The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(39)

“Where is my bride?” Hardaway hissed at his side, drawing Fallon’s attention back to the event at hand. “She should be here by now.”

As should her sister. Yet Isabelle was nowhere to be found. The crowd was growing louder as the people gathered grew impatient. Then Victoria appeared in the back doorway of the church, music played from the balcony above their heads, and the rumble of the crowd died down. The lady’s eyes darted around the room, searching. Isabelle… She hadn’t been with her sister then. Which raised the question: Where was she?

Looking out across the faces of those in the church, he saw that he wasn’t the only one to notice Isabelle’s absence. Her name was mouthed in wordless whispers by quite a few people while others craned their necks, looking for her. Something was wrong. Isabelle knew enough about society to know she couldn’t abstain from this event. She would know of the reality of society expectations. Everyone would talk. She must have been more distraught by this day than he’d imagined. If she wasn’t here, where was she? He needed to find her.

But gasps pulled him from his thoughts. Victoria had stopped moving when she was only halfway to the front of the church. She stood rooted to the floor for a moment, and her eyes darted around the room before landing on Hardaway with a wary look.

“What…” Hardaway breathed at his side, his body going rigid with tension as if preparing for a brawl in an alley.

Lady Victoria looked to be preparing for the same eventuality. She parted her lips as if she was about to say something; then in the next second, she picked up the bottom of her gown, turned, and took off at a run.

Fallon turned to ask Hardaway what had happened between them, but his friend was already running after his would-be wife. “Victoria!” he bellowed just before he disappeared at the rear of the building.

Fallon blinked. This was certainly one way to divert attention from the recent fire.

He wouldn’t have recommended this course of action, but now that it had occurred…it wasn’t an altogether bad outcome. Everyone would certainly discuss this over tea for a long while. He should be pleased, but all he could think about was the one end of the rope left to unravel.

Where was Isabelle?

*

The front doors of the museum rattled beneath his hands as Fallon pulled on the handles. Locked. The museum wouldn’t be open for another hour yet. But Isabelle must be here. He pushed off the thought once again that Grapling had taken her, that she was in danger. This was simply Isabelle mourning her sister’s wedding. There were no games here, no pawns, only Isabelle. He took a breath. If not the museum, where would she go? He’d already asked after her at her home, and any friend or family member she would think to visit had been present at the almost-wedding. Stepping to the side, he lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the sun. He peered in the window, unwilling to walk away just yet.

A shadow of movement caught his eye beyond the main hall of the museum. Perhaps Isabelle was here after all.

He turned and descended the steps, scanning the sides of the building for a secondary door. Rounding the corner of the large stone structure, he moved down the narrower side street, toward the door that Isabelle must have used if she was in fact here. A moment later, he threw it open with a nod of satisfaction before charging up the service stairs that led to the upper rooms. The area was for the use of the librarians who worked in the building, but that didn’t slow Fallon. He was no stranger to clandestine trips into service areas.

Within seconds he’d reached the upper floor, where Isabelle had once given him a tour. He would surely find her here, staring at a painting, forlorn over her lost love. Or had she truly moved on to Grapling just as the man had planned? Perhaps he could offer her some comfort in the fact that her true love was still today an available bachelor. If he told her about the failed wedding, would she run to fawn over his friend? Some selfish part of him wished he could keep the information secret a bit longer. Then he could keep her to himself—if only for the afternoon.

Fallon had built an empire upon secrets and omissions of details, but he knew he must tell her the truth about her sister’s failed wedding. At the same time, he knew she only wanted friendship from him. And he had no room in his life to have her as more than a friend. It was fact, reality, no matter how much he wished it were not.

His booted feet fell in silent steps on the thick rug that ran the length of the room leading to the main gallery. It was rather eerie to walk the halls of the museum with the building this silent. Many painted sets of eyes watched his progress as he wound his way toward the area with Isabelle’s family’s collection. It was odd, though… He’d seen movement through the front window, yet all was quiet inside. There were no light footsteps as Isabelle moved around the room, no chatter as she talked to a maid—only silence.

He quickened his pace, unsure what he would find after all. When he reached the opening to the large gallery where Isabelle’s family’s art collection was housed, he finally understood the silence.

He paused for only a heartbeat as the shock of the scene before him tensed his muscles for battle. Then he was running.

“Isabelle?”

The walls where the paintings had been displayed were bare, the room empty. Isabelle was on the floor, limbs in disarray as if she’d fallen and hadn’t moved since. She was bleeding. The scene was all too familiar. Not again. Not Isabelle.