The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(77)

Along with the letter you received the day after the theft and the one left with Lady Isabelle, there’s but one missing before that ordeal at least is behind us. We have assurances from the forger responsible that he will never pen another letter in that hand. I know your daughter is anxious for things to return to normal, and I’m working as quickly as possible toward that day. We must be patient, however. I checked with my contacts at the papers, and it appears the last confession letter is still at large. I have people looking for it—quietly, of course. We certainly don’t want to create a larger scandal with the investigation than the original crime was able to do.

I’m also having all known art buyers followed in an effort to find what was taken from you. This will soon come to a satisfactory ending for everyone involved, I’m certain. I ask only for your patience and your silence until that time.

—St. James

? ? ?

“Deliver this to Lord Knottsby,” Fallon said as he handed off the quickly written note to one of his men.

What he’d told the man was true. He’d simply omitted the part about Grapling being the man behind it all. Isabelle’s life couldn’t be risked. Although Fallon had questioned everyone who walked through his door over the past few weeks, he still didn’t trust…well, anyone. Not when it came to Isabelle’s well-being. He’d claimed in his note that he was growing closer to a resolution, but with Grapling, one could never be too careful. Grapling was still beyond the Spares’ reach even now, though the damage he’d done with his vengeful plot was getting smaller by the day. It was only a matter of time before one of the men known for having a hand in art acquisitions led him to Grapling and the missing paintings. He’d had men trailing the every step of such individuals for weeks. But could he trust his men? The words of Grapling’s note about their game still ate at him, but Fallon forced his lingering doubts away.

Only one letter remained, and the forger had been removed from play a week ago. Then there would be only the missing artwork, but Isabelle would be safe. The one outstanding letter would keep Isabelle in his home for a time but not forever. He cleared his throat and shifted some papers around on his desk, seeking order in the midst of troublesome thoughts.

“Should we question the art dealer we found? It appeared to be a promising lead since he has access to a ship,” one of his men asked.

“Of course. Get the answers we need,” Fallon replied, knowing this could be the order that brought everything to an end with Isabelle. But it was the right thing to do. “Will you excuse me,” he muttered as he rounded his desk and headed for the door.

If the hours were indeed limited in which she would remain under his roof—and they very well could be—Fallon didn’t want to waste another second away from her.

He didn’t run from his library in his haste to see her, but in his mind he did. He took the stairs two at a time before striding down the hall in her direction. His hand paused on the doorknob as he forced himself to wait for a second to keep from racing into the room and sweeping her up in his arms. No matter the sense of urgency, no matter the need that pounded through his body, he couldn’t run at her like a schoolboy determined to claim some prize.

But she was a prize. Every smile, every uncensored laugh that tripped from her lips, every sleepy sigh she made as she drifted to sleep in his arms, every curious touch of her fingers bestowed on him a gift.

He let out a telling, ragged breath and opened the door. Spotting her in her favorite place to read—the corner of the sofa by the fire—he crossed the room, careful not to rush.

She was curled up like a cat on a lazy afternoon. A book was open in her lap, and she looked up at him, disoriented, as if he’d just pulled her back from a faraway land. He wondered briefly what exotic life she’d inhabited this afternoon. He was about to ask, but then she smiled in that manner she had that made him wish he could join her inside those fanciful daydreams for even a moment. In her eyes, the world must glitter as if perpetually caught by the setting sun. When she turned her round-eyed gaze on him, even he felt a bit shinier than before. He wished he could be the man she clearly perceived him to be, but he was mortal, flawed to his core, and he wanted to enjoy the little time they had left together.

“Come with me,” he said as an idea took root in his mind. She’d been locked within these walls too long. He wanted to share his home and his world with her. That wasn’t possible, but there was still one place he could take her. He took her hand and pulled her to her feet. Glancing down, he smiled. Isabelle was barefoot, as had become her habit in the past week, but there was no need to delay for the sake of stockings and shoes. She didn’t need shoes tonight. He remembered the day many years ago when the large smooth stones had been added so Pearl could walk across the surface more easily. Isabelle would be comfortable there tonight. The sun had been bright in the sky today; the rocks would still be warm this early in the evening.

“I’m leaving?” she asked as they reached the door, her hand tightening on his.

He stopped and turned around to face her. Was she sensing the same impending end to things that he was? He’d been so wrapped up in his own thoughts on the matter that he hadn’t considered Isabelle’s concerns at all. “You’re leaving my bedchamber. That’s all.” He lifted his free hand to her upturned face, caressing her cheek and brushing his lips against hers in a brief kiss. “I want to show you something.”