’t find that out without knowing what’s in the will,” Tom said. “Alastair could have left a bequest to almost anyone, and that person could want the will to be probated.”

“I suppose,” Brock said. “Though it seems odd that some bequest would be so important. Of course, it seems odd, too, that Gregory is so insistent on finding it. After all, he’s the legitimate heir. I can’t imagine that Alistair would have left such a large bequest to anyone else that it would have much effect on Gregory’s inheritance.”

“What if he’s not the legitimate heir?” Tom asked, and everyone turned to him. “What if Alistair married your mother in secret before he married Lady Tabitha? Making you and Desiree the legitimate heirs. That would certainly be enough reason for Gregory to want to destroy the will.”

“Sounds like a novel,” Wells said. “Besides, I don’t see how that could be true. Gregory is older than we are, isn’t he?”

“You’re right,” Tom agreed. “I looked him up when we first started on this, and Gregory is thirty-three years old.”

“So just a year younger than I,” Brock said. “I was four or five when Lord Moreland moved us into that house. Alistair would have already been married to Gregory’s mother for a few years.”

“Where the devil is this will?” Wells asked. “Why does everyone think you have it?”

“Because I lied to that man who attacked me. I told him I had it because I was trying to get him to move so I could run,” Desiree explained.

“So it went astray somewhere?”

“Apparently. It hasn’t shown up at the office or at Broughton House,” Tom told them.

“Perhaps I ought to have a conversation with Falk,” Wells said, his blue eyes icy.

“Trust me, that is exactly what I intend to do as soon as I leave here,” Tom assured him grimly.