Page 72 of Forgery, Love, and Other Lies
“Letters,” Zander said, barely a breath. “Hell.”
“I never told him about Fiona. Not a bit, and he even asked. I think he was impressed with her work. Likely he wished to support her art career.”
Zander snorted, and the sound rippled relief through Fiona. If he could snort, he would not shatter, and he looked more fragile than a porcelain cup at the moment.
“I would have gone to my grave with Fiona’s secret, I swear.” Lady Balantine wrung her hands. “But he’s my son. And he came back into my life wanting a relationship. Didn’t know he was a scoundrel. An outright nefarious villain. I thought… I thought he wanted me, not my collection.” She collapsed into violent sobs.
Fiona crossed the distance between them to wrap her in a hug once more.
Zander winced, his only sign of sympathy before he pushed onward. “He’s not a very clever villain. He tried to sell that statue of yours, the one he bashed me over the head with, only to discover it a fake. Then when you announced that one of the two of us was the most excellent forger of your acquaintance, he assumed it wasme.”
“He tried to sell poor Richard? That piece was never even meant to replace an original.”
“You call the statue Richard?” Fiona asked.
She hiccuped, but her crying lightened. “After my husband. It was a clever joke, his gift to me. Shame it seems Herbert is foolish as well as a scoundrel.” Another hiccup. “I’m a failure as a mother.”
“You sound more upset over the foolish bit.”
“I have my priorities, darling.”
Fiona’s brain snapped back on, trundling forward over the rocky road of information. “Zander, you are letting him think you are the forger?”
“Yes. Of course I am.”
“Noof course! You could hang if he tells anyone.”
“I don’t care!” he roared. “I’d rather die than have a hair on your adorable head plucked. Do you understand? I love you, and—”
Lady Balantine gasped, and she flew from the room. “Oh! Love. Itislove. Iknewit. He’ll not ruin it. I won’t let him!”
They ran after her. Zander pulled Fiona back, trying to force distance between her and the others even as he tried to hurry after the baroness. Not an easy dual task to accomplish, and Fiona fought him handily, gained the lead, and hurried after Lady Balantine.
“He will not get away with this,” Lady Balantine muttered. “This, every bit of this, is my fault, and I will fix it. Easy enough to do.” She slammed into the room. “You!” She pointed a wavering finger at her tied-up offspring as she rounded the chair to stand straight and tall before him. “Explain yourself.”
“Don’t see what there is to explain,” Herbert said.
“Oh, I see many things. House that should not be falling down around our heads, and yet it is. A man covered in paint tied to a chair. And why? Because he abducted another man, bashing him over the head with a piece of his mother’s favorite art.”
“It’s worthless,” Herbert growled. “Better off broken into pieces.”
“No, you fool,” she shouted. “It might not have any value to you or whomever you tried to sell it to, but Richard meant much to me.”
“Who’s Richard?” Lord Theodore asked.
“The statue used to conk me on the head,” Zander said.
“Ah.” Lord Theodore’s gaze flew to the statue on the table, now missing a particular appendage. “Pity.”
Lady Balantine nodded tightly, water shimmering in her eyes. “He was cast after your father’s figure. A very good likeness ineveryway. And he was posed in the style of theDavid. It was our favorite, you see, theDavid. And the statue meant your father wasmyDavid. Now it’s ruined. Broken and bloody.”
Herbert growled.
The baroness made atskingsound in her throat as she waltzed toward him, wagging her finger in his face. He turned his head to the side, and she had to wag at his cheek. They looked the very picture of a recalcitrant boy and his lecturing mama.
“You’ve wasted your inheritance,” she said.
“I should have had more,” Herbert snarled, “but father left you the lion’s share.”
