Page 82 of His Improper Lady

“They could have left on the spur of the moment,” Tom reasoned. “They went to the cottage for a few days. When it came time to part, they simply couldn’t, and they ran away right then and there.”

“They were certainly a thoughtless pair if that’s so. They could have come back here first. Packed their clothes and taken their children. How awful could it have been to spend one more week in London making preparations?”

“I don’t know.” Tom laid his cheek against her head, his hands sliding up and down her arms soothingly. “But I do know that Mrs. McGee’s story doesn’t entirely stand up, either.”

With some reluctance, Desiree pulled out of his hold and turned to face him. “In what way?”

“For one thing, she didn’t tell the police. She didn’t have to tell them she thought Alistair murdered Stella. All she had to do was report her missing. It would have set an investigation in motion. But she didn’t.

“And why would she have leaped to the idea that Alistair killed your mother? Everyone said they were madly in love. Even Mrs. McGee didn’t deny that he appeared to be in love with Stella. If your brothers went off and didn’t come back, would you assume one of them had killed the other? No, you’d worry that something had happened to both of them.”

“She could have feared they would find out she’d been pilfering the jewelry.”

“I know, but really, how would the police have known that? Only Stella would have recognized what pieces were missing, and if Mrs. McGee really believed Stella was dead, she would have thought Stella wasn’t going to return to accuse her of theft. No, I think it’s something she thought up later, making the facts conform to her theory.”

The kettle whistled and he went to pour the water over the tea leaves. “There are inconsistencies in her story. For instance, she says they left in the afternoon the day before Mr. Paxton came over to find them gone. But he says Alistair was still in London the night before, which would mean that they would have left the same day Paxton showed up at the house.”

Desiree lifted a shoulder. “One of them doesn’t remember it correctly. It was twenty-eight years ago, so that’s hardly surprising.”

“True. But there’s an internal inconsistency, as well. She said on the one hand that she didn’t tell anyone because the police wouldn’t have charged a Moreland with murder, yet in the next breath she said that Alistair fled the country because he was afraid he’d get arrested. Those two things are opposites. I’m inclined to believe that she’s right in saying the police would have been very reluctant to arrest a Moreland. So why would he have run away?”

“People often act impulsively when they’re scared. They don’t stop to think, they just run.”

“Why did no one ever find your mother’s body?” Tom asked.

“Maybe he buried her. Or hid her body somewhere else.”

“If he was cool and calm enough to bury her, then why run?” Tom argued. “Hiding the body fits with returning home and brazening it out, not fleeing in a panic.”

“I suppose. I don’t know what to think.” Desiree sighed.

“Desiree.” Tom put two fingers beneath her chin to tilt her face up so that she looked into his eyes. “We don’t know what happened. We may never know. But whatever your parents did or didn’t do doesn’t mean anything about you. You are what you have created. Your parents did nothing but give you possibilities. You are the one who turned those possibilities into the person you are today. You’ve lived through a wealth of bad things, but you came out of it strong and whole. You didn’t let anyone defeat you, including Falk. I know that life, Desiree, and it’s hard. Most of the people you grew up with are dead or in jail or living in a bottle of gin. But you are both tough and good. You’re intelligent, you’re brave, you’re loving.” He grinned. “And you can climb a building like a cat.”

Desiree laughed and looped her arms loosely around his neck. “Thank you. You have a very nice way with words.”

“I meant every bit of it.” He stroked his hand across her hair, and down her neck, sending bright shivers all through her. “I didn’t even mention how beautiful you are. How desirable. Whenever you smile at me, you turn me inside out.”

Desiree drew in a little breath, passion rising in her. She laid a hand against his cheek. “I feel the same.”

“Really?” His smile was lazily sensual, and his eyes heated. He brushed her cheek with his knuckles. “I like the sound of that.”

“Do you? Yet you aren’t doing anything about it.” She reached up to trace his lips with her forefinger, and he caught it between his teeth, lightly nipping, then kissing it. Desiree melted inside. She slid her hands down his chest and under his jacket.

He made a noise, half chuckle, half groan. “Desiree...you’re going to kill me here.”

“That’s not my intention.” She moved closer, her eyes glowing up at him.

A tremor shook him and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into him. Desiree kissed him back, pressing her body up into him.

He lifted his head. “Desiree, we should stop.”

“No.” She shook her head, the need inside her a driving, pulsing force, matched by another, deeper hunger.

She felt his body flame beneath her hands, and his voice was a trifle shaky as he said, “Wait. Are you certain?”

Why in the world had she been dithering about this earlier? She wanted this man. On every level, heart, body and mind. And she wanted him forever.

“I’m certain.”