The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(89)

He ran his hands over her hair and kissed her forehead before collapsing beside her. She smiled and curled up beside him as she did every night now, resting her cheek on his chest. She could remain here forever.

“Happiness when in the constant company of a man is possible,” she mused some time later.

“Didn’t you always believe that to be true?” Fallon asked. “You live in stories about unending love. You want to be like Isolde, no matter how flawed I find the notion.”

“Yes, but I’ve only ever seen such love in stories or in the look in a lady’s eyes in paintings. What I’ve witnessed with those around me has been quite different. I didn’t know if what I sought was truly possible…until now.”

He rubbed his hand over her back in soothing strokes down her spine. “You’re Isabelle. You seek out joy and beauty in everything around you. You’re drawn to them. There will be no quarrels or anger you can’t overcome in your future simply because of who you are and what you choose to surround yourself with. Rest assured, you won’t have the same fate as your parents.”

“Neither will you.”

“I’m aware. I’m nothing like my family. I never have been. A fact that brought my father much anguish before I left home.”

“Because you’re Fallon.”

“Yes. I don’t consume large amounts of alcohol and yell at everyone within earshot on a daily basis.”

“That is true, but I was thinking of how you control everything in your life. You won’t become your father if you loosen your grip on the reins a bit. Just as I won’t become my mother.”

“Survival has been my focus for so long—”

“Well, you weren’t surviving very well without my assistance, were you?” she teased with a grin. “Walking about in wrinkled shirts and eating awful food in a dusty home. You needed my help.”

“I’d be lost without you, Isabelle,” he said as he hugged her tight. “I don’t believe I’ve ever talked about my family with anyone but you.”

“See? You even control your words.”

“I’ll show you how in control I am.” In a swift motion, he flipped her to her back and smiled down at her. “I’m glad I kidnapped you.”

“I quite like being your prisoner. I want to stay here with you, Fallon.” It was as close to I love you as she dared, and even still, she watched his reaction warily.

“Always,” he murmured, and he kissed her again.

In that kiss, the promise of happiness lingered on his lips. Would they have it all: marriage, children, and love forever more? A life lived out together beneath the gaze of painted cherubs in their home? She smiled at the image and wound her arms around him with no wish to ever let go.





Seventeen


Dear Mr. Grapling,

It’s as you thought. Lady Isabelle was in Mr. St. James’s company just today. I saw her in the main hall with him this morning, looking about the house. They were quite cozy together. You can meet me Tuesday next around the corner at sunrise for my payment.

—Miss Emily Rushing

? ? ?

“Mrs. Featherfitch, believe me, it’s been proven to be perfectly safe. Why would he mind this? I only want to retrieve a book from his library to occupy my afternoon.” Isabelle crossed her fingers behind her back at the small lie. In truth, she wanted to see Fallon again, to explore his house more, to twirl in the shining light that was her love for him.

Surely Fallon wouldn’t mind her brief departure from the room. They’d shared his bed in the most intimate fashion only last night. There was something between them now that had gone beyond words. But if there had been words involved, they would have held some sort of promise of happiness together. There was a future for them. And this was his home, not some foreign field where a war raged and enemies brandished weapons at every turn. He would want to see her, no matter his opinion about surprises. She was certain.

Fallon would be in his library, seeing to some work matter or other. He told her that she was safe with him; therefore, visiting the very room where he sat at his desk wouldn’t be a problem.

Fallon’s housekeeper, however, wasn’t convinced. “My lady, I have strict orders—”

“You saw me downstairs with Mr. St. James only yesterday,” Isabelle cut in.

“That is true,” the woman hedged, the tray she held still blocking the open bedchamber door.

“I’ll come straight back,” Isabelle promised, taking a step toward the door. “I’ve been trapped here for a month.”

Mrs. Featherfitch adjusted the empty dishes on the tray so as not to drop them on her way back to the kitchen, muttering, “I’ve never agreed with this arrangement.”

“Then look the other way while I slip out the door.”

Mrs. Featherfitch studied Isabelle for a long second before giving her a sigh of defeat. “Very well, but be quick about it. I wouldn’t want Mr. St. James to become angry with me over this.”

“He won’t,” Isabelle promised as she ran to stuff her feet into the slippers that she’d worn only once during her entire stay there.

She’d dressed properly and sorted her hair the second she’d had the idea to go downstairs. Then she’d waited for her opportunity. Last night Fallon had loved her, even if it had been only in the physical sense. She was his and he was hers even if he’d yet to make an official commitment to her. She may well be the lady of the house soon, so she shouldn’t be seen barefoot and with her hair a mess. Although she was determined to go unnoticed, it was always a fine idea to be prepared. If she did meet one of Fallon’s staff along the way, she didn’t want to give the wrong impression.