Page 23 of Isabel and the Rogue

Right?

“I’ve never seen quite that look on your face before.”

Jerking to awareness, his gaze collided with that of Whitfield, who now stood at his side. “I don’t know what you mean.”

The duke stared at him as he pushed his spectacles up his nose. “You look like you want to punch something.”

“Well, this whole event is quite trying.” Sirius tugged his hat further down upon his head, shielding his eyes from his altogether-too-insightful friend.

“Yes, I’m sure that’s it.”

Sirius chanced a look at the duke, who had turned to observe Isabel and Westhope in conversation. When the viscount cupped her on the elbow to escort her toward two chairs situated nearby, Sirius curled his hands into fists.

“Oh yes,” Whitfield said again, glancing at Sirius, a single dark brow arched, “quite trying, indeed.”

6

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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