The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(91)

“I’ll make certain they remember, St. James. You can count on me.”

“Very well. You have three days to remind them where their loyalties need be before I step in.”

“I’ll talk to them,” Hardaway offered.

Who were these men? Isabelle had known of Fallon’s friendship with Hardaway, but this was something else entirely. Perhaps associates was a more apt term for the two men.

“No one wants Hardaway’s involvement except perhaps Hardaway,” Fallon said, shooting a quick glance at the man. “Remind them of their need to pay for our services, or I’ll allow Hardaway to do what he enjoys most, and the blood will be on your hands.”

“Understood, sir.”

Blood? Hardaway enjoyed harming people? What was happening? She’d been horribly wrong about him. Thank heavens nothing had come to pass between them. And it was a good thing Victoria fled her wedding. He might have hurt her sister. She shook her head and continued to look through the crack in the door.

Fallon made a note of something with the quill on his desk, and the room fell silent as the men gathered there waited for him to finish. He did command a ship of men—only this wasn’t a ship. This was an organization of some mean sort. Everything she thought she knew was crumbling and reshaping into a different reality than anything she’d believed before.

Fallon looked down, consulting something on his desk. “I’m told the milliners will reopen their doors on Bond in a week’s time. The damage done to the jewelry shop is already cleaned up. It reopened yesterday, even though I’m told the smell of the smoke still lingers. Because of Ayton’s interest, we’ll need to fix that. We can’t have one of our own paying the price.”

“I’ll see to it, sir,” a man beyond Isabelle’s sight offered.

Ayton? Roselyn’s Ayton? Was she dreaming this entire encounter? How was he involved with this group? She had to warn Roselyn, poor, dear Roselyn. She would be devastated, but she needed to know. Her husband… How would Isabelle break such news to her friend?

“Good. And no one is aware of our involvement with the fire, correct?” Fallon asked, and she had to shake the buzzing sound from her ears. “No one has heard whispers of it?”

The fire…our involvement… She couldn’t hear any more, but she also couldn’t walk away.

“Not a word here.”

“Nothing here, either.”

“All went to plan, then,” Fallon confirmed. “Let’s not burn a portion of Bond Street in the future if we can avoid it, eh, Hardaway?”

He’d started the fire. Hardaway had set Bond Street ablaze and then had benefited from it with a title and her sister? Did her father know of this?

“You’re quite amusing. Truly you are,” Hardaway quipped.

“I’m aware,” Fallon retorted with a smile.

A smile…a blasted smile about the single event that had brought her world crashing down around her. He found it amusing? Who was this man, and what had he done with the Fallon St. James who cared about her? She covered her mouth with her hand to keep from screaming. This was the worst moment of her life.

“Now, what do we know about the Fairlyn art?” he asked, and the moment grew worse.

Isabelle went still. Even her heart seemed to cease beating as she listened to the sound of her happiness shattering.

Fallon picked up something from his desk and glared at it as he spoke. “Have we found the buyers?”

“The meeting should be soon,” Hardaway supplied.

“Excellent. I’ll want to be present for the exchange,” Fallon said. What was that in his hand? He was grasping it as if he’d like to squeeze all life from it.

“I thought you would,” Hardaway responded.

Just then something gold slipped from Fallon’s hand and trailed to the surface of his desk. Isabelle didn’t want to know what it was, but she knew in an instant. He was holding her locket.

“And the letter?” When there was no response, Fallon said, “I don’t want excuses, gentlemen. I want results. Our foe is somewhere in this city, and we must find him. He wants to bring one of us down. He wants to end us. Will we allow him to do that?”

The answer “No!” rang out through the library.

Fallon stood and looked across the room, making eye contact with each man present as he spoke. “Every one of you was chosen for your abilities to…to…” Fallon stared straight at her. “Oh God. Excuse me, gentlemen.” He threw her locket to his desk and was already rounding it to move toward her.

She stepped from behind the door, staggering into the hallway, away from the danger of being seen. She needed a moment to think. She didn’t know what to say to him.

“Isabelle,” Fallon said as he grabbed her arm and stopped her, there, beneath the gaze of the cherubs on the hall ceiling.

“I came to surprise you,” she whispered as she stared into his concerned face. “That.” She pointed to the library as she began to find her voice once more. “What was that?”

“A meeting with my men. I don’t know how much you heard, but you should know—”

“Enough! I heard enough.” Her mind was reeling with all she’d heard. Her illusions about who he was had been destroyed in mere minutes. “I painted you as a hero in my mind. You valiantly saved me, cared for me…” She squeezed her eyes shut against him. “But you’re something else entirely. Paints only hide the awful truth.”