The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(93)

*

Fallon watched her leave, but he didn’t move. He watched as his butler stepped in to close the door Isabelle had left swinging on its hinges.

He should return to the library and continue his meeting. He should chase after Isabelle and force her to return. He should have her things gathered and sent to Knottsby. Yet he stood rooted to the floor, staring at the closed front door to his home.

He’d done what was best, hadn’t he? The best path was the simple one that led ever forward. But standing still and allowing Isabelle to walk away wasn’t simple at all.

She wouldn’t come back, he knew that much. But from this moment forward, every step he took was a step away from Isabelle. She’d looked at him and seen a wretched human and had made her decision accordingly. And he’d lost her. It should come as no surprise. He’d lost every woman whom he’d ever loved due to his own damned mistakes. Why would Isabelle be any different?

Claughbane stepped into the main hall from the library and leaned against the wall, watching Fallon as he stared at the closed door. The young man was one of the newer members of the Spare Heirs Society, a con artist and now part owner of Crosby Steam Works, which was—surprising everyone involved—a legitimate business.

A legitimate business. Fallon should have mentioned that bit of information to Isabelle while she was here, along with countless other things—the fact that he loved her. That he would abandon everything he’d worked for if it meant keeping her in his life. But it would have done no good. None of that mattered.

“Was that Lady Victoria I saw fleeing headquarters?” Claughbane asked.

“Isabelle,” Fallon corrected, not turning to look at the man.

“A lady at headquarters? Hmm. She’s my wife’s cousin, you know. I don’t suppose she was simply coming by for tea to check on the recovery of her family’s paintings?”

“No.” It had been much more than tea. And now it was over. It was as it should be. He could never have been a good match for her. This past month had been a fantasy, but their story was over. He must allow her to be, for her own happiness.

“St. James, I’m unsure if this occasion calls for pistols at dawn, a measure of whiskey, or a fast horse to catch the lady in question, but know that I have all three options at the ready.”

“Go ahead and shoot me. End it. It’s what I deserve,” he muttered.

“Whiskey it is, then,” Claughbane replied.

But before the man could move, Fallon stopped him. “The meeting is over.” Over. The word reverberated in his head until it ached. He couldn’t let Isabelle leave. She was still in danger; no matter what she thought of him, he had to protect her. “I need you to go after the lady. Use your fast horse and find her. She couldn’t have gotten far. And Claughbane? When you find her, take her to her home. Ensure her safety.”

“Of course,” Claughbane muttered as he sped toward the door.

Fallon watched him leave and turned to walk up the stairs to the upper floors of his home, away from the temptation to chase after her himself. He had no claim to her. He had no place at her side, and now she didn’t even want him there. When Claughbane caught up to her in the next block, he would escort her back to her father. It’s where she should be. His time with Isabelle was over.

He was a villain, and she was a beautiful lady.

Entering the first unused room he reached, he walked inside and shut the door, not wanting to be disturbed. He’d lost her. He sank to the floor in defeat and leaned back against the wall.

“Every woman I’ve ever loved,” he whispered. He’d lost his mother when he was a boy, Pearl when he had only just become a man, and today he’d lost Isabelle.

He shouldn’t have lost sight of reality for even a moment, but with Isabelle that was a difficult feat to accomplish. Perhaps he was destined to be alone. Love was for gentlemen who danced and smiled, as Isabelle had always insisted. He’d mucked this all up. But keeping her in his life had been a dream anyway. This was always going to happen at the end. At least now she could find someone who would dance with her…bring her flowers…

He took a ragged breath and choked back the emotion that threatened to drag him under.

She would return to her home. His men would see that Grapling was captured, the last confession letter recovered, and the art sent back to the museum. She would be free of this entire situation. And he…would spend the rest of his days thinking of the summer month he’d spent with Isabelle and how he’d almost found love.

He sniffed and pushed to his feet. He couldn’t linger here any longer. He had a society to run.





Eighteen


Knottsby,

Please be advised that your daughter has left headquarters. I sent Mr. Claughbane after her to see to her safety on the street. I’ve yet to hear a report back from him. There is still a threat, one I cannot mention here. Increase your security and cancel all social engagements until further notice.

—St. James

? ? ?

The first step had been the hardest. All others were simply allowing her feet to move forward and allowing her to move on—though to what end she wasn’t certain. One step, then another, every one taking her farther and farther from Fallon and the life she’d had with him.

She’d spent weeks solely in his company, had opened her heart to him. “I loved…” she whispered to herself and drew her arms across her chest. She was cold despite the season, and the wind bit through the thin muslin of her day dress and petticoat. There was no going back for a pelisse now. There was no going back at all. She’d given herself to him. Tears stung the backs of her eyes, but she kept moving. They were going to be married, have children, live in happiness…in her mind, anyway. Fallon had had something different in mind, it would seem. Someone like that could never offer her the future she wanted. He’d known the truth the entire time and had misled her. She’d given him everything she had, and he hadn’t even seen fit to give her the honesty she deserved.