Page 81 of His Improper Lady

“You seem well acquainted with Stella’s jewels,” Tom said dryly.

Mrs. McGee crossed her arms and glared at him. “I had to feed the children, didn’t I? Pay the coalman and such.”

“Yes, of course,” Desiree said soothingly, casting an admonitory look toward Tom. This was scarcely the time to offend the woman by accusing her of theft—especially since it seemed to Desiree that everything she’d told them so far was the truth.

“Mrs. McGee, if you don’t believe my mother ran away, then why didn’t she come back? What do you think she did?”

“I don’t think she did anything. Lord Moreland killed her.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

DESIREE GAPED AT HER. “What? My father? You think he killed my mother?”

Mrs. McGee nodded. “Wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened.”

“But why? Everyone says they were very much in love,” Desiree protested.

“She was. Don’t know about him—you never can tell with men. Maybe he got tired of her or she was pressing him to leave his wife. Or he was afraid his wife would find out. Maybe he just wanted to stop paying blackmail to Falk.”

“But Lord Moreland disappeared, as well,” Tom pointed out.

“Well, he ran away after he did it, I’d guess,” the housekeeper replied. “Afraid he’d get his neck stretched for it.”

“But the letter—” Desiree began, pulling up every ounce of her power to sense any deception on the part of the woman in front of her. But whether or not the housekeeper was correct, she obviously believed that Desiree’s father was a killer.

“Was written by him, now, wasn’t it? Nobody got a word from her,” Mrs. McGee pointed out triumphantly. “Mark my words, he murdered her. It’s always the lover. Or the husband.”

Desiree stared, too stunned to think of anything to say.

“Did you tell the police?” Tom asked. “Report your suspicions?”

The other woman let out a scornful laugh. “Me? Accuse a duke’s kin of murder? I think not. They wouldn’t do anything to a Moreland. And I couldn’t prove anything. I wasn’t getting involved with the police.”

“I’d guess not, since you were pilfering her jewels,” Tom retorted.

“I’ve had enough of you,” Mrs. McGee shot back, glowering at Tom. “Coming into my own house and accusing me of thieving. I did you a favor and ans—”

“I paid you.”

“Out!” Mrs. McGee jabbed a finger at the door.

“Tom, let’s go.” Desiree rose, starting for the door, and Tom followed.

They returned to the agency office, neither of them speaking. Desiree’s head was still spinning. She could tell from Tom’s frequent sidelong glances that he was worried about her. She wanted to reassure him that she was fine. But she wasn’t sure she could. The housekeeper’s words had set her reeling.

As soon as they were inside Tom’s flat, Desiree whirled to face him, arms flung wide. “Now my father is a murderer?”

“We don’t know that,” Tom argued. “I am not at all sure we can trust that woman.”

“She wasn’t lying. I’m sure of it.”

“All that means is that she believes what she says. That’s her opinion, not a fact. Sit down, and I’ll make us a pot of tea.”

“I can’t sit down,” Desiree replied and began to pace. “I thought it couldn’t be worse than my parents abandoning us, but now...my mother years dead, my father a killer!”

“Here now.” Tom came up behind her, curling his arms around her and holding her close. “Don’t fret so.”

The feel of his arms around her, the warmth and strength of his body against hers calmed Desiree, and she leaned her head back against his chest. “The things she said made so much sense, Tom. It’s hard to deny them. Leaving with only one case? Not taking her jewelry? And you and I know that Stella didn’t take the expensive pieces, either, because they were stashed away in the secret place beside the fireplace. Who would set off on a long journey, much less a whole lifetime, with only a change of clothes and a hairbrush? Leave the letters that were so dear to her, the jewels she’d been given by the man she loved? I certainly wouldn’t do that.”