Page 57 of His Improper Lady

It seemed a lonely way to live. No one else might own you, but you didn’t belong to anyone, either. She wondered if Tom truly believed it or if he was trying to convince himself.

The carriage pulled up in front of the Moreland & Quick office building, and the conversation ended. Tom unlocked the building and ushered her inside, turning up the gaslights. As they climbed the stairs, he said, “I could use a cup of tea. Or something stronger. Would you like some?”

“Please.” Alcohol was something Desiree had never had much of a taste for; she remembered too well the gin-soaked, vacant-eyed women of the rookeries, escaping their hellish lives in a bottle of blue ruin. But her nerves were jittering about so tonight that she thought it might be wise to calm them a little.

Tom nodded and started up the next flight of stairs. When he opened the door upstairs, though, he halted and looked at her in some uncertainty. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—this is my flat. Perhaps you wouldn’t want to be—that is, I could bring it down to the office if you’d rather.”

Desiree cast him a teasing smile and walked past him into the room. “Are you planning to ravish me, Mr. Quick?”

“Of course not.” The light he turned on showed the tinge of pink along his cheekbones.

“Then I see no problem. Don’t worry. I’m not the sort of woman who has to maintain a spotless reputation.”

As Tom walked over to a small cabinet and pulled out a bottle, Desiree surveyed the room. It was tidy and rather Spartan in appearance, which didn’t surprise Desiree. The only thing except the most necessary of furniture was an overflowing bookcase. Books were stacked on the floor in front of it, and another pile stood beside a comfortable-looking chair with a standing lamp next to it.

Desiree’s eyes went to the other end of room and the neatly made bed, and despite her cool words a moment earlier, her breath hitched a little and she quickly turned away. “You like to read?”

“Yes.” Tom glanced over at her, pausing in the midst of pouring whiskey into two glasses. “Surprised?”

“You said you liked the books at the orphanage, but still, you seem more a man of action.”

“I’m not sure I’d ever seen a book before the orphanage. I certainly couldn’t read one. But once I learned how, I couldn’t stop. I wanted to know...well, everything outside the world I’d lived in, which was a great deal. Fortunately, Reed let me borrow books from the Moreland library. Which is about three times larger than this entire flat.”

“They seem a very generous family.”

“They are. And they have a love for learning. All you have to do is want to read a book, and Uncle Bellard is your friend for life. He stumbled across me down in the kitchen reading one time, and he gave me three books.” Tom crossed the room to hand her the drink. He took a sip from his own glass and reached out to stroke his forefinger down the spine of a gilt-edged, leather-bound book, a fond smile on his face. “Vanity Fair. Great Expectations. Last of the Mohicans. Those are the three he gave me.”

“I never heard of that last one.”

“James Fenimore Cooper. He’s an American. Derring-do in the wilderness—very exciting stuff for me.”

“Why were you reading in the kitchen?”

“I went there to read whenever I borrowed books from the Morelands. For one thing, Cook would give me tea and biscuits. And I felt...more comfortable there. The library at Broughton House is a trifle imposing.”

Desiree smiled. “I can imagine.”

He turned back toward the small table and the two stools beside it. “Shall we open your prize? Or would you like me to make a spot of tea, as well? I can heat up a kettle.”

“This is fine.” Desiree pulled in a shaky breath and held the box out to him. As he examined the lock, she pulled a hairpin from her hair and handed that to him, as well. Tom put the box on the table and sat down in front of it, working the hairpin delicately into keyhole.

Desiree took a sip of her drink and watched him, too restless to sit down. The whiskey burned like fire down her throat, reminding her why she didn’t care for it, but in a moment she felt a smooth warmth stealing through her. Finishing it off as if it were medicine, she went to the table and sat down across from Tom.

“Ha!” Tom said and looked up at her triumphantly. He swiveled the box around so that it faced Desiree. “Care to open it?”

“I would.” But she hesitated, her hand hovering over the lid.

“Want me to do it?”

“No. I will. It’s just...a bit frightening.” Taking a breath, she ran a finger along the scratch, then lifted the lid.

The box was lined with dark maroon satin. In it sat a velvet pouch, a stack of folded papers tied with a narrow satin ribbon, and a large lump of something wrapped in velvet. Desiree pulled out the velvet pouch and opened it, pouring its contents onto the table. Small pieces of jewelry fell out: a pair of sparkling diamond earrings, a ring mounted with rubies in the shape of a flower, a heart-shaped brooch of pavé diamonds, another ring set with an emerald, a ruby and a sapphire in a row, and several narrow bangle bracelets of pavé diamonds, emeralds and rubies.

“Look at all this!” Desiree picked up one of the rings and examined it. “These look like real gems. I’d have nabbed them in an instant.”

“Yes. I’d have a jeweler appraise them, but they look real enough.”

“To think of this sitting behind those bricks all these years...” Desiree turned to the object wrapped in velvet and lifted it, realizing that it wasn’t a single object. “Sapphires,” Desiree breathed when she folded back the velvet. She set it down on the table and separated the pieces of jewelry. “Earrings, necklace, bracelet, a tiara.” Desiree picked up the narrow tiara and settled it onto her head.