The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(17)

—Your admirer

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When Isabelle entered the ballroom later that evening, Fallon couldn’t pull his gaze from her. She was a vision in yellow. Her blond hair trailed in soft curls down her neck, melting into the deeper hue of her gown and giving her the look of the sun setting over a field in autumn. And just as with the sunsets of his youth, he found he couldn’t look away. Every second possessed magic, and he couldn’t miss a moment.

She moved closer, gliding on a wave of kind smiles for everyone she passed. She wasn’t ambitious or grasping, like other members of the ton. So many doled out kindnesses like game chips to be collected on later. Not Isabelle. The honesty of her well-meaning gestures shined in her eyes. It was rather refreshing.

He wasn’t certain how long he’d been admiring her as she moved through the ballroom, but he knew he should look away. Then she turned, the light glinted off something at her throat, and his heart gave an unfortunate sudden jolt. The necklace she wore…

Fallon knew it all too well.

It couldn’t be. How would she have acquired that specific piece? And just when Reginald Grapling had reappeared?

Panic pulsed within his body as he watched her—beautiful, guileless, and alive.

Narrowing his gaze, he studied the locket that hung from Isabelle’s neck. Perhaps he’d only imagined a similarity. He was across the room from her. It couldn’t be. He began moving closer, hoping he was wrong. There was more than one gold locket in the world, after all. But as he got closer to her, that small bit of hope died. He’d only ever seen one pendant in the shape of a heart with flowered scrollwork covering the surface and a tiny golden butterfly perched on the top, and that golden necklace was now draped from Isabelle’s throat.

Nothing would remove the image of the last time he’d seen the piece. The gold had been splattered with blood, as had the body they’d found. That had been the night he’d learned the depth of Grapling’s deceit and how he’d abused his place within the Spare Heirs. Prison had been kind compared to what Fallon had wanted to do to the man. Now, he’d escaped, and Isabelle was wearing a dead girl’s necklace at a ball. It was all too familiar.

Fallon wanted to rip it from Isabelle’s neck so the cold of death wouldn’t touch her skin. He could hardly go about ballrooms taking ladies’ jewelry and tossing it into the garden outside. In the absence of that option, he was left to wonder at how the piece could have come into her possession. Wouldn’t it have been locked away somewhere with old memories? It should have been. He couldn’t recall what had happened to the locket after all was settled that day, but he couldn’t imagine it had been left lying about. Did her family know Isabelle wore it tonight?

He shook off the panic that had taken hold of his body and focused on Isabelle. History would not repeat itself tonight. He’d moved from his position in the shadow of the stairs. A silent plea warred with the truth he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Forcing his eyes up from Isabelle’s jewelry as he rounded the group of ladies who separated them, Fallon worked to keep any wayward emotion from showing on his face. It was a skill he’d practiced for years. Isabelle didn’t have the same inclination, as far as he could surmise. She displayed every emotion, spoke every thought that crossed her lovely mind. But then, there was something pleasing in the honesty of her expressions. Honesty, forthright thought, and her particular flights of fancy were rather foreign to him. She was a curiosity, just like the artwork she watched over at the museum. And just like a painting that captured the light and emotion of a perfect moment in time, when he was in her presence, he couldn’t look away.

Tonight she was bright and merry, clearly unaware of the history of the necklace she wore. He pushed his own harsh memories away, determined to focus on her. With beauty like hers, she didn’t deserve to have the evening tainted by his dark ruminations on the past. She deserved wildflowers and real butterflies. Delicate things of great beauty should remain in like company, after all.

“Are you following me?”

“I try to make a point not to follow ladies about town.”

“And yet here you are, following me. Any other lady might get notions about your interest,” she teased with a punishing swat of her fan against his arm.

“I wouldn’t stop to speak with any other lady,” Fallon stated in a rare moment of honesty. She must have been rubbing off on him. “I’m here on a business matter.”

“As am I.” She lifted her chin and flicked her gaze out across the crowded floor beside them.

His eye was drawn once more to the blasted necklace at her throat. Business matters… Was there some chance she knew of the history of the piece? Had she worn it in some misguided intention this evening? But he shook off the thought as soon as it occurred to him. Isabelle wasn’t involved with the hunt for Grapling. There was no way she could have known the details. And she wouldn’t have been so cheerful if she did. “What business do you have this evening?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” She beamed up at him and shifted her hips back and forth to make her gown swirl around her in blithesome swishes.

“You’re on the hunt for a husband?” he asked, already relieved that his instincts were correct. The last complication he needed was for Isabelle to get involved. She was an innocent lady—albeit with regrettable taste in jewelry this evening.