The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(34)
“Timing…but none of that is important now. I see you received my note.” His grin returned, even wider than before.
“I did. I very much liked—” She broke off with a glance at her mother to ensure they couldn’t be heard. “The gifts. They were beautiful.”
“It will be our secret. We could keep every word spoken between us a secret. I confess, I’m a bit of a romantic.”
“What’s your name? Or is that to be a secret as well?” she asked in a low voice, captivated by the excitement of it all.
“For only you to know, I’m Mr. Reginald Grapling.”
Seven
St. James,
I hope you’re enjoying this little game of ours. You must have known when you ended the last round by placing me behind bars that it wasn’t the end. That was too easy. This competition between us will never be over. Having me thrown in prison only interrupted our fun. And now our game continues. The move is mine, and I’ve selected a lovely pawn. I believe you know her.
Her name is Lady Isabelle Fairlyn. I’m certain you remember her father. I know I do. It was interesting to watch you with his daughter on the terrace that night. Quite enamored with her, aren’t you? That should make this game entertaining to say the least—for my part anyway. Does her family know of your interest in her? What a mess that would be. They couldn’t possibly approve. You should know that gentlemen like us don’t get the girl. Or do we?
As you may have already pieced together, I’ve decided to pursue Lady Isabelle. She’s a beautiful lady, and her company is tolerable enough. For some time now, she’s thought of me as her secret admirer. How did I manage such a feat and keep it from your notice? It was simple, really. I sent her flowers and jewelry, and she told me her secrets—all her secrets. The lady is simply in too valuable a placement on our game board for me to overlook.
That she’s Fairlyn’s daughter was enough, but when I saw the way you looked at her, I knew what I must do. Of course she’s hasn’t any idea about this contest of ours, but she’s certainly going to be fun to toy with while you watch. You, Fallon St. James, great protector of the land, can do nothing to stop me. And I will know of any attempt you make. Just like you, I now have eyes and ears everywhere. Can you guess where? How close to home? I would warn you to be careful what you say, but you always have been the silent one.
Do you see the perfection of my move yet? Allow me to elaborate. If you warn her away from me, she dies. If you warn her father of my plot, she dies. You will watch while I destroy Fairlyn’s lovely daughter and the man himself in one move of one perfect pawn. I hope you weren’t too fond of her.
Best of luck. You’ll require it.
—RG
? ? ?
Fallon dropped the letter he’d practically memorized to his lap with numb fingers. He couldn’t look at the words written there any longer. Of course, he also couldn’t look away. The carriage pulled to a stop, but for a moment, he didn’t move.
Fallon had thought he was making the correct decision last night when he allowed Isabelle to seek happiness with a gentleman in a position to marry. He’d meant what he’d told her about deserving such things. And from across the ballroom last night, he’d watched her try on men like shoes. All had been as it ought to be, no matter how he wished he could talk to her a bit longer, hear her laugh, see her eyes light up at some idea. He’d convinced himself that she must move forward, away from him. But he’d had a vague sense of unease that lasted the remainder of the night.
He’d dismissed it, knowing the emotion that surged through him was an irrational one. This morning, however… This morning was a different story. He swallowed and stared at the words on the paper. If he warned anyone, she would die? There was always a countermove to be made. Always. And until he discovered what that move was, he would be following Isabelle…everywhere.
*
A brightly lit museum wasn’t where Fallon would have thought to find Grapling, but that was indeed where the man was this afternoon. Strolling. Perusing the art. And the part that made Fallon want to commit murder was the man’s attention to Lady Isabelle Fairlyn. The only thing missing from the scene before him was damned dancing and laughter. Was there something he could have said at some point to stop this from happening? But Fallon knew Isabelle wouldn’t listen when it came to her dreams of romance—she never had. And now that beautiful quality was being exploited by the worst sort of gentleman. Fallon shouldn’t have left her alone at the ball last night.
Grapling had called her his pawn. But what exactly was the man after? What torture did he have in store for Isabelle? Fallon had to do something to stop this, but he couldn’t risk Isabelle’s life. Every unanswered, feverish thought pulsed through Fallon’s brain with a painful thump against his skull.
Fallon stepped behind a tall marble statue, waiting for Isabelle and Grapling to pass by. Flaxen hair created from boiling lye? He let out a harsh breath at the lengths Grapling would go to in order to escape capture. Fallon should have alerted his men to potential changes in Grapling’s appearance. He ticked off another shortcoming on the great list in his head. This entire situation was Fallon’s fault.
His blood boiled with the knowledge that this villainous man, a man who had committed murder and theft, was just beyond Fallon’s reach, both literally and metaphorically. Strolling through the museum, chatting with Isabelle as if he hadn’t a care in the world. His Isabelle! Granted, she wasn’t his Isabelle. But she was a damned sight closer to Fallon’s than blasted Grapling’s.