Isabel and the Rogue

Chapter 10

Sirius was convinced the only reason he was extended an invitation to the Fairchild dinner party was that Mrs. Fairchild hoped he would be charmed by her daughter, Annabelle.

He considered this idea now as he sat beside the young lady at the Fairchilds’ dining table, listening with what he hoped was a patient mien as his hostess regaled him with tales of her daughter’s proficiency on the violin. Sirius was quite fond of the instrument…or as fond as he could be with only the most basic knowledge of violins, aside from the lovely music they produced when coaxed by a deft hand. According to her proud mother, Miss Annabelle Fairchild was one such musician.

“When dinner is over and the men enjoy their after-dinner drinks, Annabelle will have to play for you, Captain Dawson.” Mrs. Fairchild gazed at her daughter, wide eyes filled with hope. “Once you’ve heard her exquisite skill, I’m sure you will agree with my assessment that there is no more beautiful sound.”

“I have no doubt that you’re right, ma’am,” he said with ready agreement. Turning his head, he found Miss Fairchild with an all-suffering expression, and Sirius suspected she was long used to her mother’s machinations.

Sirius patted his mouth with his napkin and angled his chair toward her to ask, “Do you enjoy playing in public?”

Miss Fairchild snorted softly. “Do you want my honest answer, Captain Dawson, or my polite one?”

“I’m flattered you feel comfortable enough to ask.” He flashed what he knew to be his most winning smile. “And I will always fall on the side of honesty over politeness. Surely you’ve noticed that politeness can mask all manner of uncomfortable truths under its veneer of good manners.”

“Oh yes. This is my third season out, you see, and in that time I’ve noticed the need to maintain an air of gentility is more important than actually rectifying errors.” The corner of her lips curved. “And as you’ve noticed the same, allow me to state that I despise playing for a crowd.”

Sirius blinked. “Despise? That’s a strong word, Miss Fairchild.”

“It is. But then it’s easy to sour on something that you’re forced to do rather than what you want to do.”

That was certainly true. And abruptly Sirius was reminded of Isabel. Of how fiercely determined she was to move forward with her assignment, not because she was ordered to see to the task, but because she wanted to. When was the last time he had sought to do something simply because he wanted to and not because he felt compelled, by guilt and shame, to?

He coughed into his napkin and collected his thoughts as he arranged it again in his lap. “Tell me, Miss Fairchild, are you acquainted with Miss Isabel Luna?”

The young woman quirked her head at the change of subject, but her gaze slid to where Isabel sat on the opposite end of the table. She had been situated across from her sister, between Lady Yardley and an elderly baron, and Sirius had watched her throughout the evening, noting that while she smiled and nodded politely as Lord Palmer rambled on at her, Isabel rarely spoke herself. He’d been aware of her shyness in public before, but had not thought deeply about it. But now Sirius couldn’t help but recognize how unsettled she was in social situations. He knew Isabel could be charming when she chose to be, for he’d certainly seen the effects of her charisma on Lord Westhope. Yet more often than not, it appeared Isabel was simply uncomfortable in crowds.

He itched to scoop her up and take her away from this infernal gathering. An altogether uncomfortable and foreign urge he’d never experienced before.

“I have not yet had the pleasure, Captain, but had hoped to do so after dinner,” Miss Fairchild said, drawing his attention back to her.

Sirius took a sip of wine to wet his lips. “The reason I ask is because I think you and Miss Luna would get along well together. Her sensibilities seem a good match for your own.”

And they did. Sirius suspected Isabel would enjoy Miss Fairchild’s calm, matter-of-fact demeanor. Selfishly, Sirius also hoped that by having a friend she could converse with during such social engagements, Isabel would feel more comfortable in them.

“Is she forced to perform as well, Captain Dawson?” Miss Fairchild asked with an arch of her brow.

“Aren’t all young ladies expected to perform while in company?” he volleyed back.

Her chuckle was light and melodic, and Sirius offered her a genuine smile. Yes, perhaps she and Isabel would make good friends.

Sirius slid his eyes to where Isabel sat down the table, stifling his surprise when her gaze collided with his own. She didn’t smile; merely stared back at him with an emotionless expression. He had thought that after their discussion in the park, Isabel might put aside her animosity and be more genial with him. They were working together, after all. But Isabel stared back at him as if he were just a man she passed on the street. Whatever was that about?

The main course was served then, and Sirius was not permitted further opportunity to ponder it. Mrs. Fairchild, and to a lesser extent Annabelle, monopolized his conversation for the rest of the dinner. The older woman was loquacious but gracious, if a bit direct about her desire to see Sirius court her daughter, but then he was experienced in deflecting the attentions of marriage-minded mamas. He was polite in his replies but noncommittal, and managed to contain his amusement anytime Annabelle rolled her eyes or mumbled tart replies to her mother’s words. Sirius had never made a hobby out of conversing with unmarried young ladies more than what was required by etiquette—Isabel being the only young woman he’d truly desired to befriend—but he found he genuinely liked Annabelle Fairchild, and hoped she and Isabel were able to form a friendship.

After dinner, the men retired to Fairchild’s study, where they were plied with the finest cigars from his humidor and offered tumblers of his best brandy and whisky. Sirius didn’t recall much of the conversation, his eyes too busy mapping out the room and its contents. When he finally met with Isabel later in the night, he wanted to be able to tell her how the room was situated so her search would not be wasted fumbling about unnecessarily.

Plus, earlier that day, Lieutenant Colonel Green had asked that Sirius include a layout of the room when he delivered his next report, stating that it would be useful should they want to search Fairchild’s London townhome in the future. This request was made after Sirius had taken the better part of their hour-long meeting to persuade Green to put aside his anger over Sirius’s offer to assist Isabel’s quest. The lieutenant colonel had eventually calmed when Sirius had explained how it could assist his own assignment with Westhope…and Sirius had consented to the older man’s list of safeguards meant to protect not only Isabel, but British intelligence, as well.

Thus, Sirius’s interest perked when he observed Fairchild extract a key from an urn filled with an assortment of lilies on a pedestal table behind his desk. When the man glanced about to see whether anyone had noted his movements, Sirius carefully averted his gaze to the glass in his hand, studying it as if the amber liquid contained the answers to his many unasked questions. Once the man was assured no one was paying attention to him, Fairchild used the key to open a small safe just visible under his desk. Sirius could not make out what its contents were, but after locking the safe again, the older man passed around a small silver case containing a brown powder. Sirius endeavored to keep his expression impassive, although the idea of sampling snuff made his stomach turn. The substance reminded him of his time spent near Varna, sitting around a fire with his men, jesting and laughing about the most inane topics. But inanity…along with liquor and snuff, helped dull the memories from playing across their eyelids every night.

When the snuffbox made its way to him, Sirius shook his head and held up his glass. One such vice was enough.

Eventually, Fairchild returned the snuffbox to his safe, and Sirius pondered briefly why the man kept the item there. Was the silver container a family heirloom? A sentimental gift? Whatever the reason didn’t matter, for what really mattered was discovering what else was hidden in the compartment along with the silver box. A smile threatened to spread over his lips as he considered how delighted Isabel would be when she learned about the hiding spot later in the evening.

Eventually the men rose to their feet and joined the company of the women in the drawing room. Sirius was one of the last to enter, finding the women engaged in small groups throughout the room. His gaze searched out Isabel, finding her tucked onto a narrow settee with Miss Fairchild, the two women’s heads turned toward each other, apparently in deep conversation. As if she sensed his regard, Isabel glanced up and met his eyes. Her expression remained calm, but her gaze narrowed on him. She had seemed almost ambivalent about him during dinner, but now Isabel was glancing back at him warily. Had he done something to upset her?

Whatever the case, Sirius did not approach her immediately. He wanted to. Was almost eager to speak with her. About the safe in Fairchild’s study, of course. As inconspicuously as he could, Sirius pulled on his cravat tie. Why did it feel so tight?

Weaving slowly through the guests, Sirius stopped to exchange words with a group of older women and patiently allowed them to introduce their young charges. Sirius fixed a smile on his face as the young women spoke of their time in London and the sights and sounds they’d enjoyed so far. Fairchild’s brother-in-law even roped him into a conversation about the conflict in Bhutan, and Sirius contributed comments on occasion, projecting an air of interest he hoped appeared sincere. He stifled a laugh when Gabriela Luna flashed him a jaunty smile. Yet the true object of his attention was a point—a person—on the other side of the room, who continued to sit quietly with Miss Fairchild. By the time Sirius had made his way to them, a half hour had passed by. A long, dull thirty minutes.

“Miss Luna, Miss Fairchild,” he murmured, offering them a crisp bow, “you had the right of it by tucking yourselves away here in the back of the room.”

“I know better than to place myself in my mother’s line of sight.” Miss Fairchild employed a mock shudder. “It’s a surefire way to guarantee I’ll be demonstrating my music skills like a pet monkey in a show.”

Sirius chuckled, noting that while Isabel did not join him, a genuine smile lit her face.

“While I’m sure I would be gratified to hear your skill on the violin firsthand, I certainly don’t wish to see you perform if you yourself do not desire to.” Sirius linked his hands together behind his back, well aware the motion drew attention to his shoulders and arms. Shoulders and arms he exercised regularly with fencing and tennis. When he noticed both young women scan their gazes over his form, Sirius bit back a chuckle. While he was not interested in Miss Fairchild’s admiration, a flame sparked in the bottom of his stomach to see Isabel’s lashes drop low over her eyes. “I’ve never really given much thought to the pressure we put on young women to perform for audiences under the guise of showcasing their talents. If one wishes to perform, that is one thing, but one should not be compelled to do so by others.”

“I quite agree, Captain Dawson, but then sadly no one has ever asked for my opinion.” Miss Fairchild nodded her head before turning to look at Isabel. “Are you proficient on an instrument, Miss Luna? Are you, too, expected to entertain on demand?”

Isabel ducked her head. “Unfortunately…or perhaps fortunately, I have never shown much musical talent. I’ve always had a knack for remembering odd details, though. Dates. People’s names. The lines to obscure poems or long passages of text.” She licked her lip, darting her gaze to his for a moment and then plowing on. “My father thought it would be amusing if I recited several bits of information about each guest at a dinner party he and my mother hosted. I was so nervous to stand in front of the room and speak, I got sick all over my shoes.”

“Oh no,” Miss Fairchild cried, grasping Isabel’s hand tight. “That must have been dreadful.”

Dreadfulappeared to be an understatement if Isabel’s appearance was any indication. Her normally warm complexion had turned pale, and her eyes darted about without landing on one point, as if she were afraid to look at either him or Miss Fairchild. Her confession had no doubt brought up the fear and humiliation she must have felt in that moment so long ago, and Sirius’s arms twitched to pull her close. To whisper how cruel that request was.

Instead, Sirius watched her, silently willing her to meet his gaze. But Isabel kept it steadfastly away, and an uncomfortable knot lodged in his throat.

Although her shoulders curled in, Isabel flashed a small, shy smile at Miss Fairchild. “I know that’s not the sort of conversation one should engage in, and I apologize. But when you mentioned having to perform, whether you want to or not, that scene burst from my memory like a cannon blast.”

“No apologies necessary. I’m terribly sorry that happened to you.” Miss Fairchild sighed, her gaze fixing on a spot on the other side of the room. “I know I shouldn’t complain. My mother means well. She wants to see me happy and settled. It can be a bit much at times, though. Like tonight during dinner.”

“What happened during dinner?” Isabel asked with a cock of her head.

An abashed look settled on Miss Fairchild’s face as she glanced up at him. “Poor Captain Dawson was subjected to her matchmaking ploys.”

Sirius waved a dismissive hand. “As you said, she wants to see you settled.”

“I suppose I should be thankful for her meddling this time, for I’m grateful you suggested I seek out Miss Luna here.” Miss Fairchild beamed at Isabel. “I fear I would have missed out on our engaging conversation if I had not listened.”

A becoming blush swept across Isabel’s cheeks, and her eyes flashed to his for a fleeting second. “The captain thought you should speak with me?”

“He did. He thought our personalities might suit each other.” Miss Fairchild bumped her shoulder into Isabel’s. “And I think he’s right.”

Isabel arched a brow. “Even though I spoke of an indelicate topic?”

“Because you spoke of an indelicate topic.” Miss Fairchild gestured to the guests mingling about. “I’ve quickly learned that so much about polite society is artifice. I find it quite refreshing whenever the veneer slips and a bit of authenticity is revealed.”

“So do I,” Isabel said, her onyx eyes sparkling.

Sirius did not tarry much longer with Isabel and Miss Fairchild, mindful that tongues would wag if he spent any more than a polite amount of time with the young women. But before he stepped away, he managed to catch Isabel’s eyes. When he did, Sirius looked pointedly at the corridor that led to Fairchild’s study, and then back at her. Isabel inclined her head slightly, before returning her attention to her companion. Sirius took his leave, certain Isabel understood his unspoken message.

A quarter of an hour later, while in the middle of a conversation about overarm bowling in cricket with two gentlemen whose names he could not recall, Sirius spied Isabel slip from the room out of the corner of his eye. He continued to sip idly from his tumbler for another ten or so minutes, and then excused himself with a silent nod. Sirius sidestepped various guests as he made his way toward the opposite end of the room, determined not to let Isabel wait any longer than necessary. When he finally disappeared down the dark corridor, he released a sigh of relief to have finally extricated himself from the crowd.

Walking several paces down the hall, Sirius glanced about, gaze trained on every alcove and open door for a glimpse of Isabel. Where was she? Surely she had not been discovered, for he would have heard the commotion…right?

After turning a corner toward Fairchild’s study, his steps halted. She was lurking in the shadows before the study door, only a hint of her golden-brown silk gown peeking into view. As he moved closer, her face came into focus…and a breath caught in his throat, for Isabel’s deep, dark eyes stared at him, and Sirius knew in an instant that he was in trouble.

Without a word, Isabel pressed on the handle and entered the room. Squaring his shoulders, Sirius followed close behind.

Only a single lamp burned on a side table, its glow illuminating a small patch in the corner of the room. Isabel stood in it now, the light glinting on the amber notes in her hair. Her back was to him, her head tilted up at the imposing gilt-framed portrait of some long-deceased Fairchild ancestor. Watching her, Sirius quietly closed the door behind him and rested his back against the wood.

The room was eerily silent, the low hum of voices from the activities on the other side of the house the only sound. Sirius wasn’t sure if he should say something or allow her to decide how she wanted to proceed. Despite his frustration on the subject, this was not Isabel’s first covert search.

Isabel pivoted then, half of her face burnished by the lamplight, and the other half melding into the surrounding shadows. Sirius rocked back on his heels. What was it about this moment that rendered her so beautiful? Her glinting eyes? The slight pout to her lips? His musings were interrupted when she advanced toward him, not stopping until she stood before him, looking up at him with large eyes.

His brow furrowed as he pondered what to say…and then she poked her finger into his chest.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Do what?” Sirius demanded, snatching her hand and holding it against his sternum.

Isabel shook her head, her eyes glued to where he held her. “Convince Miss Fairchild to speak with me.”

“I didn’t convince her of anything.” He waited for her to meet his gaze. “I simply told her you might get along well. I’m happy to have been proven right.”

“I’m sure you are.” Her gaze fell to his tie. “She’s splendid, and I think…perhaps if I don’t reveal more disastrous personal details…that we may become friends.”

And that was important to her. For the reserved Isabel, finding friends and making connections was not easy. Sirius could tell by the color that rose in her cheeks, and he was happy to have been the cause of it.

That damnable half smile crossed her lips in the blink of an eye, sparking Sirius to ask, “Why the smile?”

Isabel’s mouth flattened into a mulish line. “I didn’t smile.”

Sirius squeezed her hand. “Yes, you did. You so rarely share your smiles with me, so I pay attention when you do.”

Her obsidian eyes blinked up at him before she shuffled about on her feet. “It’s just…when I—when I saw the two of you laughing during dinner, I was a bit miffed.”

Sirius cocked his head. “Miffed? But why?”

Her fingers fiddled with the buttons on his glove, and Sirius realized they still held each other’s hands. “Because it appeared you were having more fun than I was with the guests seated near me. And also—”

Isabel snapped her mouth closed, and his curiosity flared to life.

“And what?” Sirius took a step closer. “Tell me.”

“I misspoke,” she snapped.

“I don’t think you did, though.” Sirius stroked his thumb over her knuckles. “Were you jealous, Isabel? Was that it?”

Refusing to answer, Isabel tried to pull away, but Sirius held fast.

“I was laughing with Miss Fairchild because she made witty comments about her mother’s overbearing tendencies, and not for any other reason.”

“She’s quite pretty, though.” Her voice was so low, Sirius had to strain to hear. But he didn’t have to strain to understand the unspoken meaning of her words.

“I suppose she is.” He raised a shoulder. “But then beauty is subjective.”

“So I’ve heard.”

There was a wealth of disdain in those three words, and Sirius abruptly felt himself to be on unstable ground. Isabel would not take kindly to flowery platitudes, and he would be placating her if he offered them. Instead, he opted for honesty.

“Why would you ever want to settle for pretty? Pretty is tiresome. It’s boring. And you’re not boring, Isabel. You’re bright and sharp and…” He coughed into his fist, his tie abruptly tight. “Memorable.”

Her lips parted. “Memorable?”

Sirius nodded, reluctantly releasing her hand. “I certainly haven’t been able to forget you.”

Somehow Isabel knew Captain Sirius Dawson had never called another woman memorable before.

She didn’t have a chance to consider this, for Sirius stepped back, his expression shuttering. “Let’s get on with it, because we don’t have long.”

With a deep exhale, Isabel nodded. She needed to focus. Sirius was right. At any moment, someone might step into the room and find them together. Not only would there be a scandal, but Isabel would have failed to follow through on her real reason for being in Mr. Fairchild’s study in the first place. Smoothing her hands along the silk at her waist, Isabel glanced about the room.

“Where do you think we should start?”

Advancing to a table tucked behind the desk on the far side of the room, Sirius stuck his hand inside an urn filled with flowers. His expression turned triumphant as he held up a long key. “Here.”

Isabel rushed over as he dropped into a crouch behind Fairchild’s desk, maneuvering the key inside the lock of the small safe. She held her breath as he swung the door open.

“Is there anything of note?” Isabel asked.

“This,” Sirius said, holding out a silver case.

“Do you use snuff?” she asked, her nose crinkled.

“I used enough of it while in the Crimea. I haven’t been able to stomach it since.”

She tucked that knowledge away for later. Isabel tried to crouch down to get a better look of what was inside the safe, but her skirts refused to condense enough to allow her to fit, and she huffed in annoyance.

“Don’t worry, I’ll let you know if there’s anything of note inside,” he said, flashing her a quick smile.

“I hate these stupid skirts.” Isabel batted at the fall of her gown, a snarl curling her lips. “I swear they’re designed to keep women under control. They’re cumbersome and heavy, and it’s impossible to do things when you have to heft around such weight.”

His brow puckered. “I have never thought of it that way, but it makes sense.”

“Society just loves to dictate how a woman is to live her life.” Isabel lifted her chin. “Did you know that some members of the ton thought poorly of Ana María because she smiled too much?”

Sirius chuckled as he peered inside a satchel he’d pulled from the safe. Isabel tried to look over his shoulder, but the dim lighting hid the contents. “I can’t say I’m surprised. You and your sisters were at a deficit when you arrived. While you are wealthy and beautiful, you’re also foreign. Criticizing such innocuous behavior is another way to maintain the social hierarchy.”

“How depressing.” Isabel sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Find anything interesting?”

“It appears to be deeds and mortgage drafts for Fairchild’s estate and his many, many mills.” Sirius looked up and met her gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“This keeps happening to me.” Isabel covered her face with her hands. “No matter where I search or how promising the lead is, I haven’t been able to find anything to help my family. I’ve been hoping Westhope’s cousin will pass along information, but so far he hasn’t and now my parents are in more danger. I would hate myself if something happened to them while I’m wasting time here in London.”

“Nothing is going to happen to them,” Sirius said quietly, wrapping his hand around her ankle and stroking his thumb along the bone. The gesture was so scandalous—a man with his hand under her skirts—and yet his touch was comforting. “Despite the French occupation, there are many who are still loyal to Benito Juárez and democracy. They’re going to do everything they can to protect him, and the men and women who work for him.”

Isabel blinked down at him. “How do you know that about Presidente Juárez?”

The corner of his mouth kicked up. “I have contacts, remember?”

“Of course.” Isabel shook her head. “You certainly didn’t learn that from the papers here in London. My sisters and I are always complaining about how rarely the British press writes about the occupation.”

Sirius opened his mouth…when a noise sounded from the corridor. It was the soft murmur of voices and the steady beat of footfalls on the tile. Isabel went stone-still, her eyes darting about the room for a place to hide. Sirius had managed to hide her in the drapes at Westhope’s house, but the only reason she hadn’t been discovered was that he served as a distraction. He couldn’t do that tonight for he was not supposed to be in this room, either.

“Come here,” Sirius hissed, grasping her hand and pulling her toward the desk.

“What?” Isabel scowled at him. “There’s no way my skirts will fit under there.”

Sirius’s expression turned fierce. “We’ll make them fit.”

Isabel had no chance to protest, for Sirius yanked her down, quickly wrapping an arm about her waist and pulling her flush with his chest. With quick backward movements, he managed to tuck them both under the desk. Before Isabel could point out how her gown billowed from their hiding place, Sirius swept the bulk of it in his arms when he arranged her neatly in his lap. Her shoulder was pressed into his chest, his chin resting against her cheek, every one of his exhales drifting along her temple. Isabel clamped her eyes closed, allowing herself a short private moment to simply enjoy the feel of Sirius Dawson all around her.

“You have a regrettable knack for hiding under desks, Isabel,” he whispered on a dry chuckle.

Before she could respond, the study door swung open.

“I told Edward he was a fool to go in with that lot, and now we both know I was right,” a masculine voice said, the smug satisfaction in his inflection easy to note. “If he had listened to me, he wouldn’t be out at the elbows.”

“Some people have to make their own mistakes,” another voice said, moving across the room from where they were hidden. The sound of bottles clinking together met her ears. “Edward is one such person.”

“Pity that.”

What was the true pity was that the men didn’t seem inclined to make their stop in Fairchild’s study a quick one. Isabel tried to ignore the feel of Sirius’s firm thighs under her bottom, or how his crisp scent wove about her. His arm around her waist was firm and soothing, but soon he began to stroke the backs of his hands along her sides, and Isabel shuddered before she could contain it. She had always been sensitive there, and she glanced up in time to see the way Sirius’s mouth quirked up when he came to this realization. Meeting her eyes, he danced his fingertips up her sides again, before he firmly dragged them back down.

Isabel bit her lip to keep her gasp trapped in her throat. No one had touched her so intimately, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to stop or continue.

The men continued to prattle on, sampling Mr. Fairchild’s liquor selection, while Sirius waged a silent war with her sensibilities. A war she was losing, because soon Isabel was squirming in his lap, her skin on fire. Her movements halted, however, when her bottom rubbed against something long and hard nestled in his lap. Her eyes flew wide. Isabel darted her gaze to his, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth to find him heavy lidded.

“Have a care, darling,” he whispered, “I’m only a man.”

And he inhaled deeply from the spot behind her ear, sending her eyes rolling to the back of her head.

The chatter of the men not a handful of yards from them continued, but Isabel could only focus on the man before her. The man beneath her. The man who suddenly dominated all of her senses and left her aflame.

Yet Isabel was determined to not burn alone. Curling her lip, she met his gaze as she slowly swiveled her hips, acting on instinct alone.

Sirius released a heavy breath as he tipped his head back to rest on the desk.

A thrill of delight—power—shot through Isabel, and she moved again, with more force, committed to eliciting a response from him.

Goodness, but she had no notion such activities could be so exciting. Isabel wished she had the room and privacy to remove her voluminous skirts and explore the sensations building within her core, her curiosity…her desire, overriding her timidity. Sinking her nails into Sirius’s thighs, Isabel moved with abandon, her body undulating over his, chasing some unknown destination that seemed just out of reach.

Sirius grasped her hips then, slowing her frantic movements, even as he leaned forward to rasp, “Let me help you.”

His large hands flexed, coaxing her to move again, and Isabel readily complied. Held enthralled by his sapphire eyes, Isabel surrendered to his ministrations, allowing him to maneuver her body over his.

Nothing else existed beside his blue-fire gaze. Nothing else mattered but the feverish awe on his face as he stared at her moving over him. And suddenly Isabel was beset by the need to touch him. To convey how much she was feeling and how desperately she hoped he felt the same. Planting her hand on his shoulder, Isabel surged up to snare his lips with her own. She had no idea what she was doing, and had desire not muddled her mind, she would have been mortified by her actions. But Sirius took her face between his hands, tilted her chin, and brought his mouth down over hers.

He tasted like every decadent, heady thing she’d ever craved. Ever denied herself. Sirius kissed her like he’d been starved to kiss her. His hand slid along her jaw to grip the back of her neck and hold her close. And Isabel went boneless under his touch, Sirius’s lips moving over hers in an elegant mimicry of her movements in his lap.

A great peak loomed before Isabel could catch her breath, and she arched her back as her pelvis moved frantically, intent upon finding some sort of relief. Sirius leaned forward and trailed his lips down the long line of her neck before he stopped at the base of her throat, licking her pulse point with one broad stroke of his tongue.

“Come for me,” he grated softly.

And every muscle in Isabel’s body seized, her eyes screwing shut as towering waves of pleasure crashed over her, rippling through her body as she writhed over him. Isabel’s lips fell open at some point, a moan of ecstasy poised on her tongue when Sirius slammed his mouth over hers, stifling the sound with his kiss. His taste seemed to radiate through her body, colliding with her rippling pleasure until Isabel wondered if she were capable of enduring such bliss. Collapsing forward, she sagged against his chest, all but purring when Sirius stroked a large hand over her shoulder and down to her waist.

Tension she wasn’t aware she carried seeped from Isabel’s bones, and she snuggled further into his chest, a cloud of sunset silk nestled like a cocoon around them. No one had ever made her feel this special, this cherished, and that it was the rakish Captain Dawson to do so caused unease to wrap tightly about her chest. Isabel wanted to trust him, but she also knew his reputation, which was not so easy to overlook.

Still, he was here with her now, hidden away, rather uncomfortably really, under a desk in a gentleman’s study. He allowed her to kiss him, and kissed her gently in return, helping her find pleasure when he had taken none for himself. He could have easily wiped his hands of her and her silly antics a long time ago. Instead, he had tried to help her…so shouldn’t she be grateful?

Pulling back, Isabel met his eyes, intent on saying something—anything—of her thoughts, when the voices of the gentlemen in the room snared her attention.

“Dawson was supposed to be Armstrong’s partner in the card game, but apparently the man couldn’t find him. Armstrong was chafed when I stepped away to join you here.”

Isabel smiled at the look of chagrin that settled on Sirius’s face.

“I’m surprised Dawson’s even here tonight. This isn’t usually his crowd.”

“That’s true.” The other man paused, and Isabel imagined he was taking a sip from his glass. “I so rarely see him outside gaming hells.”

“And if you do see him at a ball or some other such nonsense, he has this widow or that widow hanging from his arm.”

The other man snorted. “The good Lord has his favorites, it seems.”

The blood in her veins turned to ice, and Isabel froze, careful not to meet Sirius’s gaze. His grip around her grew tighter, and even when he gently shook her, Isabel stubbornly kept her eyes trained on the back side of the desk they were crammed under.

Nevertheless, Sirius leaned forward and ran his nose along her cheek. “What’s wrong?”

Isabel shook her head. How could she possibly tell him how the reminder of his rakish pursuits was a bucket of cold water over her head?

Her throat worked on a swallow, and unshed tears scorched the backs of her eyes.

“I wonder if he attended tonight because Lady Needham was supposed to attend,” one of the men said. “Rumor is that she’s been angling to get him back in her bed. Perhaps he’s finally ready to do so.”

Now it was Sirius who stiffened under her, and Isabel curled her hands into tight fists to resist the urge to look at him. Isabel knew it would break her if she saw guilt on his face.

The conversation turned to other topics, but Isabel could not keep up. Was that truly why Sirius was in attendance? Because Lady Needham was supposed to be here as well? Isabel thought his presence at the dinner party was to help her with her search, but had he told her that, or had she assumed it? The possibility that she had misread his intentions stung in the worst way, and Isabel was suddenly desperate to escape. Desperate to be as far away from Sirius Dawson as she could be.

How was it possible for a man who took her body to such great heights to reduce her heart to such depressing lows?

To his credit, Sirius did not attempt to speak again. He simply held her, his arms tight around her.

When the study door finally closed behind the men’s retreating backs, Isabel stumbled from their confined hiding space, her chest heaving as she greedily sucked in air. She needed to expunge his scent from her lungs and exorcise the feel of him from her mind.

And yet Isabel knew it was a pointless task. Sirius Dawson had imprinted himself on her, and while he might view her as a silly girl he helped find pleasure, Isabel knew she would never be the same.

She was adjusting the fall of her skirts, fastidiously ignoring her damp drawers, when Sirius spoke into the silence.

“Isabel, I hope those men didn’t offend you.”

“Of course not.” She waved a hand.

“Because what they said was untrue.”

Pivoting, Isabel finally met his gaze. “What part was untrue, exactly? That you only attended tonight’s event because you agreed to help me, or because you expected Lady Needham to be here?”

A muscle flexed in his jaw. “I attended because of you, Isabel. Lady Needham has never mattered, and will never matter.”

She loved how he said her name. The back of her throat ached at that familiarity, and yet her heart refused to soften.

“I think that’s the point, though, isn’t it? Your romantic entanglements don’t matter to you. They’re casual affairs. Just as this”—Isabel moved a hand back and forth in the space between them—“was casual.”

A cloud passed over his visage. “And has this been casual for you?”

Of course not.Isabel bit her tongue until the urge to say the words passed. “It has to be.”

His shoulders dropped a tad. “I know. I agreed to do this, to help, not just so you could aid your countrymen, but so that you’ll remain safe.”

Isabel crinkled her brow suddenly. “And what do you get out of it? Why help me?”

Sirius pressed his lips together for a long moment, his blue eyes sweeping over her face. When he finally spoke, his voice was sad. “Because I can, Isabel. Because I can.”