Isabel and the Rogue

Chapter 8

Sirius saw her as soon as she entered the ballroom. Her gold gown was bold and vibrant, and paired with her dark skin, Isabel sparkled under the gaslights. From his place with Whitfield and several acquaintances in the corner of the ballroom, Sirius had watched her over his glass as she navigated through the crowd with Gabriela by her side, growing more and more confused that her presence had not drawn more notice. While young men fawned over her sister, Isabel had stood quietly by even as all the light in the room seemed drawn to her. Were people blind? How had they not noticed how arresting she was? Sirius could not keep the scowl from his face.

Which deepened when he noticed Isabel slip from the ballroom into a dark hall. Throwing back the rest of his brandy, Sirius had repressed a sigh. Apparently, he would need to save her from herself once again.

Finding her in Westhope’s study had not been hard, although it had taken him a frustrating moment or two to pick the lock. But the time Sirius spent seeing to such an annoying task had been worth it to surprise her as he did. Looking at Isabel now, her face pale and her dark eyes saucers, filled him with an intense amount of satisfaction.

“Well,” Sirius said, advancing another step closer to her, “what is it? Why are you here, lurking in the shadows, and not in the ballroom with the rest of the viscount’s guests?”

“I’m not lurking,” she hissed, color returning to her complexion.

“Perhaps not…but you’ve not answered my question,” Sirius said, slowly arching a brow.

Isabel dropped her gaze immediately. When his eyes landed on her hands, which she was wringing together, she abruptly ceased the motion and dropped them to hang by her sides. “I got lost.”

“No, you didn’t,” he replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “You had to have known the retiring rooms were on the other end of the ballroom, because that is where the crowds congregated.”

“Oh, I hadn’t noticed,” she said, lifting a shoulder.

If she was aiming to be convincing, her performance left much to be desired.

“That’s a lie, Isabel. You strike me as a very observant person.”

As Sirius had expected, his accusation angered her. Her eyes narrowed into slits, and Isabel prowled around the desk and stopped in front of him, jabbing her finger into his chest. “How dare you.”

“How dare I what?” He smirked. “How dare I call you a liar, or how dare I call you one of the most observant people I know?”

Isabel growled in the back of her throat and poked him again. “You know what I mean.”

With a quick flash of movement, Sirius grabbed her hand and pulled her closer, until her chest was practically flush with his own. “Tread carefully, Isabel.”

“I didn’t give you leave to address me by my first name,” she said, glaring into his eyes.

Sirius bent down until his face hovered before her own. “I will call you by your Christian name as long as you act like a spoiled child, Isabel.”

Her mouth flattened. “Spoiled child? You’re not my father, Captain Dawson, and you have no authority over me.”

“You’re right. I don’t.” His grip on her tightened. “But I have no qualms about telling Fox of your intrusive searches.”

Rather than relenting, she grew angrier. Her jaw was granite. “Gideon is not my father, either. Ana María may have to answer to him, but I do not.”

“And what of your uncle? I’m certain Mr. Valdés would be appalled if he knew you were sneaking about the private studies of members of the peerage.”

Her lips parted as alarm flared in her eyes. In an instant, it was gone, replaced by bright flames of fury. “Why can’t you mind your own business?”

“You are my business,” he snarled down at her.

“Why would I possibly be your business?” Isabel snapped.

Sirius licked his lips to deliver an angry retort…but the words died on his tongue when he noticed that her gaze had dropped to his mouth. Desire licked up his spine, and Sirius curled his arm around her back, his fingers pressing into the flesh of her waist. His head swam…until she wrenched her surprised gaze up to meet his.

Clarity slammed into him like a locomotive. Sirius stumbled backward, dropping his arms as if she had burned him. This was Isabel Luna, not some willing widow meeting him in a dark library for an assignation. She deserved more care, more consideration, than what his body ached to give her.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius mumbled, smoothing his palms down his lapels and steadfastly avoiding her gaze. “I should not have taken such liberties with you.”

Isabel did not answer immediately, but he could hear her throat work on a swallow. “I don’t understand why you’re here. Why do you care what I do?”

Sirius shook his head, unsure of how to respond because even he didn’t understand his need to protect her, as much from herself as from others.

“You are constantly surrounded by a crowd, Captain. Your exploits”—she emphasized the word as if it were a slur—“are splashed in the gossip pages. You make friends and command attention wherever you go. Why concern yourself with someone like me?”

“Someone like you?” Sirius advanced a step toward her. “Who do you consider yourself to be?”

Her dark eyes stared up at him, the air between them thick and taut. Sirius knew how others viewed Isabel, but he also knew how wrong they were. So how did she view herself? Did she know she was bright and perceptive, and delivered stinging retorts that replayed in his mind for days afterward? That her barely there smile absolutely beguiled him, for it hinted at all the emotions she kept so tightly contained? Did she know that her sinfully full mouth was made for kisses? Sirius curled his hands into fists at the idea he could show her.

A breath shuddered past her lips. “I’m nobody. Just a Mexican woman trying to be the best sister and niece I can be.”

His ribs seized around his heart, and Sirius reached out a hand to her—

A noise in the corridor made them freeze in place. If they were found, alone in a dark room, Sirius was not certain they could survive the scandal. Turning to Isabel, he found her staring at the closed door with panic-stricken eyes.

Taking her hand, Sirius dragged her to the corner of the room and tucked her within the dark drapes, hidden from view by one of the tall bookcases. Sirius swiftly walked back to the armchairs, adjusting his tie and his cufflinks, hoping he appeared relaxed and unruffled, and not like a man waging a war with his emotions. Grabbing a book from a side table, Sirius had just sat when the tumbler clicked and the door swung open.

“Ho, Dawson, what are you doing here in the dark?” Westhope exclaimed, another gentleman standing behind him in the doorway.

Sirius closed the book with a snap and rose to his feet. “Honestly, I was trying to dodge Lady Needham’s attentions. She’s become quite…” He paused, crooking his mouth. “Demanding.”

The viscount chuckled, stepping into the room and turning to light another lamp. “Yes, it appears the baroness is determined to make a conquest of you. Pity that her campaign has you hiding in the library when you should be dancing with pretty ladies.”

“Indeed. Yet I haven’t rushed back to the ballroom, because you have an impressive library, Westhope.” Sirius made a show of pulling out his pocket watch. “It would seem that the supper waltz approaches. Should we find our partners?”

“Oh yes, I don’t want to leave Miss Luna waiting,” Westhope said, hurrying to his desk and unlocking the center drawer. “Let me just grab that printer’s card for Andrews.”

Sirius nodded in greeting at the other man, and then turned back to the viscount, his teeth abruptly on edge. He cleared his throat. “Have you secured Miss Gabriela Luna’s hand for the supper waltz?”

“Miss Gabriela is lovely, but”—the viscount clicked his tongue—“it’s Miss Isabel Luna’s quiet, clever demeanor that I’m drawn to.”

“I see,” he murmured, his pulse thundering in his ears. “She is a singular young woman.”

Westhope looked up, a thoughtful expression on his face. “She’s incomparable. I have enjoyed spending time with her. Ha, here it is,” he finished, brandishing a card in the air.

Straightening his cravat, Westhope nodded. “Here you go, Andrews. Now let’s find our dance partners.”

With a quick glance to the back of the room, Sirius smiled. “Yes, let’s not keep them waiting.”

And with that, he followed the viscount and his friend, so many things left unsaid in the air behind him.

Expelling a breath that Isabel had held for entirely too long, she dropped her head back against the wall as the door closed. That had been too close for comfort. If Lord Westhope had walked any farther into the room, surely he would have seen her gold skirts among the dark fabric of the window drapes. She wasn’t exactly camouflaged.

But Captain Dawson—Sirius—had delivered the perfect distraction…and not just for the viscount.

Inhaling so deeply her lungs felt full to bursting, Isabel ran trembling hands along her brow, carefully tucking loose hairs behind her ears. Once she had adjusted the fit of her bodice, Isabel pushed the drapes aside and stepped into the room. Her pulse was still fluttering, but Isabel knew she could not dawdle, for Lord Westhope would be looking to claim her hand for their waltz, and she absolutely could not be found in this room.

Isabel closed her eyes and squared her shoulders as she counted to ten, before she quietly opened the door and entered the empty corridor. Keeping to the shadows, she reached the ballroom in seconds, but hesitated on the threshold, eyes darting about the space.

She spotted Gabby chatting with several young women on the other side of the dance floor, flashing a bland smile at a gentleman who stopped to greet her, before pointedly turning back to her friends. To the right of her, Isabel found Lady Yardley perched with several matrons watching the dancers performing a reel. Fighting the urge to worry her lip, Isabel took several steps into the room. Suddenly a pair of sapphire eyes snared hers, and her heart kicked into a sprint. Sirius was standing across the room surrounded by a group of people, but his gaze was fixed on her. Isabel couldn’t identify what was in the bottomless ocean depths of his gaze—wariness, curiosity, a hunger that made her mouth run dry. No man had ever looked at her that way, and Isabel was helpless to look away from him.

That was until a figure blocked her line of sight.

“There you are, Miss Luna,” Lord Westhope said, a friendly smile on his lips and a spark of relief in his eyes. “I had almost feared I wouldn’t find you before our set.”

“I’m sorry to have worried you,” Isabel said, executing a curtsy. “I was merely wandering the room, greeting acquaintances and watching the dances.”

The music changed then, and a rush of couples brushed past them to take a position on the dance floor. The viscount held out a hand to her.

“Are you ready?”

Isabel smiled…or sincerely attempted to. “I am.”

As Lord Westhope led her onto the floor, he placed his hand on her waist and looked down at her. “I’ve been looking forward to this dance all week.”

Unsure of what to say, she dipped her head and allowed the viscount to spin her to the melody.

But not before Isabel felt Sirius’s intense gaze drift along her skin, and glancing over Lord Westhope’s shoulder, she was not at all surprised to find him staring at her. ?Por Dios! Something had changed in the viscount’s library, but Isabel wasn’t sure what. All she knew was that the captain had held her closely against his chest, his fingers pressing into her flesh and his gaze smoldering pools of blue fire. Isabel had been certain he was going to kiss her, but surely she’d been mistaken. Right?

It took two turns around the dance floor before Isabel could attend to the viscount’s conversation. Bits of his words floated through her whirling thoughts; something about a book he’d long searched for—a first edition of Don Quixote, maybe. Isabel nodded along, hoping she expressed her interest in believable ways. But truly, Isabel found it a herculean task to focus on anything other than the brooding blond man who watched her from across the crowd.

Risking a quick glance in his direction, Isabel found him still standing among a mix of gentlemen and women, the crowd laughing and talking around him. But Sirius’s gaze remained fixed on her, and Isabel bit her lip to be the source of such potent consideration. Was he replaying their conversation in the library? Was he contemplating their almost kiss? Or perhaps he hadn’t meant to kiss her at all, because why would he want to kiss her when he could have any of the beautiful ladies in the room? And yet…the feverish light in his eyes, the one she glimpsed across the room even now, told Isabel that Captain Sirius Dawson possibly had personal reasons for wanting to stop her covert searches.

Suddenly, Isabel wanted nothing more than to return to that dim library and finish their conversation. Had they not heard Lord Westhope in the hall, would Sirius have kissed her? Unlike Ana María, who had confessed to her and Gabby several months into her marriage that she had not known what to expect of her wedding night, Isabel had read enough to know what occurred between a man and a woman behind closed doors. Her books had supplied her with the mechanics, and sometimes the flowery wonders, of the act.

And while Isabel had never thought a great love affair or marriage was in her future, she had absolutely no issue exploring the carnal side of such unions. She knew Padre Ignacio would be aghast at this revelation, but Isabel did not care. A body was just a body, and her spirit was her spirit; she could nurture one while indulging the other.

“Miss Luna, did you hear what I said?”

Isabel wrested her gaze away from Sirius, and blinked up at the viscount. “I do beg your pardon, my lord. I got a bit lost in the music.”

Lord Westhope chuckled, squeezing her hand. “I can understand that. This piece by Strauss is one of my favorites. Are you a great fan of music?”

She pressed her lips together for a moment. “I enjoy music as much as the next person. I do miss the gentle melodies my tía Susana used to play on her guitarra on rainy mornings.”

“The guitar is not a popular instrument among ladies here in England, and I wonder why that is.” The viscount’s brow crinkled. “I’ve heard it played, and it produces a beautiful sound.”

“It’s probably because it’s a Spanish instrument,” Isabel tossed out with a shrug.

Lord Westhope frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Come now, Lord Westhope,” she said, offering a wry smile, “surely you know that the British don’t seem to value much about Spanish culture.”

To his credit, the viscount appeared to consider this claim carefully. Instead of responding with an immediate rejection of her statement or even offering an excuse, Lord Westhope screwed his mouth up and stared down at her with a pucker between his brows. Isabel respected his tendency to ponder his response before he said it. And, not for the first time did she wonder why she couldn’t feel something, anything, for the viscount aside from warm friendliness. For if Isabel were looking for a British husband, Viscount Westhope would be more than ideal.

But as long as she had a choice, her future lay in Mexico.

“I suspect,” he began, a teasing smirk playing with the corners of his mouth, “that the British have turned their noses up at the Spanish ever since Sir Walter Raleigh defeated the famed Spanish Armada.”

A bubble of laughter burst from her throat. “Ay sí, surely that’s it. And I’m certain the Spanish have held a nearly three-hundred-year-old grudge ever since.”

“Oh, indeed. National pride is exploited at every chance.” Lord Westhope smiled down at her. “And the British have turned their noses up at the Spanish, even if it deprives us of truly excellent music.”

Isabel chuckled again…but the sound tapered off when she spied Sirius staring at her with a dark glower. Was he upset with her? Because she was enjoying her waltz with the viscount? Isabel had watched him seduce any number of ladies, each time an assault on the armor she wrapped tightly about her. And he was upset now that a handsome man had made her laugh?

Arching a brow in return, Isabel turned away from him and forced herself to focus all of her attention on Lord Westhope.

Their waltz ended some minutes later, and Isabel was almost sorry for it. When the viscount escorted her into the dining room, a bevy of guests followed them. To her relief, Lord Westhope selected a small table near the front of the room that was large enough for only one other couple to join them, and thankfully that couple was Gabby and her dance partner, a young lord whose name Isabel promptly forgot.

Dinner passed in a pleasant manner, Lord Westhope regaling them with stories of hunting rare books all over Europe, and Gabby’s lordling chimed in with funny witticisms that hinted at the charming rake he would one day be. Throughout the time they spent dining, Isabel made a conscious effort not to look for Sirius. The captain had no right to scold her the way he did—and he certainly had no right to cause heat to simmer low in her core. And just because most men had ignored her since she arrived in London, the captain included, did not mean that she was not deserving of Lord Westhope’s attentions.

But after Isabel had wished good night to the viscount and prepared to return to Yardley House, Sirius stepped into her path.

Isabel held up a staying hand when Gabby looked back at her in question from the carriage. She reached for her composure as she followed Sirius to the side of the foyer. But just being in his vicinity, inhaling his crisp cedarwood and orange scent that had quickly become familiar to her, threatened all her firm admonitions. Isabel curled her hands into fists, her fingernails cutting into her palms and grounding her in reality.

“Will you hack out with me tomorrow morning?” he asked quietly, his deep blue eyes intent on her face.

“I’m not the best rider—”

“That doesn’t matter,” Sirius said, his tone curt. “I just want privacy for the discussion we need to have.”

She shook her head. “But you know I’ll have to bring a groom, so I won’t truly be alone.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up. “A bit of privacy can be bought.”

Isabel rolled her eyes. “Very well. I will be ready by seven in the morning.”

“Six thirty,” he countered, his brow arching. “I will be at Yardley House not a minute later.”

“I’ll be ready,” she whispered.

Sirius grabbed her hand then, raising it to his lips while holding her eyes. “I look forward to it,” he said, the soft pressure of his lips raising gooseflesh across her skin.

Isabel’s hand tingled the entire way to Yardley House.

Once she was ensconced in her chamber, successful in evading Gabby’s and Lady Yardley’s many questions about her evening, Isabel sank onto the chair before her escritoire. Extracting a fresh sheet of parchment from a stack in the top drawer, Isabel paused, nibbling her lip as her mind scripted out various openings before she settled on one. Straightening her spine, Isabel dipped a quill into the ink and carefully wrote out her customary greeting to Padre Ignacio. When she was done, she reread her words, hope swelling in her chest.

Folding the letter, she set it aside to be franked the next day. Then, selecting a book from the stack next to her bed, she climbed under the blankets and propped her back against the pillows. Isabel studied the book she’d grabbed, her selection made unconsciously. It was the folio of poems she had swiped from Captain Dawson’s library at Dancourt Abbey.