The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(25)
“Do you remember the Hinklebent fiasco?” Fallon asked, leaning forward over his desktop to grab the teapot. There was not enough tea in London for all he was left to repair today. He’d been in his fair share of near misses and tight situations but had always navigated the group to safety. Now he must do it again.
The two men winced at the mention of one of their higher-ranking failures.
“Lord Fistershot?” Fallon continued as he refilled his cup.
“That’s hardly fair,” Brice cut in. “We were young, and he—”
“This is worse,” Fallon confirmed. “You started a fire on Bond Street.”
“I didn’t intend to burn the place.” Brice leaned back in his chair, somehow managing to look uncomfortable even as he lounged and stretched his legs. “It was that damned lady, Lady Victoria Fairlyn. She spotted me and…”
“Go on then. Tell him.” Ayton groaned as he scooted his chair away from Brice a fraction. Clearly he didn’t want to be cooked in the same pot as his incendiary friend.
“She threw hats at me,” Brice ground out with his brows raised as if his explanation said it all.
Only it didn’t explain a thing.
Fallon abandoned his cup and stood from his desk. Turning away from the two men, he looked out the window. Bracing his forearm on the window frame, he watched a carriage roll down the street below. There was nothing to be done about the fire except assist in the repairs—and do so without attracting London’s notice. The Spares may have quiet hands in most profitable endeavors, but they didn’t leave destruction in their wake. He’d spent last night in meetings to begin the process of covering up their involvement, and that was only the beginning. He would have to meet with more than a few gentlemen to set this fire business right. Not to mention the matter of Victoria Fairlyn.
On top of Ayton’s murder investigation, Claughbane’s steam investments, and any number of other orders of business he was overseeing, there was now a fire to clean up, and a lady’s reputation in serious danger thanks to the Spares.
And even with all of this, the image he couldn’t shake from his mind was a different lady—Lady Isabelle Fairlyn with that blasted locket hanging around her neck.
He needed to repair the damage quickly before it was beyond even him.
If Fallon could distract society for a while—give them some splendid show to keep them away from the sleight of hand that was occurring at the same time—the Spare Heirs and their involvement in the fire might slip by unnoticed. Much could be learned about manipulation of a crowd by watching a magician. Claughbane, resident swindler of the ton, would be pleased with him. Though Fallon would never tell the man. His head would swell to twice its normal size.
What Fallon needed was a diversion—a bright, shining, beautiful diversion. To cover the scandal of a fire on Bond, it had to be big. Something happy. Something the people would be excited to see. Something that involved Brice…
There was one clear option, of course: a wedding. One lady and one gentleman happened to be involved in this scandal, which meant the participants were already in place. Everyone always enjoyed watching a confirmed bachelor fall to the trap of marriage. And Lady Victoria was beyond beautiful in looks—she was Isabelle’s twin sister, after all. Brice would complain, but in the end it wouldn’t be a terrible burden.
Fallon had always believed that the straight and clear path to resolution should be plan A. All of the numbers added up—Kelton Brice’s marriage to Lady Victoria had to be this first option. As for plan B… There wasn’t time to consider a plan B. Not if there was any hope of saving the Fairlyn family from potentially irreparable harm. More than that, he had important things to do—beginning with finding Reginald Grapling before he could do anyone harm. If he hadn’t already.
He had to protect Isabelle on both fronts. She would be devastated by the news of the wedding, of course, but her life was more important than temporary pain. As long as this issue lingered, he couldn’t devote his time to catching Grapling. Fallon had seen the way that man had looked at her. She wouldn’t be safe while Grapling was roaming London’s streets.
Friends don’t do things like this to each other, a voice that sounded an awful lot like Isabelle’s accused him. But his friend, Brice, had left this problem on Fallon’s doorstep. When presented with problems, Fallon solved them. He would do what he must.
He turned back to face Brice and Ayton. They were looking to him for direction. Everyone looked to him.
Shaking his coat into place and steeling himself for what was to come, Fallon stared back into the seeking faces of his men. “Brice, I’ll need you to do what you do best.”
“Beat a man until he sees reason? Or break in somewhere to steal papers?”
“I wouldn’t claim that stealing documents was what I do best just now,” Ayton mumbled under his breath.
“Neither. Today I need you to make the rounds in society. Act the hero. Talk of how you rescued Lady Victoria from harm.”
“You want him to call attention to this madness?” Ayton asked.
“Yes. Like I said, I need him to do what he does best—talk.”
“Which would further associate my name with Lady Victoria’s… St. James, you can’t be considering what it seems you’re considering. I know that look on your face.”