The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(24)

He needed only a bit of sleep or another pot of tea or two. But he knew no amount of sleep or tea would make this problem solve itself. Reaching for his cup, he drained the warm liquid inside, but his mind was no clearer on the subject of Isabelle than it had been a moment before. Straightening the papers on his desk, he glanced at the clock on the mantel across the room. He would need to get dressed for tonight’s ball soon. But before he’d taken a step away from his desk, Ash Claughbane banged the door open as he flew around the corner into his library.

“There’s a problem.”

Fallon stared at the man—his newest recruit to the Spare Heirs and a young con artist selling investments in the future of steam. He was crossing the room, out of breath from running. “Is it Rightworth? I told you to be careful there. If you need to leave town—”

“It isn’t investments for my steam works that are in jeopardy. It’s Brice.” His eyes were wide, and he was clearly shaken by whatever he knew. “There’s a fire.”

“Where?” Fallon asked, already rounding his desk, hoping the conclusion he’d jumped to was wrong.

“Bond Street. He was in—”

“Ayton’s family’s jewelry store,” Fallon finished for him. Brice had gone in search of documents that could help in Ayton’s brother’s murder investigation. But there had been a fire? How had that happened? Fallon had to help; he had to fix this. Brice was one of his oldest friends and associates, as was Ayton. “How much damage? Is Brice all right?”

Claughbane tugged at the untied cravat that hung loose around his neck. “He was escaping the flames when I left. St. James, you should know, there was a lady with him.”

“A lady?” Brice would never take a lady along on a mission, no matter how many of them filled his free hours.

“One of the Fairlyn twins, I believe.”

Isabelle. Fallon had to reach her. Had she followed Brice again? And she’d trailed him right into a fire this time.

But Fallon didn’t know that it was her. It could be her sister. Either situation was terrible, but Isabelle couldn’t be hurt. She just couldn’t be. He took a breath through an ever-tightening throat and ground out, “Which one? Which twin? Isabelle or Victoria?”

“I don’t know, mate.” Claughbane shuffled his feet and sighed. “But this is bad business. Is there any way I can assist?”

“No.” Fallon was already moving toward the door. “Informing me was the right thing to do.” He paused to clasp a hand on Claughbane’s shoulder in appreciation, then kept moving. He had to get to Bond.

*

Isabelle had been safe at home when Bond Street was ignited, a fact that should give him peace of mind, and it did. Yet the result of the fire yesterday was a waking nightmare no matter which sister had been present for it. Brice, Lady Victoria, and two charred London shops…

Fallon braced his elbows on his desk and fought to keep the grimace from his face, but it lurked just under the surface of his expression. If someone had told him earlier this week that Brice would soon burn down a portion of town, he wouldn’t have believed it.

Yet somehow that was exactly what had happened.

He stared down the two men across the desk from him. “Now that we’re not standing in a pile of ashes, you have the next ten minutes to explain to me how you managed to incinerate a portion of Bond Street.”

It was late afternoon, a full day since the damned fire began, and these two were only now appearing at headquarters for an official report. Fallon hadn’t slowed since he’d heard the news, and he’d yet to hear an apology from his men for his inconvenience. Though the two men before him did look a bit worse for wear as well. Brice still wore yesterday’s clothing, and Ayton, though clean, had a dazed look about him that brought even more questions to mind.

Fallon had known both men since their school days. The Spare Heirs had been only a vague notion then. A dream, really. Fallon had just acquired their headquarters and needed younger sons to help in the club’s establishment. Kelton Brice and Ethan Moore had been just the gentlemen to assist him. He’d relied on them then. Now? Fallon sighed. He still relied on them, but the two men were in rather unfortunate situations.

Then again, weren’t they all?

Ethan Moore—now Lord Ayton—had recently returned from a long stay on the continent and inherited his brother’s courtesy title and a pile of trouble along with it. He was tracking a killer, and though he wouldn’t admit it, the lady whose name had been tied to his brother’s held a great deal of importance to him. Fallon would be more concerned about the murderer on the loose, but if anyone could handle himself in a London alley, it was the large-framed boxer.

Then there was Brice, who’d been given the simple task of retrieving some documents from a jewelry shop on Bond as part of Ayton’s search. And now that shop and the one beside it were smoldering ruins.

“There were lots of hats,” Brice began before Ayton stopped him with a raised hand, his dark head shaking to keep his friend silent for once.

“We have the documents Brice went to the shop for,” Ayton said, trying to place a positive light on the incident even though he must have been furious. His family’s inventory had been destroyed with the jewelry store, along with the milliner’s next door. “I know it wasn’t a perfect mission…”