Chapter 17
Watching the smile slip from Isabel’s lips was like a punch in the face…but knowing he was the reason sucked all the air from his lungs.
Sirius had been on a knife-edge all day since he’d said goodbye to Isabel, anxiously glancing at the clock, waiting until he could see her again. Dressing with care, Sirius had then paced around his study, flipping through first one book and then another, distracting himself by keeping a mental list of the books he wanted to discuss with her. Sirius had wasted so much time since he’d met Isabel, time he could have spent watching her face light up when she was interested in a topic, listening to the quirky workings of her mind, quoting poetry to her while they made love…
When the time came to finally ask for the carriage to be brought around, Sirius checked his reflection in the mirror, accepted the cane Stanley held out to him, and walked outside. As the conveyance rumbled over the streets, Sirius daydreamed about pulling Isabel into the carriage cab, kissing her senseless before dragging his kisses lower. And when the tremors had finally left her limbs and her eyes turned dreamy, Sirius would gather her in his arms and finally discuss her search.
The driver pulled the carriage to a stop, and Sirius hopped out without waiting for a footman to open the door. Tapping his cane on the walk, Sirius peered down the street toward Yardley House. He tried to imagine Isabel getting ready to meet him. Was she as nervous as he was? As eager? Sirius ripped his hat off his head and dragged a hand through his hair. Had he ever been so flustered in his life? Despite his many years of service with the Home Office or in the cavalry, this moment left him feeling completely off-balance. His friends—his men—would laugh if they could see him now.
“Dawson,” a feminine voice called, “whatever are you doing here?”
His stomach dropped to his feet. Clamping his teeth together, Sirius spun on his heel, his gaze landing on Emily, Lady Needham.
“Your ladyship, how do you do?” Sirius asked, executing a crisp bow.
Mayhap if he was polite but distant, Lady Needham would lose interest because he was no longer a willing participant in her flirtations.
“I’m doing much better now that I’ve seen you,” she said, her voice saccharine sweet.
Or not. Sirius bit back a sigh.
“Why are you waiting here with your carriage?” The baroness rotated her head to look up and down the street, her green gaze keen. “Are you waiting for someone?”
“Indeed, I am,” he replied. Lady Needham raised her brows, as if expecting him to continue, but Sirius held his tongue. He didn’t owe the baroness an explanation.
Lady Needham studied his face for a moment, before looking about them again. She seemed to come to some sort of decision, for her lips tipped up into a hungry smile, and she sidled closer.
“It’s been so long since we’ve spent time together.” She wrapped her arm around his, pressing into his side. “Why have you not come to see me?”
Sirius stepped backward, hoping to create some distance between them, but the baroness clung to him tighter. “I’ve been busy, unfortunately. I’m hoping to sojourn to my estate in Devonshire soon, and have had much to prepare.”
It was not a lie. Sirius had been itching for several months now to return to Dancourt Abbey and the relaxing change of pace it offered. Plus, he wanted to see how Jack O’Brien and his family had adjusted to life at the abbey. His steward had mentioned the Irishman had been praised as a hard worker by the stable manager, but Sirius wanted to follow up personally. Plus, the wheat and orchard harvest would happen soon, and Sirius intended to be present for both.
If not for Isabel, he would have found a way to be there now.
Lady Needham moved closer still, pressing her breasts against his arm. “You know I would love to visit your estate. Does your brother, Harcourt, visit frequently?”
Harcourt? His brother had never deigned to call upon him at Dancourt Abbey, and Sirius doubted he ever would.
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Sirius opened his mouth to respond, when he spied Isabel come around the corner. Outfitted in a stunning blue-green dress, with a jaunty hat on her black curls, she was bewitching…until her expression shuttered. And she looked at him now as she had all those months before when she thought him nothing but a cad.
A knot lodged in Sirius’s throat that he doubted he’d ever be able to swallow.
Despite that strangling thought, Sirius pried himself free from Lady Needham’s grip and took a step in Isabel’s direction. “Good afternoon, Miss Luna. It’s a pleasure to see you.”
Isabel’s obsidian eyes searched his face before they slid to the baroness, who stood behind him. “Captain Dawson,” she said simply, inclining her head.
“Miss Luna,” Lady Needham crooned, stepping forward to stand beside Sirius, “where are you about on this sunny afternoon?”
“I—I was just…” Isabel stopped, her throat bobbing on a swallow. “I was on my way to visit my sister, Se?ora Fox.”
It was a believable lie, even if Isabel’s cheeks turned scarlet.
“Ah, an afternoon visit sounds lovely.” The baroness cocked her head as her gaze traveled up and down Isabel. “That color is also lovely on you. It makes your complexion look darker, but that’s all right. It’s quite fetching nevertheless.”
“Thank you, your ladyship,” Isabel murmured. Smoothing a glove-covered hand across the waistband, she raised a shoulder. “My sister said it made my skin look luminous, which I admit made me quite pleased.”
“As it should,” Sirius interjected, moving toward her a half step. “It looks beautiful on you.”
Isabel’s gaze darted to his, her eyes softening a degree.
“I’d be happy to escort you to your sister’s,” he blurted out, desperate to escape the baroness and spend time with the woman he had been thinking about all day. “I haven’t seen Fox in a week or so, and it would be nice to visit with him for a spell.”
“Oh, that’s a very kind offer—”
“Dawson, I thought you were waiting to meet someone.”
Sirius whipped his head about to the baroness, who was staring back at him with narrowed eyes. Why was this woman determined to be so damn troublesome?
Quirking his mouth, he extracted a timepiece from his pocket and considered it. “I was. But the gentleman I was supposed to meet is now twenty minutes late, so it would seem…”
Sirius trailed off when he spotted Daniels, one of his footmen, lingering several paces away, his face blotchy and his chest moving rapidly up and down as if the man had run to meet him. Alarm crept up Sirius’s spine.
He flashed a quick smile at Isabel and the baroness and said, “If you ladies would excuse me for a moment, it appears my appointment has arrived.”
Before either lady could respond, Sirius stepped away, his gaze fixed on Daniels’s. When he came to a stop in front of the man, Daniels shoved a square of parchment into his hands.
“Lieutenant Colonel Green had this delivered. The page indicated it was of great importance, so I came to find you,” the man whispered.
“Fuck,” Sirius growled, ripping the letter open without delay. It was only two sentences long.
They’ve found him. Visit if you want more information.
Rocking back on his heels, he reread the words. Did Green mean that the French had discovered President Juárez’s hiding spot? Good God, he had to find out what the lieutenant colonel knew, and once he was confident of his intelligence, Sirius would let Isabel know.
“Thank you, Daniels,” he said, clapping the man on the back. “I appreciate you bringing this to me as soon as you could.”
“Of course, sir,” Daniels said, dipping his head before departing.
Setting his shoulders, Sirius turned back to the women, intent on extracting Isabel from the situation as quickly as possible, but halted. Isabel no longer stood with Lady Needham, but instead was sitting in a well-sprung curricle that had parked behind his carriage. At her side, holding the reins, was Lord Westhope.
What the hell?
Surprise stole his words, and before Sirius could even call out to her, the curricle pulled away. Westhope offered him a friendly wave as they passed, but Isabel simply looked at him, her expressionless mask back in place. Sirius watched them drive away until they disappeared into the park, and he cursed under his breath.
“Now that we’re alone, say you’ll return with me to my house, Sirius,” Lady Needham said, tapping him on the arm with her fan. “I’ve missed you.”
Biting back unkind words, Sirius turned to look at her. “Unfortunately, my lady, that will not be possible. But I hope you have a good day.”
And with that goodbye, he climbed the steps of his carriage. “Take me to the Home Office,” he called to his driver, before stepping into the cab and slamming the door.
Clenching his head in his hands, Sirius groaned. How had the day turned so disastrous?
“How fortuitous it was to see you on the street, Miss Luna, when I was on my way to Yardley House to call upon you,” Lord Westhope said, flashing a bright smile at her.
Isabel attempted a smile in return. “A happy accident.”
“Indeed.” The viscount tipped his hat at a passing carriage. “Lady Needham seemed quite pleased that I had whisked you away when I did. Rumor is that she’s been pursuing Dawson for some time, and no doubt she knew your clever wit would showcase what a bore she is.”
Turning about in her seat, Isabel stared at him. “You think Lady Needham is a bore?”
Westhope’s brow crinkled. “Please forgive me if that sentiment was rude, but while the baroness is perfectly amiable, she is a bit empty-headed, don’t you think?”
She opened her mouth, but paused, uncertain of what she was going to say. Lady Needham had not been friendly to her, and her remarks were sometimes barbed. But more often, she simply ignored Isabel, which made her one of many. It certainly wasn’t the baroness’s fault that she was smitten with Sirius and wanted more from him than he could give her.
It was a feeling Isabel was acquainted with.
Isabel faced forward again. “Not everyone is as quick-witted and intelligent as you, my lord.”
Westhope’s gaze was heavy on her face; Isabel could feel it even though she steadfastly avoided looking at him. “I’m not sure about that.”
They rode in silence for several minutes, and Isabel was content to watch the scenery roll past. Summer had arrived and the landscape eagerly welcomed it, the trees dressing themselves in juniper and sage, flowers in lavender and cerise. Pulling her shawl from her shoulders, Isabel inhaled a fragrant breath of air. This was one thing she would miss when she returned to Mexico, for summer looked different in her homeland.
“Did I tell you the good news? That the manager at Hatchards sent a note to my secretary to let me know that he had finally managed to secure a first edition of the first part of Don Quixote?” Westhope asked abruptly, snaring Isabel’s attention.
Isabel shook her head. She knew she should be excited he’d finally found the edition he’d long coveted, and yet she struggled to find the necessary enthusiasm. Still, she tried. “What an incredible find.”
Lord Westhope laughed. “I can’t tell you how thrilled I am at the prospect of finally possessing one. It only took three years, four shopkeepers, and two rare book hunters.”
She reached for a smile. “I daresay I would be filled to the brim with excitement to own a first edition of El ingenioso hidalgo don Quixote de la Mancha.”
“I love the way you say that.” Westhope slid his eyes to look at her, the color rising in his cheeks. “The way you shape the words is so enchanting.”
“Oh, well, thank you.” Isabel ducked her head. She was so rarely complimented on her Spanish that it always caught her unawares. “Gabby and I discussed not long ago how much we miss hearing Spanish. Speaking in Spanish with others. It is a very different experience than speaking English.”
“That makes sense. I know speaking French, especially speaking it with a native speaker, uses my brain in ways it doesn’t when I converse in English.” A wistful look settled on Westhope’s face. “It makes me a tad melancholy for my French family.”
The hairs on Isabel’s arm rose, and she held her breath. It was just the sort of opening Isabel needed, and she released a long exhale as she contemplated how to advance. “You mentioned previously that you are a frequent correspondent with your cousin in the Caribbean, is that right?”
The viscount flashed her a pleased grin. “I’m flattered you remember. Yes, Jean-Charles lives in Martinique, where he works for the governor of the island. We communicate quite regularly. I actually received a letter from him today.”
When Westhope extracted a letter from his front pocket to show her the postage mark, elation surged through Isabel’s chest. The letter was new. Did it finally contain information she could use? The possibility left her almost lightheaded, and Isabel knotted her hands together so she was not tempted to pluck the correspondence from his fingers.
“Even reading French is a different experience,” the viscount continued, unaware of Isabel’s tense silence. “For instance, he was just telling me—”
The conveyance jerked to a halt, and Isabel reached out a hand to brace herself against the front panel. Frowning, she turned to Westhope, who was already leaning over the edge of the curricle to inspect what might have occurred.
“I think one of the horses may have slipped a shoe.” He sat up and passed the reins to her hands. “I’m going to give it a look. I shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.”
“O-of course,” she stuttered, watching as he climbed from the curricle and jumped to the ground.
Stifling a sigh, Isabel looked about. The walk wasn’t particularly busy, but nor were they alone. If Westhope was in need of assistance, help would arrive in no time, a fact Isabel was grateful for, as holding the reins made her a bit nervous. She was comfortable enough on the back of a horse, but had not had many opportunities to drive a team. The thought that two powerful bays were controlled by the strips of leather in her hands had perspiration beading at her hairline.
Isabel squared her shoulders, holding the reins more firmly. She was in control. The beasts would not be able to move if she—
The letter! Stifling a gasp, she whipped her head about trying to locate it…until she spied the parchment near her feet, where it must have fallen. Craning her neck, Isabel spied the viscount kneeling next to one of his bays, the beast’s right back hoof nestled in his lap. Isabel knew she had only a few moments before he returned and her opportunity was lost.
Without a second thought, she quietly unfolded the letter and quickly read. It was written in French, and she murmured a prayer of thanks that her father had insisted she and her sisters learn the language as part of their studies.
The letter was not a long one, and was mostly filled with irreverent observations and tidbits of Jean-Charles’s day. Isabel gritted her teeth in frustration at its mundane contents…that is until she reached the last paragraph, and terror cinched her chest tight.
She felt as if her entire body had been dunked in ice water, and she stared unseeing at the parchment. The French had finally found Presidente Juárez? And if they had found Presidente Juárez, they had found her parents. Her chest rose and fell as her breaths turned into pants, and Isabel clenched her eyes closed, her mind reeling. She needed to tell Tío Arturo. Now. Without delay. Surely her uncle would be able to get the message to the president before the French captured him.
A rattling breath slipped past her lips, and Isabel carefully refolded the letter and placed it back on the squab, where the viscount had left it. Twisting her hands around the reins, Isabel desperately tried to calm her breathing. It would do her no good to arouse Westhope’s suspicions. Jean-Charles’s lack of circumspection about sending such sensitive information to him made her uneasy; did the viscount know more about the imperial government in Mexico than he let on? Isabel didn’t think so, but with her parents’ lives and freedom on the line, she could not afford to trust him.
“Well, he’d definitely thrown a shoe, but we should be able to make it back to Yardley House without issue, as long as I don’t push the team past a walk,” Westhope said as he climbed into the carriage. He paused when he looked at her, his brows knitting together. “What’s wrong, Miss Luna?”
?Ay!“I just…” Isabel pressed a hand to her temple, excuses pinging about in her mind. “I wanted to ask if you would be kind enough to bring me to Se?or Valdés’s home? I was on my way there when I encountered Captain Dawson and Lady Needham.”
“The Mexican ambassador?” When she nodded, Westhope blinked but immediately grabbed the reins from her. “Oh, of course. His residence is not far from here, and I would be happy to take you.”
“That’s very kind,” Isabel murmured, daring to pat the back of his hand for a brief moment. “I intend to ask him if he can help me get a letter to my parents in Mexico City. I’ve been feeling quite homesick lately.”
Westhope rotated his hand until their palms met, and he grasped hers tightly. “Well, then I won’t be too disappointed that our ride is ending. I will try to get us to Mr. Valdés’s as quickly as I can, but unfortunately with my lame horse, our pace may be a tad slower.”
“I appreciate it,” Isabel said with a nod before lapsing into silence. She hoped Westhope would take her silence as a wistful one filled with memories, and not because dread and fear for her parents had coiled in her gut like a venomous snake.
But the viscount was ever a gentleman, and did not engage her in conversation, instead making general observations about the people or sights they passed.
When they finally arrived at Tío Arturo’s stately townhome, Isabel felt ready to jump out of her skin, and wished Lord Westhope a polite but swift goodbye. If he was taken aback by her brusque manner, his expression did not reveal it, and Isabel was thankful. All she cared about right now was alerting her parents to the danger that awaited them and Presidente Juárez, and nothing else.
“I look forward to seeing you again soon, Miss Luna,” the viscount called as he took up the reins again and departed.
Offering a hasty wave, Isabel clasped her skirts and sprinted up the front steps. Before she could grasp the knocker, the door opened, revealing Se?or Alvarez, the butler. Isabel slipped past him into the foyer, pacing to look down the hall toward Tío Arturo’s study.
“?Está aquí ahora?” she asked, a bit breathless.
Alvarez nodded his graying head, his brows knotted together. “?Algo está mal, se?orita?”
“Sí,” Isabel said succinctly, before grasping her skirts and dashing toward the study.
Without waiting, she burst through the door. Her uncle was seated at his desk, reading a letter. At her abrupt entrance, he snatched his spectacles from his face and rose to his feet.
“Sobrina, what’s happened?” he asked, coming around the desk to grasp her hands.
Swallowing down the sob that surged up her throat, Isabel managed to say, “The French have found them.”