The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(58)
Even his men could sense that he had been a bit off these past few days, and that was a suggestion of weakness he couldn’t allow. He had to get his head straight again. Perhaps they could once again be friends—at least once she wasn’t sleeping in his bed and lounging in various stages of undress in his bedchamber. The only solution was to find the man responsible for all of this and send Isabelle home to her father. So he was here, chasing a false lead.
“No wonder you’re as jumpy as a frog on a fire,” Hardaway accused. “You’re playing this all wrong, St. James.”
Fallon swung his head back around to Hardaway and raised a brow. No one had ever accused him of not playing the proper angle in a game. He always thought five steps ahead of everyone around him. He thought too much, which was the bloody problem now. He was too wise to allow Isabelle into a compromising situation and imagine they would both walk away unscathed.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not the one being driven to the edge by a woman—not at the moment anyway. Last night was another story. She was tall, long legs on her—legs that could wrap around a man twice.”
“A mental image I don’t need, but thank you.”
“I get that you’re doing the gentlemanly bit with this lady.”
“I’m doing the ‘I can’t marry her when this goes wrong’ bit with this lady. Can you imagine trying to run the Spares with a wife? She would want a sedate home life and me there to participate. I don’t have time for country life, and she deserves that and more. I’m sure she’d force me to move from headquarters.”
“Would she?” Hardaway asked, eyeing him skeptically for a second before shrugging off his pondering. “Anyway, in typical fashion you’ve thought this out ten years ahead of schedule. All I’m saying is you should enjoy this time for what it is. The poor lady is trapped in your bedchamber with nothing to do. A little romance might brighten her days. And we both know you aren’t going to take a holiday—ever. That’s what this is—a holiday—only you get to keep working, which also makes you happy. You do everything for others. Do this for you.
“I know I was against it at first, but St. James, I’ve never seen you like this. As long as you don’t get her with child, no one will ever know. You’ve already made certain the tracks are covered. She’s already in your blasted bed. Look up from your responsibilities with the Spares and live life. The lot of us will survive your lack of management for the…” Hardaway looked him over for a second, scrutinizing him before continuing. “We’ll survive the three minutes it will take you to regain your sanity,” he finished with a grin.
Fallon punched the man hard in the arm. “Perhaps that’s how long you took with Miss Legs last night.”
“It was a glorious night. At one point I had her—”
Fallon held up a hand to stop his friend. “If I promise to consider furthering things with Lady Isabelle, will you promise to never tell me this story? Contrary to your belief, some tales are better left untold.”
“A fair deal.”
Fallon would consider enjoying his time with Isabelle more. He’d been considering it every second since he’d met Isabelle. Considering it was what kept him in his library attempting to work at all hours of the night so he wouldn’t have to be near such temptation.
A few minutes later, Hardaway sighed. “Grapling should have arrived by now. I think I received some bad information.”
“Or intentionally misleading information. Have us follow a trail on this side of town to conduct the true meeting in the logical location.”
“By the harbor,” Hardaway supplied.
“He can’t sell art that was stolen from the walls of the British Museum to a local,” Fallon added.
“A damned diversion. I’ll check the usual places across town, and then I think a visit to my informant is in order.” Hardaway flexed his fingers into a fist, a menacing gleam in his eye. It was rare that anyone saw this side of his friend, but those who did regretted it immediately.
“I’ll be at headquarters if you find anything.” Fallon pulled out his pocket watch to check the time in the fading daylight. If he hurried, he could get a report from the men ending their day in the field and speak with those going out for the night before they left. He had to keep all his men focused on their tasks, especially with Grapling on the loose. “I’m sure my presence has been missed by now,” he muttered.
“I’m certain it has,” Hardaway said with a chuckle.
Fallon ignored him and took a step back toward his carriage, which was parked on the next street over. “Don’t enjoy your work too much tonight. I know your love of cracking skulls.”
“Don’t forget to enjoy your work all night tonight,” Hardaway called after him. “We have a bargain.”
Fallon raised a hand in farewell but didn’t turn back. He knew from years of experience that Hardaway liked to have the last word in any conversation, and Fallon was happy to let him—on this occasion.
No matter the bargain his friend thought he had, Fallon couldn’t take advantage of Isabelle’s trusting nature like that. She was searching for love from a gentleman who had time to devote to her, someone who wore garish colors and had nothing more to do in an evening than dance at a ball.