Page 2 of His Improper Lady

There wasn’t even one of Con’s peculiar cases. Now that Con’s wife, Lilah, was expecting, Con had become far less interested in eerie phenomenon and visited the office infrequently, preferring to stay at home and fuss over Lilah instead. Tom smiled faintly at that thought. Tom and Alex had a small wager over when Lilah would crack under Con’s over-solicitous care and threaten him with bodily harm.

One of their old cases, then? He couldn’t imagine why anyone would grab one of the old files. He went to his desk and pulled out his chair. There was still a trace of that scent in the air here, where they had struggled. It wasn’t quite like any perfume he’d smelled before—exotic and lush—and it affected him as no other perfume ever had—instantly, viscerally.

Even this trace of it teased at him. Shrugging it off, Tom started to sit down. A metallic glint caught his eye, just under his desk, hidden until now by the chair. Reaching down, he picked up a delicate chain and a silver disc.

He remembered at one point feeling the rasp of a chain across his fingers as he struggled with the thief. This must have been her necklace, and the narrow chain had broken and fallen to the floor during the struggle. Certainly, it did not belong to him and had not been beneath his desk this evening when he left the office.

Tom held it up and studied it. The disc was oblong in shape, and someone had created a small hole in one end, no doubt to put the chain through. The chain looked far more expensive than the medallion, which was probably made of tin and stamped rather than engraved. But it had a stylish look to it, and the lettering across it was in a flowing, elegant script: The Farrington Club.

Tom closed his fist around the token and smiled grimly. “Well, it looks like you left me a calling card.”

DESIREE MALONE JUMPED out of the hackney and ran up the steps into the house, her black cloak fluttering out behind her. Hopeful that no one was awake, she slipped through the front door and started toward the stairs, her flexible, thin-soled shoes soundless on the Persian carpet.

“Desiree?”

Blast it. Of course Brock would be right there in the parlor. She turned toward him, pasting on a smile. “What are you doing still up?”

“Wondering where you were” was her brother’s dry reply. Brock Malone stood in the wide doorway of the front parlor, still dressed in his elegant evening attire, arms crossed and face frowning. “I got back from the club half an hour ago and you weren’t here.”

“I’m a grown woman, Brock.” Desiree bristled. “I don’t have to report to you.”

“I am well aware of that,” Brock replied. “But I saw you leave the club two hours ago, and no one knew where you were.”

“We were just worried, Dez.” Her twin joined Brock in the doorway. Wells was a leaner version of their older brother, though his coloring, like Desiree’s, was lighter than Brock’s black hair and storm-gray eyes. He had a lazy way of standing, often leaning against things or lounging in a chair, the picture of vaguely amused ennui. People who took him at face value often regretted doing so.

“Why didn’t you take the carriage?” Brock’s eyes went down to the front of her cloak. The pugnacious stance she had taken had pushed apart the sides of the concealing garment, revealing a large slice of her costume. “Well, you’ve just answered my question. You’ve been breaking in somewhere.” Her brother sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “Desiree...what are you doing?”

Not waiting for an answer, he waved the other two inside the parlor and closed the door. Brock walked across the room, his limp more pronounced, as it often was by the end of the day, and stood beside the fireplace, crossing his arms and leaning against the mantel to take the weight off his bad leg. Wells slouched in his favorite chair, legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed. He didn’t scowl at her as Brock did, but Desiree could see the intense interest in his eyes, the alertness masked by his lazy posture.

“Now, what have you got yourself into?” Brock asked, his voice now more resigned than stern.

“I haven’t ‘got myself’ into anything,” she retorted, but, seeing the worry in her older brother’s eyes, the lines that bracketed his mouth, she couldn’t help but feel guilty. With a sigh, she took off her cloak, draped it over the back of the sofa and sat down. “I’m sorry for worrying you. But I had something I had to do tonight, and I couldn’t tell the coachman about it.”

“You could have told me,” Wells pointed out. “Why didn’t you ask me to help?”

“Wonderful,” Brock said sarcastically. “So both of you could get caught.”

Wells turned a cool gaze on his brother. “I don’t get caught.”

Brock shot Wells a sardonic look and turned back to Desiree. “Going back to that old way of life, even for a night, is dangerous, Desiree. Surely you must see that.”

Desiree glared. “I knew I was safe. Sensing danger is what I do, if you’ll remember.” She decided it was best to skirt the fact that she had been caught.

“Yes, we’re all aware that you can recognize dangers that ordinary people cannot, but even you can’t be right every time,” Brock retorted. “And why would you want to go back to breaking into houses? You have no need for money. Don’t I provide for you?” He made a sweeping gesture around the elegantly furnished room. “What do you lack? You know I’d—”

“I don’t lack for anything. You are unfailingly generous. I didn’t do it for money. I did it because Falk told me—”

“Falk!” Brock gaped at her in astonishment.

Wells jumped to his feet, his usually calm face blazing. “You were working for Falk? Good God, Desiree, what possessed you to take up with that scoundrel again? Have you forgotten all the times he—”

“I’ve forgotten nothing,” Desiree retorted shortly. “I despise the man as much as both of you do.”

“Yet you stole for him.” Brock came forward. “Why? What the devil—”

“I’ll tell you if you would both stop scolding me and listen!” Desiree stood up. “And stop looming over me.” She sent a hard look at each of her brothers, and they subsided, Wells flopping back into his chair and Brock sitting down for the first time. “Thank you. Falk asked me to break into the office of Moreland & Quick.”

“Who?” Brock asked. “Why?”