The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(36)

Fallon shifted, and a piece of the pottery clanked against the display.

“Survival can be difficult at times.” Grapling’s eyes flashed to where St. James stood behind the pottery, having just become aware of his presence.

Fallon straightened to his full height and moved forward, his focus on Grapling. He was so close. Fallon could grab him now and end this mad chase around London. But the thought of Isabelle in danger stayed his hand. However, nowhere in Grapling’s rules of this game did it say Fallon must make it easy for him to win. Fallon edged closer. Isabelle’s back was thankfully turned, or she would have seen the menacing gleam in his eyes. Her pirate fantasy had come to life.

“Have you had perilous adversity you had to overcome?” Isabelle asked Grapling. “Perhaps a fearsome foe or a fight to near death?”

“Yes, Grapling,” Fallon added. “Have you a fearsome foe while playing your little parlor games?”

“St. James!” Isabelle exclaimed as she turned to greet him, surprise widening her eyes. “What are you doing here? You two are acquainted? I wasn’t aware…”

Fallon stepped closer under the pretense of greeting Isabelle, but should things become violent, he could pull her from harm’s way. He gave her a polite nod. “I was in the area and thought I would take some time for a leisurely stroll and enjoy the art like my old friend Mr. Grapling.”

“You? A stroll through a museum?” Isabelle asked with a smile.

Apparently”—his gaze slid back to Grapling as he spoke—“I’m interrupting. I believe Mr. Grapling was about to tell us of the troubles of his unfortunate life.”

“I have no troubles.” There was a tense moment in which Fallon was reminded of the look in an opponent’s eye just before pistols were drawn at dawn.

“No? How odd. The last time we met, you seemed to be in a bit of an unfortunate circumstance.” Fallon could remember it quite well. The sadness at the situation. The sense of betrayal that one of his own had turned on him. The relief at having him placed behind bars.

“That was quite a long time ago, St. James,” Grapling said with a false levity that didn’t reach his eyes.

“A shorter time to some than others,” Fallon returned.

Isabelle let out a nervous laugh, clearly sensing something was off between the men. “Have either of you seen the exhibit from the plains of Africa? Truly extraordinary.”

“Mr. Grapling’s expertise is in other areas. He enjoys displays of weaponry, knives in particular… Or that’s what I hear.”

“You’re misinformed as usual, St. James. Where do you get your information? It’s quite flawed.”

“Oh?” Fallon mused. “It has been some time since we’ve caught up. Where have you been, and what brings you to town after such a long absence?”

“It’s London. You know I simply can’t keep away from its charms.”

Charms. Fallon had heard the man describe a woman in such terms before, mere days before she’d learned too much of his plans and he’d killed her. The present day was four years too late to save one woman’s life, but he could certainly save Isabelle’s now.

“The city is charming, isn’t it?” Isabelle smiled and clasped her hands together.

The motion was one of such pure happiness that it made Grapling look that much sourer by comparison. He didn’t deserve to be anywhere near this lady. Yet the man was here at her side as if he belonged there. The thought brought Fallon’s anger to the surface in an instant. Grapling wouldn’t turn his filthy gaze on Isabelle while Fallon was present. He wouldn’t allow it.

“I love the life this city has, both day and night,” she added, clearly unaware of the tension surrounding her.

“As do I, Lady Isabelle,” he murmured. Fallon would not allow this man to harm anyone of his acquaintance, especially not Isabelle and her family. He would not allow this man to cause havoc in the city he called home. And he would not stand here for another second and watch that smirk on his face grow larger. In that moment Fallon—always aware of his actions and thinking five steps ahead—didn’t think. He swung.

His fist collided with Grapling’s jaw in a manner that would make Ayton proud. Grapling staggered backward, shock mixing with pain in his eyes.

He heard Isabelle’s sharp intake of breath over his shoulder. “No,” she called out. “What are you doing? Please don’t fight. I don’t… I can’t…”

“He has misgivings about my presence here with you, my lady,” Grapling stated as he turned to look at Fallon with an amused gleam in his eyes. “Are you the jealous type? Interesting.”

“Jealous?” Isabelle drew back in more surprise than she’d shown when he’d punched Grapling. “You have it all wrong. We’re only friends.”

“Apologies, my lady, but—”

Anything Fallon would have said was cut off when someone grabbed his shoulder and hauled him backward.

Grapling watched, his reddened lips twisting up in pleasure as he mused, “Close call, there. I’ll be watching, as will you.”

“You got him. That’s the one. I knew when I saw him creeping about the place he was up to no good,” a man said from the door to the next room. The gentleman from earlier must have alerted someone downstairs. Fallon glanced up to see the giant of a footman who was dragging him away from Grapling.