Chapter 12
Isabel was leaving.
Even a day later, Sirius had still not recovered from that damning revelation. He’d been winded from his ministrations, his cock aching and begging for release, when Isabel had declared her wish to return to Mexico.
Sirius stared down into his coffee cup unseeing. Why did everything about his life feel off-kilter? He didn’t recognize himself anymore.
She was returning to Mexico. Of course she was. Mexico was still her home, the place she was courting danger to protect. But until Isabel said the words, Sirius hadn’t fully understood what that meant. No longer would he sigh in frustration when he saw her disappear down a dark corridor. No longer would her brows snap together and her ebony eyes burn with devil fire when they saw him. And shouldn’t that make him happy? Sirius had enough responsibilities to concern himself with.
So why then had he been daydreaming about bundling Isabel up in cotton and absconding with her to Devonshire?
Damn it, what was wrong with him?
Scrubbing a hand down his face, Sirius pushed all thoughts of Isabel into the ether.
Lieutenant Colonel Green was due to arrive for their weekly meeting at any moment, and he needed his wits about him. Taking a sip of coffee, Sirius held the bitter liquid on his tongue for a long moment and willed it to ground him. He’d never had trouble focusing on the task at hand, a skill that had helped him in battle.
When Green finally arrived at the coffee shop and took the seat across from him, Sirius was vaguely confident he appeared as unfazed as he hoped himself to be.
“Is it any wonder why I prefer to meet at my office at King Charles Street? It’s too damn busy here. And noisy,” Green grumbled as he glared disdainfully around the coffee shop.
Sirius signaled a server with a flash of his hand, and soon a steaming mug of coffee sat on the table in front of the lieutenant colonel.
“So why the change of venue?” the older man asked, stirring several sugar cubes into his cup. He took a sip, his face contorting at the taste.
Sirius made a show of swirling the coffee in his cup around the rim. “Sometimes a change of scenery is good for the mind. I know you dislike leaving the comforts of your office, so it was very good of you to venture out and meet me here today. Thank you, sir.”
The older man’s eyes became slits of displeasure. “Do not think to placate me with your ill-placed flattery, Dawson.”
“Come now, sir,” Sirius said with a snort, “when have you ever seen me deploy flattering as a weapon.” When Green’s gaze turned menacing, Sirius chuckled. “All right, fair enough. But when has it not been productive?”
The lieutenant colonel waved his hand in dismissal. “So tell me how things have gone”—his gaze darted to the tables around them, before he dropped his voice—“with the Mexican chit you were so eager to help.”
Sirius managed to contain an internal cringe. Instead, he folded his hands together over his waist and glanced up at the ceiling. “As I had hoped, keeping an eye on Miss Luna has not only allowed me to keep her from trouble, but also permitted me to spend more time with the viscount.”
“Yes, the papers have mentioned he seems quite smitten with her.” Green drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “And what of Westhope?”
“We have become steady acquaintances over the last few weeks”—Sirius raised a shoulder—“and I attended his private showing of the Maqdala collection at the British Museum last night.”
Green lifted a brow. “And have you learned anything new or pertinent?”
Oh, he definitely learned something pertinent, but he knew Green would not care about that.
Sirius cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, nothing of importance yet. However, this was all about earning Westhope’s loyalty. How am I to expect him to tell me anything if he doesn’t count me as a friend?” Sirius tilted his head. “Surely you can’t fault me for wanting to build a trusting rapport with the man.”
“I can find fault with all manner of things about you, but I am willing to see how this situation plays out.” Green took a drink from his cup, wincing again at the bitter taste. “When do you plan to take advantage of his attachment to the Luna girl?”
“Soon. He already hangs on her every word,” Sirius murmured, shifting in his seat.
“Good. After that whole ghastly business with Earl Tyrell, I refuse to be caught unawares again.” The lieutenant colonel propped his elbow on the table and rubbed his brow. “I don’t know how the man thought he could just abduct the wife of an MP, and from your home, of all places.”
Sirius didn’t, either. “Hubris was Tyrell’s fatal flaw.”
“Indeed.” The older man cocked his head. “Now back to Miss Luna. What do you know of her?”
That she was brilliant. Clever and passionate. That Sirius hadn’t noticed how beautiful she was right away because he’d been so preoccupied with his own tasks, his own pursuits, until Isabel had quite literally snagged his heart in her small hand and squeezed it tight.
But of course, Sirius made no such confession.
“Isabel Luna is reserved. A bit shy, even a little awkward in a crowd. But she’s incredibly intelligent. When she’s comfortable with you, she shares her wit and charm.” Sirius lifted a shoulder in what he hoped was an airy fashion. “It’s easy to see why Westhope is so enchanted by her.”
Green’s gaze narrowed slightly, before he turned to study his coffee cup. “Enchantment is something you can work with. Coach her on what line of conversation to begin with him to determine what he knows. Encourage an attachment, which I doubt will be hard to do. Westhope is a bloody viscount, after all.”
A detail Sirius had not been able to ignore. It would be quite the feat if Isabel were to secure the hand of a peer.
“…and with the dispatches we’ve received from contacts in Mexico, you can tell Miss Luna—”
Sirius blinked, his spine straightening as his attention focused on the lieutenant colonel. “I beg your pardon?”
The older man arched a displeased brow. “We’ve received some reports of activity in Mexico. You can use it as enticement for Miss Luna’s cooperation.”
Sirius slid to the edge of his chair, the hair on his arms standing at attention. “What sort of activity?”
Green stared at him impassively for a moment, and Sirius hoped he didn’t appear as anxious as he felt. Finally, the older man leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his barrel chest. “There have been increased campaigns to the north. The monarchists have taken Coahuila and are reported to be making campaigns into other northern Mexican states.”
That was probably why Isabel’s parents had been forced to flee their last location. “What do you know of their movements? That would be excellent information to pass along to Miss Luna.”
After spending several minutes discussing the monarchists’ movements in northern Mexico, Sirius licked his lips. “And what of Maximilian? At dinner last night, the Luna misses mentioned that he’s championed several reforms that have angered some of his supporters.”
Sirius had found the discussion fascinating. He had tried to learn what he could about the French occupation of Mexico after he hosted Isabel and her sisters at Dancourt Abbey two summers prior, but he wouldn’t dare say he understood the complexities of the situation. Isabel and Gabriela were a fount of knowledge regarding their homeland, but Green had access to updated information that they did not.
“Yes, well”—Green tapped his finger against his coffee mug—“it would seem the monarchists should have known better than to get into bed with a Napoleon, especially now that the Americans are free to lend their support to Juárez.”
An idea suddenly occurred to Sirius, and he pressed his tongue to the top of his mouth as he wrestled with the right words to express it.
“You look as if you drank sour milk, Dawson. What’s wrong?”
Goddamn Green and his perceptiveness. Releasing a silent sigh, Sirius said, “If you were to learn…of possible threats to members of the deposed Juárez government, would you tell me?”
A fraught silence stretched between them. Green stared at him intently, and Sirius knew what he was thinking. They had agreed to share information with Isabel, but what that information would be was decided solely by the lieutenant colonel. Yet both men knew this topic was different because Green was aware that Isabel’s father was an adviser to the Mexican president. If the Home Office had intelligence that her father and President Juárez were in danger, how could Sirius not tell her? It was unthinkable.
Green rose to his feet, tossing several coins on the table. Snaring Sirius’s gaze, he nodded. “If I learn anything, I will let you know.”
Pressing his lips together, Sirius inclined his head.
“Now it’s your turn,” the lieutenant colonel growled softly. “Find out what you can from the viscount. Encourage Miss Luna to take advantage of Westhope’s infatuation. There’s a suspicion I can’t shake that he knows more than he understands, even if inadvertently.”
Sirius nodded.
Green clapped a hand on Sirius’s shoulder. “I know I don’t have to remind you, but I’m going to anyway. Have a care, Dawson. Westhope is a respected peer with connections, and if he is keen on making this Miss Luna his bride, it would be for the best to maintain some distance from her.”
“But of course—” he began, but the lieutenant colonel squeezed his shoulder, cutting Sirius short.
“Explanations are not necessary.” Green shook his head. “Just don’t throw your career away so easily. Your men would not want that for you.”
Sirius tried to contain his wince, but he was certain it showed on his face. For Green to make such a statement, to bring up his men in such a way, was a blow he had not seen coming, and his head swam with the implications.
Green placed his hat on his head and moved toward the coffee shop door. “Until next time, Dawson.”
Sirius sat unmoving for several long minutes after the lieutenant colonel departed. Why had the older man brought up his men? Had he not worked hard to provide for them—to atone—since he’d returned to England? He employed one of his former lancers as a valet, and the gamekeeper and manager at Dancourt Abbey were former troopers of his regiment. He sent yearly stipends to both Taylor’s and Robinson’s families, for they had had the unfortunate luck of dying on the battlefield when Sirius, the lucky bastard, had somehow survived. He had thrown himself into his work for Green and the Home Office for the last eight years, maneuvering, outwitting, and seducing whomever was necessary to discover the information he needed so that his wretched life had a reason for being spared. For a higher purpose.
And when he had finally indulged his emotions with a respectable and altogether alluring young woman, suddenly he was letting his men down?
A sudden loud sound jerked his attention back to the moment, and Sirius stared down at his coffee mug, which now lay in cracked pieces on the tabletop.
Pressing his fingertips to the center of his brow, Sirius inhaled deeply, counted to five, and released the breath in a loud whoosh. Now was not the time to become frustrated or angry with Green. He knew the lieutenant colonel was only doing what he felt was best, because he was aware of how much Sirius struggled when he first returned to London. How he still struggled, although the nightmares were fewer and farther between.
Sirius pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. He tossed a few coins on the tabletop, jerked on his tie, and placed his hat on his head. Stamping his cane on the floor, he contemplated what to do next. Hunt out Westhope at the club? Return to his home and toss back an entire bottle of brandy while he cursed his errant emotions? Sirius instead stepped out into the midafternoon sunshine and directed his steps toward the club. He had a job to do.
“Ay, Isa, you haven’t turned a page in at least ten minutes.”
Isabel jerked her head around and met Gabby’s amused gaze. Glancing quickly down at the book in her hand, she noted her sister was right. She’d been on page fifty-five for far longer than the story warranted.
“I—I.” She stopped to clear her throat, quickly flipping the page to fifty-six. “I’ve had to reread it several times.”
“Is that so?” Her sister arched a black brow. “So what’s it about, then?”
“Um…” She pressed her lips together, frantically skimming the page for any notion of what was occurring in the story. “It’s about—about, uh…”
“Right.” Gabby clicked her tongue. “So what were you really thinking about?”
“Nada,” Isabel answered, a tad too quickly.
With slow movements, Gabby folded the newspaper she had been reading and set it down on the table next to her. Planting her hands on her knees, she leaned toward Isabel, her gaze intense. “You’ve been distracted all day. I assumed you were concerned about Mother and Father, as we’ve yet to hear from them again, but you were distracted last night, too.”
“I am worried for them”—Isabel toyed with the corner of the page—“so I don’t know what you mean.”
“You disappeared for quite some time at the museum,” Gabby continued as if Isabel had not spoken. Her hazel eyes were far away. “I thought you were wandering the galleries, intent on viewing the exhibits without Lord Westhope hovering at your elbow.”
Her lips twitched. “He’s very attentive.”
“Por supuesto,” Gabby said with a roll of her eyes. “Please don’t misunderstand. I like Lord Westhope. Very much. He’s kind and handsome and intelligent, for he fancies you. But you don’t feel the same way about him, do you, Isa?”
A great sigh sank Isabel’s shoulders. “No, I don’t. I like him, too, but my feelings do not go any deeper than that.”
Gabby nodded but continued to study her sister’s face. “I realized today, as I watched you stare at that page, that Captain Dawson disappeared last night at the same time you did.”
The blood in Isabel’s veins turned to ice. “Did he?” She smothered a cringe over how high-pitched her voice sounded.
“He did. And when he returned later, I noticed his face was flushed,” Gabby said, continuing to stare intently at her. “Captain Dawson is one of the most composed, disciplined men I’ve met.”
Isabel shrugged. “Yes, well, I’m sure he flushes easily considering how fair he is.”
“That’s true…but then I noticed the same of you.” A teasing smile settled on Gabby’s mouth. “Your face was flushed and your eyes sparkled.”
Dropping her sister’s gaze, Isabel glanced down at the book in her hands. Why must Gabby turn her critical eye upon her now?
“That’s because I was finally able to see the Maqdala exhibit without having to squeeze through the crush that’s usually packed around it,” she said, pleased with her flippant tone. Reaching for the teapot on the tray situated nearby, Isabel poured herself a cup. Studiously ignoring her sister, and any dubious look on her face, Isabel took a sip.
“Is that why your skirts were all wrinkled, too?”
The tea shot from her mouth on a gasp, and Isabel immediately pressed her napkin to her lips as she choked out coughs. Even through her blurry eyes, she noted Gabby’s pleased expression.
Once Isabel’s hacking coughs had subsided, Gabby clapped her hands together and pressed them to her chest. “I didn’t think you had it in you, Isa.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t have anything in me,” she bit out, determined to concede nothing.
“I bet you did last night, though,” Gabby drawled, waggling her brows.
“Gabriela Luna,” Isabel gasped, truly scandalized.
Her sister rolled her eyes. “Act as offended as you’d like, but that doesn’t negate the fact that you are having an affair with Captain Dawson.”
“We’re not having an affair,” she grumbled, her tongue heavy with the lie. “We’re just friends.”
“Friends who kiss and leave love marks on each other’s skin, it seems.” Gabby gestured at her with her chin.
Isabel clapped a hand to her neck, panic crawling up her throat. She thought she had hid the mark Sirius had sucked into her skin with the cut of her gown, but apparently not. And if Gabby had noticed the mark, had Lupe as well? Or Lady Yardley? Her stomach abruptly turned at the thought of the older woman discovering the liberties she had granted Sirius.
But why should she be ashamed of her actions with Sirius? True, she had been raised within the church, had been taught to be pure and godly, and that she must be untouched and virginal for her future husband. But not once had Isabel regretted what she shared with Sirius.
Of course, a lack of shame did not mean she wanted to discuss the particulars with her sister.
So, mustering as much pride as she could, Isabel dropped her hand and picked up the book again, turning back to page fifty-five to begin again.
“When did it start?”
Isabel shook her head but did not answer.
“Was it here in London or at Dancourt Abbey?” Gabby pushed.
Isabel turned a page.
“Isabel, will you look at me?”
Shaking her head again, Isabel refused to glance away from the book.
“Isa, at least tell me he’s been respectful.” Gabby was worrying her lip when Isabel turned to her. “Captain Dawson has always struck me as a courteous man, but then the image a man presents to the world is often very different from the reality behind closed doors.”
Exhaling a deep sigh, Isabel crossed to her sister and took her hand. “Sirius—Captain Dawson has been nothing but kind to me. Gentle and attentive. He respects me, querida.”
Gabby pressed her lips together for several heartbeats, simply staring at their knotted hands. “I’m happy to hear it. I’ve always liked Captain Dawson. Ever since he welcomed us to Dancourt Abbey on such short notice, and gave Ana and Gideon their beautiful wedding, and then helped Gideon recover her after that pendejo tried to steal her away. And I know that you two have not always gotten along…” Gabby glanced up at her then, a light shining in her hazel eyes. “But perhaps that was all foreplay.”
Isabel bit back a laugh. “How do you know what foreplay is?”
Her sister waved a hand. “I know all sorts of things, many of which I learned from reading your books.”
She had no reply to this, so Isabel merely shook her head.
“Does he intend to marry you, Isa?” Gabby asked, her expression abruptly serious again.
Dropping her gaze, Isabel frowned. “Of course he doesn’t want to marry me.”
The thought that Captain Sirius Dawson would want to marry her was laughable…and yet only unshed tears filled her throat.
“But why not? If he is capable of…” Gabby raised her brows meaningfully. “Surely he is capable and willing to marry you.”
Opening and closing her mouth, Isabel grappled with what to say. She’d known that getting involved physically with Sirius would be a gamble, for there was no agreement between them. He had not promised to marry her and made no such offer after they had become intimate. Even with Lord Westhope paying her court, Sirius had still not offered her more. It stung, but at least she knew where he stood. He was willing to help her with her search, and pleasure her until she was boneless, but there would be no emotions involved.
“I was aware of Captain Dawson’s reputation well before this.” Isabel cleared her throat. “I don’t have any illusions now.”
“Well, I think that’s nonsense.”
“Why do you say that?” Isabel asked, pulling back to glare at Gabby.
Her sister narrowed her eyes in turn. “Because how could Captain Dawson not ask you for more? You deserve more. You deserve everything, and that man should be tripping over himself to give it to you.”
Isabel looked away.
“Isa, do you still not know what you’re worth? Do you still settle for scraps and fleeting bits of affection because that is all you think you deserve?” Gabby’s palms pressed to her cheeks, and Isabel was forced to meet her sister’s blazing eyes. “Father gave you—gave us—only the smallest hints of affection, and then only to keep us in line. But that doesn’t mean that’s how it should be. That doesn’t mean you can’t want more.”
Any words Isabel wished to say were trapped by the lump of tears burning in her throat. Pressing her hand to her lips, she shook her head, willing her emotional dam to hold.
But Gabby seemed determined for Isabel to confront her emotions, for she gently smoothed back the escaped curls from her face, her gaze intent on Isabel’s. “Do you not want to marry Captain Dawson? Are you happy with an affair and nothing more?”
Isabel shook her head. “I—I don’t know what I want.”
“That’s fair. After everything we’ve been through, it’s hard to know much of anything.”
“It’s just…” Isabel hiccuped, and she paused while her throat worked. “I don’t want to stay here, Gabby. I want to return to Mexico. We’ve been gone so long and I still feel like a stranger here.”
Gabby’s expression softened. “I understand. It’s been hard to make f—”
“But you have made friends,” Isabel interrupted with a scowl. “You have the women’s group you attend, and you’re invited to parties and events all the time. People want you here. You have a place. Ana has a place. I don’t, hermana.”
“I assure you that whatever place you think I have here is not permanent.” Before Isabel could ask what she meant, Gabby gripped her fingers so tight they hurt. “And anyway, I want you here. Ana wants you here. Gideon does, too.” She jerked on Isabel’s hand until she met her eyes. “And Captain Dawson wants you here. Isn’t that enough?”
It should be. Her mind recognized her sister’s argument, and Isabel knew, to the depths of her soul, that she was loved and wanted. And yet her heart wanted what it wanted.
“I wish it was, querida. I really do,” she whispered, bringing their clasped hands to her face and rubbing Gabby’s knuckles along her cheek.
Her sister was silent, her hazel eyes simply watching Isabel as if she were a riddle she was determined to solve. Isabel let her watch, uncertain of what to say or do to make this situation easier for either of them. The thought of leaving her sisters behind felt like a chasm cracking open in her chest and sucking the joy from her world. And yet the thought of staying in England, always feeling like an outsider looking in, was a fate she was resolved to avoid.
“Do you think it’s possible, Isa,” Gabby began, her words halting and cautious, “that Captain Dawson has not asked for more of you because he knows of your wishes to return to Mexico?”
Isabel swallowed and then shook her head. “I only told him of my wish to return very recently.”
Gabby pursed her lips. “I wonder if his hesitancy is on his side. Perhaps there is something in his past that is keeping him from pushing for more.”
“Why must there be some great motive for his disinterest?” Isabel’s laugh was harsh. “Let’s not skirt the truth. He never has. He’s a rake. A rogue, and I’ve never expected him to act differently. As if I could possibly change him.”
“Of course you couldn’t. A person needs to change himself.” A faraway look turned Gabby’s eyes glassy. “But I’ve seen the way he’s looked at you, Isa. Once I realized there was something happening between the two of you, I thought back to prior interactions you’ve had with him, and noticed it. He’s different with you. He’s more…genuine. I don’t know how to explain it, I just know it when I see it.”
“I suspect you’re seeing what you want to see.”
“And I suspect you are, too,” Gabby retorted, a smug smile playing on her lips.
Isabel gritted her teeth and looked away. After a pause, she plowed forward. “Regardless of what you think you see, Sirius’s home is here. He’s well liked and well respected, and never wants for company. He would gain nothing from a marriage to me—”
“He’d gain you, Isa.” Gabby’s expression was implacable. “You are a prize without measure.”
Clamping her eyes closed, Isabel released a watery laugh. Before she could respond, a knock sounded on the drawing room door. Smoothing her hands over her cheeks, she tried to calm herself while Gabby called for the butler to enter.
“Lord Westhope is here to see you, Miss Luna,” he said from the door. “Should I tell him you’re in?”
The sisters exchanged a loaded glance before Isabel nodded. “Please do, Evans. Thank you.”
After the door had been closed again, Isabel rose to her feet and crossed to the opposite end of the room to peer at herself in the gilded mirror that hung there. Aside from a faint tinge of red lining her eyes, her appearance looked unfazed by her recent discussion with Gabby, and Isabel released a breath. She was almost glad Lord Westhope had come to call, for she needed the distraction. He was friendly and witty, and she always enjoyed the time she spent with him.
“You know, Isa, that the viscount wishes to make you his bride,” Gabby said into the silence.
Isabel did not respond, merely meeting her sister’s gaze in the mirror’s reflection.
“Have you told him about your desire to return to Mexico?”
“I haven’t.” Isabel swallowed. “As I have no notion of when I will be returning, it didn’t seem appropriate to bring up.”
“If that’s the case, why, then, are you using it as an excuse to hold Captain Dawson at bay?”
Biting back a curse, Isabel yanked her gaze away.
Isabel had no more time to consider her sister’s question, as the door opened and Viscount Westhope appeared on the threshold, a smile brightening his handsome face.
“Miss Luna, Miss Gabriela, how good it does me to see you this day,” he exclaimed, stepping into the room. Although his greeting encompassed Gabby, his gaze remained fixed on Isabel.
Sinking into a curtsy, Isabel fashioned a smile on her face. Perhaps it would be a good day to see Lord Westhope as well.