The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(84)

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Isabelle slipped the brush through the ends of her hair where it fell over her shoulder and smiled at herself in the small mirror on the table. She was in love, and true love really was divine! She’d never known such happiness as she now experienced, and it was all because of Fallon. She sighed and stroked the bristles through her hair again.

Last night, as well as every other night as of late, they’d talked until she was certain the sun would soon rise. The topic was never of any importance, but she knew the rhythm of Fallon’s thoughts now, when he would chuckle, what made him smile. Then they’d drifted off to sleep together, wrapped in sweet thoughts and each other’s arms. Their relationship may have grown out of a necessity for safety, but like vines from far-cast seeds on the wind, they’d grown together, intertwining further with every passing day. He remained her friend, but now that friendship was layered with anticipation for his next words, his next touch of her skin, their next night together… She craved every moment spent with him like flowers longed for the sun. This was love. She knew it. This time it was real, and it was finally hers.

Fallon had risen early this morning, as was his custom, and left her to rest. But what lady could rest when she’d finally found love? Not Isabelle.

That had been several hours ago, though. And now she looked to the door at every creak of the house, wanting to see Fallon again. Just then there was a sound in the hall, and she spun to see him walking toward her.

“Get dressed and come with me,” he said in greeting, an intent look turning his face quite grave.

She wasn’t certain what he had planned for her, but as she would likely follow him to the gallows, she rose from her chair, tossed her brush aside, and crossed the room to quickly pull on her petticoats and stuff her feet in her slippers. A moment later she joined him.

“Are we going to your garden?” she asked hopefully as she wrapped her fingers into his steady grasp.

“No.” Something that looked almost like worry drew his brows in for a second. It couldn’t be, though. Fallon rarely showed such emotions in his gaze. He took a breath and laced his fingers more firmly with hers. “It’s time I show you my home.”

“Oh!” His home! He was going to give her a tour of his home in its entirety? Her heart pounded with excitement mixed with trepidation. “Won’t someone see me? I thought it wasn’t safe.”

“Trust me,” he said as he held the door for her.

“I do,” she said, but her pace slowed as she reached the threshold of the door. She’d been here so long, and now she was to leave the confines of his bedchamber. It was a rather momentous occasion and worthy of a pause for appreciation.

Sighing, he turned back to her. “It’s a quiet day. No one is about.” Clearly he misunderstood her hesitation, but she didn’t stop to explain. She wanted to see his home more than anything.

She smiled and moved into the candlelit hall that stretched off in one direction. There was no one in sight between his bedchamber door and the far corner, and a spring bounced in her step as she allowed Fallon to lead her forward. Was this one step closer to being asked to stay here forever? She hoped so. “Is it the staff’s day away?” she asked as they moved down the hall together. “I can’t recall when I scheduled it… I suppose it was today.”

Fallon made a noncommittal sound in his throat and kept walking.

“Mrs. Featherfitch, the poor dear. She brought me food this morning on her day to leave the house and see to her own needs. I’ll have to thank her for her sacrifice.”

Fallon veered to the side of the hall, pulling her with him. Opening a door hidden in the molding, he revealed a service stairwell that led to the lower floors, but he paused before entering. He looked back at her, his eyes containing some fond sentiment she couldn’t quite define. “You’re beautiful.”

She hadn’t dressed to her usual standards since she’d arrived here. As long as she was Fallon’s prisoner, it hadn’t seemed necessary to pin her hair—or wear shoes, for that matter. Today she’d only gone one slight step beyond that with her petticoats. “I’m a wrinkled mess,” she countered.

“Not where it matters most.” He reached out to caress her cheek, and she tilted her head into his palm as his lips met hers. It was a brief kiss, but it held the promise of passion ahead.

Three words sprang to her lips, and she worked to choke them back down to the stew of phrases that boiled within her—all of them better left unsaid. I love you. I don’t want to leave. Please ask me to be your wife. But she said nothing as she squeezed his hand and followed him into the darkness.

He’d made it clear when he abandoned her for two days that he didn’t want to hear her professions of love, even if it was the largest truth she’d ever known. She’d realized a few nights ago as he held her in the moonlight that she loved him—fully and completely. All the feelings that had come before didn’t compare to the hold Fallon St. James had on her heart. He’d been right about Hardaway and right, for that matter, about what she’d claimed she felt for Fallon before. After a month almost solely in his company, she knew him now, and she understood her own heart. For the first time, she was in love. But she couldn’t tell him, not when her words could chase him away again and their time together could end at any moment.

“Where are you taking me first?” she asked, her voice echoing in the staircase.