Page 61 of His Improper Lady

“The duchess invited us to dinner. To meet the family. You can talk to them.”

“I’m not going to dinner with the Morelands.” Brock’s voice was flat and unbending. “You can mingle with the aristocracy all you want. Wells, too. I’m not going. They’re your family, not mine.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Desiree protested. “The duchess invited you, too. They want you to come.”

“No.” Brock grabbed his cane and surged to his feet. “I’m not going.” He turned and walked out, leaning on his cane.

“Brock, wait...” Desiree rose to her feet and started after him.

“No. Let him go,” Tom said, going to her.

“But he’s being so stubborn! If he’d just meet them, he’d understand. They’d accept him, too. Wouldn’t they?”

“I imagine so,” Tom agreed. “It’s not the Morelands, Desiree. It’s your brother. He’s right...they’re not his family.”

“But—”

“When you don’t have something, it can hurt more to see what you’re missing than it does to not have it at all.”

Desiree looked up at him, her eyes widening as she took in his meaning. “Oh. Yes, I see.” She laid a gentle hand on Tom’s arm, looking up at him. “I’m sorry.”

She might have been talking about her brother, but Tom was certain that she was offering her compassion to him, too, for his own childhood. The look in her eyes warmed him, and he bent a little toward her. When she edged in a little closer, he thought she was about to kiss him, and suddenly his heart started to pound.

But then she paused and glanced back at Wells. Giving his arm a little squeeze instead, she took a step back. “Thank you.”

Her brother pushed away from the bookcase he’d been leaning against. “I think he’s right, Dizzy. Brock feels it sometimes, you know. That as much as he loves us, he’s not the same.”

Desiree’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt him.”

“You didn’t,” Wells assured her. “It’s not anything to do with us. It’s Brock.”

“Don’t worry.” Tom smiled at her. “I’m sure he’ll come around. The Morelands will wear him down. No one can hold out against the duchess for long. That’s why government officials flee the moment they see her.”

“I’m sure they do.” Desiree chuckled and turned toward her brother. “You’ll see.” She added a little anxiously, “You will go to the dinner with me, won’t you, Wells?”

“Of course. How could I pass up the opportunity to meet this woman? I know an official who’s absolutely terrified of her.” He paused. “Do you really think they’re our family?”

“I do. It fits, Wells, I promise you.”

“And it all seems—” he flicked a glance at Tom “—right to you?”

“You can say it. Tom knows about my intuition,” Desiree said. “And he hasn’t yet told me I’m insane.” She flashed a smile at Tom before going on. “Wells, there’s no way I can tell if all these clues are real. That’s not the way it works. But I don’t think there’s anything false about the Morelands I met yesterday. They are unusual, but then, so are we.”

A half smile touched Wells’s lips. “That’s true enough.”

“Read the letters Alistair wrote to our mother,” Desiree urged him. “I think he really loved her. And I felt—I don’t know. It made both of them seem more real to me. As if I knew them a bit.”

“How are these Morelands you met related to us?”

“They’re cousins of some sort, I guess. Alistair is the duke’s cousin.” She cast a glance toward Tom for confirmation, and he nodded.

Wells turned cool gray eyes on Tom. “What exactly is your role in all this?”

“He’s helping me, Wells, I told you,” Desiree said with some exasperation.

“I’d like to hear it from him,” Wells said mildly, crossing his arms and continuing to gaze at Tom.

Tom straightened a little, his eyes turning as flat and cool as those of the man across from him, his jaw setting. The skin along his spine tingled, making him think of a dog’s hair rising up down his back. “I’m looking to find the truth.”