The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(46)
He glanced down at the tray in his arms. “I wasn’t certain what you usually prefer, so I had my cook gather several options. It’s late. You must be hungry.”
“Are kidnapping victims not to be starved to ensure their compliance?”
“Only if I were attempting to get information from you,” he replied, moving to place the tray on the small table beneath the window, where he’d once taken his meals. Turning back to her, he asked, “Do you have any information that would require interrogation?”
She fell silent, and her eyes lifted to the side in a clear effort to think of something of importance to tell him.
“My lady, you have no information,” Fallon said, cutting into her thoughts. He crossed the room, prepared to help her to the chair at the table. She shouldn’t be up and about with a recent head injury. “And your compliance is a hopeless thing to wish for anyway. I’ve seen you stalk gentlemen in ballrooms and flee after dropping cakes on the floor. You might as well eat.”
She grimaced in resignation and crawled to the edge of the bed to take his arm. “As long as I’m not forced to eat beets. I can’t abide beets.”
He forced back a grin. “I can’t abide kidney pie, but I believe we’re both safe with what’s here.”
He led Isabelle slowly to the table already arranged with two chairs and pulled her seat out for her. He hadn’t eaten here since his last days with Pearl. When her ladyship could no longer use the stairs, he’d had some furniture moved in so she could continue to live as she once had. Once she was gone, Fallon hadn’t had the heart to dismantle her private quarters. It seemed disrespectful to the dead. So here the room sat, ready for a private meal for two. It was rather convenient at the moment since only his driver and Dr. Mathers knew of Isabelle’s presence. The quieter this situation remained, the safer she was from danger and from talk in town.
Isabelle leaned forward to peer under a cloth that covered a bowl before taking only a piece of bread. He’d never thought this to be an intimate setting, but with Isabelle curled up like a cat in the opposite chair as she picked at the bread, he realized just how alone they were. How was he going to manage this situation?
Everything Fallon dealt with on a daily basis was with intention and careful execution. Everything he was involved with had to be carefully orchestrated if he was to keep all the wheels spinning. Until Isabelle. From the second he’d met this lady, he’d been thrown from his normal course.
A series of rash decisions later, and here he was eating with her—the beauty whose company he found refreshing, her spirit honest and enchanting. Every moment with her was like venturing into a foreign land, with spontaneity and unexpected sights around every corner. And his duty was to find a way to consider her as nothing but another mission to complete. He cleared his throat and took a large gulp of water. They were alone, but he didn’t have to dwell on the pout of her lips as she considered every bite of bread.
“I’ve written to your father to ease his mind about your whereabouts,” he informed her.
Her gaze snapped to his. “And you told him I was here? Locked in your bedchamber with you? Sharing a quiet dinner without proper dress or even a cracked door for propriety?”
“I neglected to mention that part. I thought it best to keep that between us.”
“I should be the one to write to him. He doesn’t know you. He’ll want to hear from me.”
“You’re in no condition to write letters. And your father does know me. You must trust me for now. You can write to him soon.”
She nodded but said nothing for a moment as she reached for a piece of meat from the tray, then took a small bite of the pheasant with a bit more force than was required. When she looked up at him, it was with the doe eyes that made him want to dive in and swim around for the evening. “I’m quite ruined, aren’t I? Will we be forced to marry?”
“Not if I can help it. No one knows you’re here save the two of us, my driver, the doctor, and your father. Not even my household staff are aware of your presence here.” He had to protect her reputation. If word got out that she was here… She was right, he would have to marry her. And that couldn’t happen. He wouldn’t allow it. No one wanted another wedding meant to solve a problem, least of all him. “I’m quite good at keeping secrets.”
“I’m awful at it, but since I have no one to talk to, I think we’re safe for the moment.” She attempted a smile as she sifted through the small bowl of fruit and retrieved a strawberry, twirling it between her fingers by the green stem.
“I’m sorry it must be this way,” Fallon offered.
“I read the note while you were gone,” she admitted a moment later, still looking down at the strawberry spinning back and forth in her hand.
“The one on normally scented paper?”
She looked up, meeting his gaze with sorrow-filled eyes. “The one written in a hand far too similar to my own. Everyone will think I stole from the museum, from my own family.”
“It was a forgery. I’ll find the other copies and have them destroyed,” Fallon promised as he stabbed a piece of meat with his fork.
“How?”
Didn’t she understand? That was the simple part in all of this. He’d already begun the process the second he’d returned to headquarters with her unconscious in his arms. Orders had been given hours ago, and even now they were being carried out. This, sitting here alone with her and trying to maintain a business demeanor, was the difficult portion. She views you as a friend and now her kidnapper, he reminded himself. Nothing can come of this time spent together, and nothing should. “You need to worry only about resting. You have a head injury. You shouldn’t be concerned with—”