The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(2)

Fallon clung to the shadows of the ballroom as he moved toward the small parlor, Brice at his side. The only redeeming part of this evening was his current company. Even after years of operations with the man, Mr. Kelton Brice never ceased to amuse him. It was a wonder that everyone in attendance tonight didn’t yet know of their search, since Brice felt the need to fill every gap in conversation with his booming voice. Fallon only smirked. He’d given up any attempt to hush the man years ago, understanding that some things couldn’t be changed. He didn’t wish to silence him even if he could have. Somehow Brice’s loud demeanor and bright clothing only served to disguise the true nature of his work from those around him.

And it allowed Fallon time to think. He was always thinking—he had to be if he was to hold the Spare Heirs Society together and keep it profitable.

Two gentlemen nodded a silent greeting as he passed. He’d made trouble of sorts disappear for both men in the past year, and each of them now owed him a debt, something he acknowledged with a slight tilt of his chin. Their time to return his kindness would come, but not tonight. Tonight was dedicated to Mr. Reginald Grapling and stopping whatever plans he had now that he was roaming the streets and, if Brice could be believed, the ballrooms of London.

“I’m certain of what—or in this case who—I saw, St. James,” Brice said as they entered the side parlor off the ballroom. The parlor contained tables laden with food and a few of the hungrier members of society. “At the ball last night and again a few minutes ago. He was moving in this direction.”

“I believe you.” Fallon scanned the room for Grapling as they circled behind the far table to get a better view. He needed to lay eyes on the man for himself, even if he did have Brice’s word. “I only remarked that it was odd. Last we saw of him—”

“He was being led away in chains?” Brice cut in. “Prisoners do get released on occasion.”

“Not that one. I gave specific instructions.”

“You have men watching the prison? Guards on the payroll?” Brice asked as he plucked a grape from a tray on the table and popped it in his mouth. “It’s not that I doubt you. It’s only…mistakes happen. Prisoners can be released after a time. Do you trust those men?”

He didn’t reply. He didn’t need to.

“Of course you don’t.” Brice smirked and shook his head. “But you can trust me. Grapling has escaped. I know what I saw. I only wish I knew what he was after. I doubt he’s been longing to try a waltz for the past four years. Can you imagine him, sitting in his cell at night wishing for a glass of the watery lemonade served at society events? Or better yet…”

Movement caught Fallon’s eye, but he didn’t turn toward it. If Grapling was watching, it was best to allow him to think they weren’t aware of his presence until the time was right. It helped that Brice was still rambling at his side, creating a cover for Fallon’s investigation. Much of the Spare Heirs Society’s activity involved diversion and the nuance of timing. Hunting down this particular adversary was no different. Fallon glanced around under the guise of perusing the trays of sweets stacked high on the nearest end of the table. “We’ll need to have every auxiliary parlor checked,” he stated. Then he saw one heavily lashed, round blue eye peer around the tower of sweets.

A heartbeat later, the owner of the blue eye made a quick retreat behind the sweet trays, blond ringlets dancing in midair.

Someone was indeed watching them, but it wasn’t Mr. Reginald Grapling.

“You take the card room while I stroll through the garden,” Fallon said to Brice, collecting his thoughts. “If Grapling’s still here, we’ll find him and question him.”

“A stroll through the garden? You’re getting soft, St. James.”

“On my way to my carriage,” Fallon clarified, checking his pocket watch. As much as he would like to place eyes on Grapling and assess the threat he posed, Fallon had to be across town in an hour. “I have quite a few meetings planned for this evening. Only a handful of minutes are left for the untimely return of a former Spare Heir.”

Fallon glanced once more to the tower of cakes and biscuits. The watchful eyes were back, this time in a gap where he was certain two slices of cake had been only a moment ago. He followed the line of sight back to his longtime friend, Brice.

Kelton Brice, who was a known bachelor and had no plans to change that fact? What lady in her right mind would glance in his direction if she were looking for anything more than an evening’s entertainment? Or perhaps an evening’s diversion was exactly what this woman sought.

Fallon stepped closer to the table in an attempt to see around the display. If someone was stalking one of his men—even if it was only a light-skirted lady—he needed to know of it. After all, he knew everything.

“I’ll see to the card room and instruct the other Spares to keep a wary eye,” Brice said, pulling Fallon’s thoughts back to their present situation. “Will you need anything further from me tonight? There’s this barmaid down at the—”

Fallon hit him in the arm before he could say more. “You can tell me of it tomorrow.”

“Go on about your stroll in the gardens, then. I’ll be on my way,” Brice replied, eyeing Fallon and rubbing his arm in mock pain. “You didn’t have to injure me. You could simply say you’re in a rush.”