Isabel and the Rogue

Chapter 6

It had been a lazy afternoon at home, and Isabel was curled up on her favorite armchair in Lady Yardley’s drawing room, a poetry book she’d taken from the library at Dancourt Abbey in hand. She had not meant to leave the abbey with the book and, without success, had been looking for an opportunity to return it to Captain Dawson without alerting him to the fact that she had taken it in the first place. But after seeing him at the derby two days prior and pondering over his uncharacteristic moodiness at the event, Isabel found herself flipping through the pages again, committing the poems to memory. One day she hoped she could think of them without also thinking of the captain—

A knock sounded on the drawing room door, and Isabel glanced up at the same time Gabriela did. They exchanged a quick look, and Isabel glimpsed the same anxiety that pounded through her blood in her sister’s eyes. When would a simple knock on the door not send them into a panic that word had finally come from their parents?

“Come in,” Lady Yardley called, her gaze glued to the door. Even Dove, who had been curled in her lap, stood, her little ears perked.

“Your ladyship, Viscount Westhope has come to call,” Evans said, stepping aside to allow the gentleman to fill the threshold.

Isabel’s shoulders slumped even as a fluttering began in her chest when Lord Westhope paused just inside the doorway. His green gaze touched on Lady Yardley and Gabby, before coming to rest on her. A smile stretched his lips, and Isabel shifted in her chair. Had a man ever looked at her with such anticipation?

She had enjoyed speaking with the viscount about his horse racing enterprise, but had not learned much of his French familial connections. Still, Lord Westhope was smart and interesting, and with his dark blond hair and striking green eyes, Isabel thought him quite handsome. If his appearance now was any indication, the viscount seemed keen on extending their acquaintance. But in truth, the only excitement she felt about his visit was that it afforded her the opportunity to discuss his family ties.

“My lord, how nice of you to call upon us,” Lady Yardley said, gesturing with her arm for him to take the armchair near Isabel. “The ladies mentioned they met you at the derby and that they enjoyed watching your Delano claim victory.”

Westhope swept his coattails back before he sat, his cheeks coloring. “It was a most excellent day, and I’m very happy the Luna misses were able to celebrate Delano’s victory with me.”

“You were a superb host, my lord,” Gabby said, “and I know I, and most definitely Isa, appreciate the time you took to explain how your yearlings are trained and prepared for the races.”

“Yes,” Isabel echoed, angling toward the viscount. Now was not the time to revert to her customary shyness. “I was especially intrigued by the science behind selecting specific bloodlines to mix with the hopes of producing just the right set of characteristics to achieve victory on the racetrack.”

“Isn’t it fascinating?” The viscount turned about in his seat until he faced Isabel fully. “I admit that when I was growing up, I didn’t understand why my mother and father reviewed the Jockey Club records so closely, much like other people read the newspaper over their morning tea. It wasn’t until I was older that my mother explained what they were studying when they read through the reports. It opened my eyes to a different side of the sport. Breeding and animal husbandry have become deep interests of mine.”

“Perhaps we should not be speaking about such delicate topics,” Lady Yardley interjected nervously.

Gabby rolled her eyes. “Yes, we don’t wish to offend our maidenly sensibilities by speaking about horses.”

The viscountess responded in a censorious tone, but Isabel did not hear it. Instead, she cocked her head and asked, “Your mother was a part of the operations at the Westhope stables?”

“She was the heart and soul of it.” A fond look settled on Lord Westhope’s face. “The horse farm has always been a part of the viscountcy, but my mother is responsible for making it into a racing powerhouse. Her youth in France was spent in the stables, as her father was a breeder who specialized in Arabian horses. She took the knowledge she learned at his knee into her marriage with my father, and thankfully he was smart enough to listen to her recommendations.”

“A man—a viscount—who listens to a woman about a topic he already knows a thing or two about is almost unheard of,” Isabel said, not bothering to hide the surprise in her voice.

“Indeed. But then it served him and the Westhope stables well.” Lord Westhope met her eyes, a curious glint shining in them. “I like to think I have inherited a bit of his modesty.”

“As well as your mother’s ingenuity and grit,” Isabel added.

“Indeed. She was a singular woman, and I think because of her example, I’ve always admired and respected women who are just a bit…different. Who look at the world around them and ask questions.” He dropped Isabel’s gaze to glance at Lady Yardley and Gabby. “And now I’m being romantic and nonsensical.”

“Not at all, my lord,” the viscountess declared, fluttering her handkerchief in the air. “The ton has enough rogues and rakes. It’s a relief to know there are true gentlemen among the crowd.”

“I find it refreshing that you’re of a romantic bent, Lord Westhope,” Gabby said, sliding her hazel eyes to Isabel. “Don’t you agree, Isa?”

“Of course,” she murmured, her cheeks turning hot.

Conversation paused for a moment, and Isabel shot her gaze about, unsure whether she should fill the lull, and if so, with what? She did not like being put on the spot, and if she was, Isabel usually made an inane observation that confused others. And with Viscount Westhope staring at her so intently, her palms began to sweat and her mouth went dry.

Thankfully, Viscount Westhope spoke before Isabel descended into a full-blown panic attack.

“I actually came here today with the express purpose of asking Miss Luna if she would like to accompany me on a drive about Rotten Row?”

Isabel pulled her chin back. “Do you mean Gab—”

“Of course Isa would be very happy to take a drive with you,” Gabby interrupted, clasping her hands together in front of her chest. “Then you both can continue your conversation about horse racing. And breeding.” She smirked as she cut a glance at Lady Yardley. “And all those other topics you both seem to find interesting.”

Westhope nodded, his eyes bright. “I can’t think of a more enjoyable way to spend the afternoon.” He looked to her then. “Do you agree?”

Swallowing was difficult with her parched throat, but Isabel managed a nod.

“Excellent. Perhaps Miss Gabriela can accompany us, for propriety’s sake.” The viscount turned to look at her sister.

Gabby pursed her lips for a moment, and in that one expression, Isabel read all of her sister’s thoughts: that she had no desire to take a turn about the park at the fashionable hour, that she’d rather stick a hatpin in her eye than listen to Isabel and the viscount discuss his horse stables, that she already had plans. Yet despite all that, Gabby eventually nodded…albeit very slowly.

“Perfect.” Lord Westhope clapped his hands on his thighs and then rose to his feet. “I will meet you ladies at my conveyance outside while you grab your bonnets and parasols.”

After he departed, both Lady Yardley and Gabby turned to look at her in unison.

“My goodness, Isabel, a viscount?” Lady Yardley shimmied her shoulders, jostling little Dove in her lap. “And a handsome one at that.”

Isabel ducked her head, a stinging heat streaking up her back and across her chest. Reaching into her pocket, she plucked out her handkerchief to discreetly pat at her brow and the hollow of her throat.

“Which is the only reason why I agreed to accompany them,” Gabby said with a sniff. “Lord Westhope seems like a nice gentleman, and he obviously has exquisite taste if he fancies Isa.”

“I wouldn’t say he fancies me.” Isabel wrung her handkerchief between her hands. “I suspect Lord Westhope simply enjoys having a willing listener. I’m sure there are few young ladies who enjoy discussions about the inner workings of a horse farm.”

“That you know of.” Gabby arched a brow.

“Touché.” She released her handkerchief to smooth her damp palms on her skirts. “Be that as it may, let’s not assume Viscount Westhope has anything more than friendly regard for me.”

Gabby and Lady Yardley exchanged a glance, and Isabel’s hand itched to reach across the space to pinch her sister over the incredulous cast of her face.

“Whatever you say, Isa. We’ll assume whatever we wish…we just won’t tell you about it.”

Sirius never rode this late in the afternoon, preferring to hack out when the rest of the ton was still asleep in their beds. But seeing as how he’d been out later than normal, cavorting with various acquaintances at several gaming hells, Sirius had found it difficult to open his eyes before noon.

Which was why he now found himself attempting to steer his mount through the carriages and phaetons of every member of polite society. It was not an easy task, as riders and drivers alike stopped in the middle of the lane to exchange pleasantries with friends and neighbors, without a care for the queue that built up behind them.

Sucking a bracing breath into his lungs, Sirius turned his mount down a random path, issuing a noisy exhale when he found it blessedly empty. Dropping his head over the horse’s neck and loosening the reins, Sirius gave his mount its lead, relishing the warm breeze that whipped by him as his horse thundered over the dirt trail. After thirty minutes stuck on the crowded park lane, he laughed at the space and freedom he’d found, the sound carried away as he raced along.

Sirius was thankful that the pounding in his head was now a thing of the past, for its absence allowed him to focus on recent events. After Isabel Luna had arrived and diverted all of Lord Westhope’s attention, the opportunity to speak further with the viscount had been lost in the anticipation of the race, and later in the celebration of Delano’s victory. Upon leaving the racing grounds, Sirius had accompanied several gentlemen to a nearby pub, but only because the viscount had indicated he wished to continue celebrating there. Yet the man had stayed for only an hour, an hour in which every patron seemed intent on congratulating Westhope directly, shaking his hand, and wanting to hear the tale of Delano’s victory from his mouth. Sirius had watched in mounting frustration as any attempt to continue his earlier discussion with the viscount evaporated. When Westhope had eventually said goodbye and departed, Sirius had immediately ordered a bottle of brandy and proceeded to get smashingly drunk.

He had been so close to finally getting Westhope to discuss his family in France, the connections he had to the Napoleon government, however unknowingly…and that had all been derailed, first by Whitfield and then by Isabel. Sirius expected such inconvenient interruptions from the duke, but he had not anticipated how Isabel, with her dark, earnest eyes, thoughtful questions, and deep, husky laugh would snare the viscount’s attention. After trying and failing to join their conversation, Sirius had watched them converse for a spell, amazed by how animated Isabel was. It became uncomfortably apparent that Isabel Luna possessed a quick wit, and Lord Westhope had been enchanted by her.

His horse tossed his head back in agitation, and only then did Sirius realize how tightly he was holding the reins.

As he focused on relaxing, Sirius spied a curricle heading in his direction as he rounded a corner. Making a noise in the back of his throat, Sirius brought his horse up and pulled his spine straight, adjusting his hat before reworking the fit of his gloves. He squinted as the conveyance rumbled toward him, and Sirius thought he could make out three heads…and when their identities became apparent, he spit out a curse under his breath.

“Dawson, what a capital surprise,” Westhope cried as they drew closer. “Miss Luna was just telling us of a book you recommended.”

Sirius’s gaze swiveled to her like the magnet of a compass, not surprised to find Isabel staring back at him with a challenging look in her umber-colored eyes. She wore a pink striped dress that set off the bronze tone to her skin. With her dark-as-pitch curls bursting from beneath a sleek straw bonnet, and her red lips turned up in that barely there smile she always wore when she saw him—as if he hadn’t quite earned a full smile—she looked lovely. Beautiful even. How had Sirius never noticed?

Lord Westhope had noticed, though. He sat close to Isabel’s side, the admiration clear on his face as he looked at her. Sirius could respect a man who was honest and open about his feelings.

But he still wanted to punch the viscount in the jaw.

Remembering his good manners, Sirius waited for Westhope’s curricle to pull abreast of him. Tipping his hat in greeting and trading brief pleasantries, Sirius allowed himself to turn his attention to Isabel.

“What book did you mention?” he asked.

“The Woman in White,” she said, lifting a brow as if to indicate he should have remembered.

And he did. While they had exchanged brief thoughts in passing on any number of books the summer she and her sisters stayed at Dancourt Abbey, it was The Woman in White that had sparked an extended conversation between them. When he’d spied Isabel slipping the book back onto his shelf, Sirius asked what she thought of the story, and to his surprise, she seemed eager to discuss it. They proceeded to engage in a full discourse over the intense, frightening feel of the book, including the larger social commentary on women, especially married women in society. They also touched on the changing points of view, and how the various voices made the reader feel off-kilter. Isabel had remarked that the narrative felt almost like an inquest, as if each narrator were a witness being interviewed about what they knew of the crime. Sirius had thought it an insightful observation, and he still did, often remembering that afternoon discussion with fondness.

“Ah.” He nodded, releasing Isabel’s gaze to turn to the viscount. “It was a compelling book, and if you decide to read it, Miss Luna has perceptive thoughts about it. I appreciated the story and the storytelling more after discussing it with her.”

Isabel dropped her chin, but not before Sirius spied the scarlet that swept across her cheeks.

“Well, now I’m determined to read it,” Westhope declared, slapping his glove on his thigh. “I find I’m not at all surprised Miss Luna has clever opinions about the book. She is a fount of knowledge and interesting ideas.”

Doing his best to ignore how Gabby smirked openly at him, Sirius couldn’t stop himself from considering Isabel. Her expression was neutral, but she seemed to sit a bit straighter.

“It would do you well, Westhope, not to take any of the Luna ladies for granted.” Warmth bloomed in his chest when Isabel met his gaze. “For just when you think you have them figured out, they surprise you.”

Gabby’s answering laugh was just this side of wicked. “Captain Dawson, you’re spoiling the game. Don’t you know that Isa and I covet that look of surprise that crosses men’s faces when they learn how foolish they’ve been to underestimate us?”

“I’ve spoiled nothing,” Sirius retorted, propping his elbow on the saddle pommel and leaning toward her with a grin. “Westhope is trustworthy, and will not disclose your secrets.”

“I appreciate your faith in me, Dawson,” the viscount said, nodding magnanimously. The effect was ruined, though, when he barked a laugh. “Rest assured, Miss Gabriela, that I wouldn’t dream of ruining your fun, especially because I, too, believe I would enjoy seeing the face of any man who underestimated you and your sister.”

Lord Westhope and Gabriela continued to trade quips, and while Sirius would normally have joined the banter, it did not hold his attention. Instead, he watched Isabel surreptitiously from the corner of his eye as her head swiveled back and forth between her sister and the viscount, an exasperated indentation between her brows.

Why were she and Gabby alone with Lord Westhope anyway, and on a lesser traversed park path? If Sirius didn’t know the man to be honorable, he would be concerned to find the two young women alone in his company. In truth, he was concerned. Sirius had noticed that Isabel appeared uncomfortable in crowds, and the park at this time was a crush. So why would she consent to ride out with Westhope at this time of day? Had she not had a choice? Perhaps Lady Yardley insisted she go, for Westhope was an eligible, titled bachelor. He would need to ask Fox what he knew of the ladies’ relationship with the viscountess, because Sirius would hate himself if—

“I beg your pardon, Captain Dawson, but did you hear me?”

Jerking his head back, Sirius blinked as his gaze settled on Westhope, who was staring at him with a frown.

“Please excuse me.” He yanked on his lapels. “You caught me woolgathering.”

“I wonder what about,” Gabby said, a knowing lilt to her tone.

Isabel narrowed her eyes. “Gabby, really. Some of us find our thoughts captured by all sorts of things.”

“Is that right?” Lord Westhope turned to face her, that damn smile overtaking his face. “What sort of things ensnare your attention, Miss Luna?”

Before Isabel could respond, Sirius cleared his throat. Loudly. “What was it you were saying, my lord?”

“Oh yes. Right.” Squaring his shoulders, Westhope swept his gaze over the three of them. “Invitations have not gone out yet, but I wanted you to be the first to know that I’ve decided to open Westhope House for a ball the week after next, and I would be quite happy if you all were my guests.”

His muscles locked at the viscount’s words. Not because he was surprised or even exasperated by the idea of attending yet another ball, but rather because Isabel had proven herself to be a snoop at such events. Would she take this as her opportunity to search the viscount’s home? Would such activities even be possible with Lord Westhope paying her such special attentions?

His gaze immediately collided with Isabel’s. Defiance lurked in her bottomless eyes, as if she knew the train of his thoughts, and suspicion set Sirius’s teeth on edge.

“We would be honored to attend, Lord Westhope.” The corner of her mouth tipped up. “Nothing would make me happier.”

Sirius bit back a growl.