The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(101)
“The intelligence behind this exchange seems to be accurate,” Fallon said, eyeing the empty street outside and the harbor beyond that. The place held all the usual marks of being a sale location—proximity to a ship scheduled to leave port by morning, a quiet building, and a lack of homes in the area. For these same reasons, Fallon had used it on occasion. Unfortunately, he’d trained Grapling well.
“Was there bad information before?” Knottsby asked in surprise. “Hardaway, you’re going too easy on your informants.”
“He’s been distraught ever since the wedding,” Fallon answered with an innocent shrug of his shoulders for Hardaway’s benefit. Fallon was still on edge from their talk earlier, and the chitchat while they waited for Grapling wasn’t helping matters. “Heartbroken, wasn’t that the term you used?”
“Ha!” Hardaway exclaimed.
“Keep your voice down.” Fallon jabbed Hardaway in the ribs with his elbow.
His friend drew back and narrowed his eyes on Fallon in the dim moonlight. “Is this sharing of confidences time, St. James? Because I know a thing or two that I could say. You wouldn’t want me to say what I could say, but say it I would.”
Fallon almost grinned—almost. “Hardaway, would you say it? I am not certain I understand if you would say something.”
“Bloody know-it-all,” his friend ground out.
“About the wedding,” Knottsby cut in. “Hardaway, you have my utmost apologies for—”
“Not now,” Fallon bit out as a carriage drew to a stop outside the building. This was it.
He took a step back into the shadows and nodded for the others to do the same. They watched from the edge of the window as Grapling stepped down along with two young men. They each possessed the rough look of boys who had grown up on the streets. Their wary eyes darted around, and pistols were visible at their backs. Grapling, on the other hand, walked as if he owned the air around him.
They paused outside the carriage, a swaying lantern lighting the scene. Grapling was giving directions to the driver, appeared to be instructing one of the men to stay behind. The artwork could be in the carriage. Unless there was another conveyance still to come.
“He has blond hair?” Knottsby asked. “When did that happen?”
“When he discovered Isabelle’s fondness for fair-headed gentlemen and attempted to court her.” Fallon shifted back from the window to avoid being seen.
“Grapling shouldn’t be allowed in the same room as Isabelle.” Knottsby’s gaze lingered for a second on Fallon’s dark-brown hair and frowned in an all-too-obvious thought.
Fallon had never been right for Isabelle. She would go on to marry some lordly man who had the hair color and principles that she preferred. He swallowed down any further thought about what could have been, focusing on their present situation. “I tried to warn her away, attempted to alert you—as best I could, anyway, without endangering her life, but I failed on both counts. He lured her to the museum that day for revenge against you…and me. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you he was the culprit. He’d threatened to kill her if I spoke.”
“On her sister’s wedding day… I’ve neglected my family for too long. I don’t even know what happens in my own home. Did you know that Grapling sent my Isabelle that blasted necklace and she wore it to a ball?”
Yes, as the jewelry now resided in Fallon’s own desk drawer. He was still angered that for a time he’d thought this was about recreating a crime from years ago and not about art theft. Only someone who knew Fallon would know how to manipulate him in such a manner.
“My daughters are running amok,” Knottsby said at his side. “My family’s art collection has been stolen. It’s all because of my own inattentiveness. I got caught up in having this blasted title and all that went with it. This is my fault.”
“No. The blame is mine,” Fallon stated.
“Not everything is your responsibility, St. James.”
That wasn’t the least bit true, but he didn’t argue. A door opened a fraction on the other side of the room, and he heard light footsteps. Glancing back, he noted that Grapling was still outside, only just coming up to the nearest door. Fallon squinted into the dark of the opposite corner but saw nothing. He’d instructed his men to remain outside the building. Whoever had gone against his orders would have to be dealt with.
Just then the door banged open and Grapling entered, drawing Fallon’s attention away from the noise and the dark corner.
“A fine night for wealth and revenge.”
“We can drink to that tonight,” the young man replied.
“We shall. As soon as we’re rid of the paintings, my boy.”
“Never would have thought some paint would fetch that kind of price.”
“That’s why you have me about. I know about the finer things and how to get them. You just have to follow my lead.”
“Yes, sir,” the young man said as he leaned back to look out the door. “When will he be here?”
“Not long. You should always arrive early to meetings such as this one. It gives you the advantage of knowing your surroundings. I can teach you much about this business.”
Hardaway glanced to Fallon, and Fallon curled his fingers into fists. Arriving early was his advice to new recruits. He’d told it to Grapling in similar circumstances, only he hadn’t acted like a high-handed arse when he’d said it. Little did the man know that he hadn’t arrived early enough.