The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(51)

Hardaway narrowed his eyes on him. “What have you done with her? Not some moldy safe house, I hope. I had to stay in that one in Bath last year. You remember? I’m still trying to forget the experience. It had rats, St. James, rats! Large ones. I think one crawled on me while I slept. Little claws… That place isn’t fit for a lady. I know the wedding didn’t go through, but we were almost family. I won’t stand for her sitting alone or worse, with the likes of one of the Spares, while we investigate this mess.”

“She’s quite well.”

Hardaway eyed him in a way only a friend since childhood could do. “You didn’t.”

“What?”

“You brought her here, didn’t you? You never have trusted the men to do their jobs. Damn. St. James, you know you can’t do everything yourself.”

“I couldn’t allow Grapling to get that close to killing her again,” he answered honestly.

“Then we better find that bastard. She can’t stay in the guest rooms here forever. The men will find out. This is a bachelor residence of the worst variety.”

A moment passed, and Fallon said nothing. What was there to say?

“St. James, tell me you put her in one of the guest rooms.”

“As opposed to…”

“Some dungeon beneath the kitchens you’ve never told us about, complete with bars on the door to keep your enemies at bay.”

“She’s well cared for, Hardaway.”

“It doesn’t matter how many cherubs you have painted on the ceiling, it’s still a dungeon. She’s a lady! I know you don’t care for such nuance, but—”

“Stop your yelling. I saw to the matter myself. She’s well settled abovestairs.”

“Oh.” Then a moment later his eyes widened. “Oooh. Is she now?” Hardaway chuckled.

Fallon stared his friend down across the desk. “We need to get those letters, Hardaway.”

“Very well. I know you’re fond of your secrets. At least she isn’t pining over me, her lost love.”

“I’m not above hitting you.”

“Hmm, a sensitive subject, I see.” He laughed and stood, leaving his empty glass on Fallon’s desk. “I’ll get your confession notes, and then we can sort out Grapling for good.”

Fallon watched him leave before returning to his work. Isabelle was simply another mission for the organization, a matter to handle. His friend had the wrong idea entirely with his laughter and knowing looks. Five minutes later, when he’d read the same line of text over seven times without knowing what it said, he sighed and stood from his desk. “Blast you, Hardaway. What the devil do you know about it?”

He went to the corner and hefted Isabelle’s trunk from the floor. If he couldn’t focus on work at the moment, he could take the opportunity to feed and clothe his newest responsibility. Slowly he made his way out of the library and up the stairs, to where she waited for him.

Dropping the trunk in the hall outside his door, he sank to the top of it for a moment. What had Knottsby sent over for Isabelle’s stay, a large box of stones? After three flights of stairs, he needed a moment to catch his breath. Whether the need for a rest was from carrying her trunk or because he had to walk inside this room with it as soon as he stood was debatable. “She’s a job, nothing more,” he whispered to the empty hall.

Standing, he unlocked his door and pulled the trunk inside. What he found on the other side of the door, however, stopped him cold.

Isabelle was leaning against the windowsill and staring back into the room, barefoot and rumpled from sleeping in her dress from the previous day. She’d removed her own bandage, and the look on her face was one of the deepest sort of agony. He crossed the room to her in an instant. He shouldn’t have left her alone, even to rest. “Is it your injury? I’ll send for Dr. Mathers immediately.”

He was already lifting a hand to the wounded area when she replied, “My head isn’t aching like it did yesterday. I believe it’s healing.”

Fallon pulled back, his hand falling to his side as he studied her. “What’s troubling you? Is your stay that unbearable already? I had some of your things brought around. I want you to be comfortable while you’re here.”

She looked up from her intense study of the rug at her feet, meeting his gaze for the first time since he’d stepped into the room. “Happiness grows from love, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know that I’m an authority on the matter,” Fallon hedged. He knew Isabelle to be a lady quick to fall in love, but it couldn’t be with him. Suddenly uncomfortable with standing so close to her while alone and discussing love, he moved to one end of the sofa and sat, facing the fire. That would surely be a safe distance.

Unfortunately Isabelle followed him and sat down at his side to continue their conversation. “Love hasn’t brought me happiness.” Pulling her feet up beneath her, she wrapped her arms around her knees and continued. “I thought I’d found love, Fallon. I thought…but I’m far from happy. It brought me only heartache and bitterness toward my sister.”

He shifted beside her, unsure what to say. Of all the confrontations and discussions he’d had successfully over the years, nothing prepared him for chatting about love with Isabelle.