The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(97)

He located the documents he was looking for and glanced up to the man on the opposite side of his desk. “Wentwood, I’ll need the ledgers for the boardinghouses by this evening. I asked Lawson to check them against our accounts. We haven’t audited those yet this year. I want it done by tomorrow.”

“Sir, that will take days,” he muttered.

“Then I’ll do it,” Fallon snapped, staring at the man ten years his senior.

The man shifted uneasily on his feet for a second before replying, “I’ll do what I can.”

“Porter,” Fallon called out to one of the men across the room. He stopped the low conversation he was having and looked over at Fallon from in front of the fireplace. “Do you have the interest statements I asked for?”

“Not yet, sir,” the man replied, tossing back the contents of the glass in his hand. “Fields is still completing his part.”

“Tell him to hurry.” Fallon spread two files in front of him, his eyes darting between the two.

“Has anyone heard the timeline for payout from Crosby Steam Works? I suppose not,” he surmised from the relative silence in the group. He made a note to contact Claughbane directly with his questions.

Fallon glanced up a second later, seeing that there was a new arrival to his library. “Hardaway…”

“Is it my turn on the spit?” Hardaway asked in mock excitement as he moved forward. “I’ll try to spin better over the fire than the rest of this lot. Nice and evenly cooked. Wouldn’t want my arse to be raw, would we?”

“Did you get in touch with Phillips?” Fallon asked, ignoring his friend’s antics.

“I did. The terms are much better now.”

“Better is the enemy of good, Hardaway,” Fallon said as he pulled out another file of reports from the harbor.

“That’s it, everyone out,” Hardaway bellowed. “I need to speak with St. James alone.”

“Why do they need to leave?” Fallon asked, pausing his work to look up at the man. “They’ll be able to hear you out in the street anyway.”

“Even still. Out,” Hardaway commanded.

Fallon sat back in his chair watching his friend usher everyone from the room. He was losing time over this show, precious minutes in his day that he couldn’t retrieve. He had to remain focused on the Spare Heirs Society. It was the only thing that mattered anymore.

“She left you,” Hardaway began without preamble. “I understand. But you’re being an arse to everyone who is still here. Did you know Lawson didn’t sleep last night working on your blasted report?”

“Audit,” Fallon corrected. “And I didn’t sleep either.”

“That has nothing to do with a damned audit that doesn’t need to be done for another four months, and you know it.”

“Lawson has been complaining, has he?” Fallon would have to have a chat with the man later. “After all I’ve done for this organization, all I’ve given—”

“We’ve all bled for this, St. James. Lawson, Wentwood, Porter, Ayton, Claughbane, Dean, me…don’t act like this is all you. We were there too,” Hardaway growled.

Fallon released a ragged breath and ran his hand through his hair. He knew that, really he did. This group of gentlemen had all come together to support one another. How they’d done so was the sticking point. Isabelle thought he was a horrible gentleman with a black heart, and perhaps that’s exactly what he was. He was mad to think she’d understand. And now she was gone.

“She blames me, thinks me the worst kind of blackguard. Actually I’m a villain—that was the word she used. I…am a villain. It was foolish for me to think even for a second that someone so…” Pure and lovely, good…beautiful—words paled in comparison to who Isabelle really was. “She was right. We’re hardly ever on the right side of the law. This was my idea, my creation. The Spare Heirs Society was supposed to be a place that looked after those who had no place in society.”

“And it does. St. James, you’ve done a great deal of good for this town. Sometimes it’s necessary to go about that good by less-than-traditional methods, but you look after an army of men. You’ve saved more than a few, guided them into more productive lives.”

“Productive? I oversee the business of gaming hells and brothels. Only months ago I brought a swindler into town. You call that a productive life?”

“I call it a life that provides for their families.” Hardaway sat in the chair opposite Fallon’s desk and propped the heels of his boots on the corner. “During my time in the military—”

“The whole year, or are we just counting the three months abroad?”

“Shut it so I can compliment you, ya bastard. During my time in the military, I saw that there were two kinds of leaders: good ones and bad ones.”

“Why did I think that was going to be more poetic?”

“You’re a strong leader, St. James. The men here look to you. They follow your orders without question. They would die for you. And do you know why? I’ll tell you why.”

“I thought you might.”

“You care about them. They know at the end of it all that you’re doing all you can to look out for every one of them. You’re one of the good ones, St. James.”