Page 24 of Isabel and the Rogue

“Of course,” she murmured, her cheeks turning hot.

Conversation paused for a moment, and Isabel shot her gaze about, unsure whether she should fill the lull, and if so, with what? She did not like being put on the spot, and if she was, Isabel usually made an inane observation that confused others. And with Viscount Westhope staring at her so intently, her palms began to sweat and her mouth went dry.

Thankfully, Viscount Westhope spoke before Isabel descended into a full-blown panic attack.

“I actually came here today with the express purpose of asking Miss Luna if she would like to accompany me on a drive about Rotten Row?”

Isabel pulled her chin back. “Do you mean Gab—”

“Of course Isa would be very happy to take a drive with you,” Gabby interrupted, clasping her hands together in front of her chest. “Then you both can continue your conversation about horse racing. And breeding.” She smirked as she cut a glance at Lady Yardley. “And all those other topics you both seem to find interesting.”

Westhope nodded, his eyes bright. “I can’t think of a more enjoyable way to spend the afternoon.” He looked to her then. “Do you agree?”

Swallowing was difficult with her parched throat, but Isabel managed a nod.

“Excellent. Perhaps Miss Gabriela can accompany us, for propriety’s sake.” The viscount turned to look at her sister.

Gabby pursed her lips for a moment, and in that one expression, Isabel read all of her sister’s thoughts: that she had no desire to take a turn about the park at the fashionable hour, that she’d rather stick a hatpin in her eye than listen to Isabel and the viscount discuss his horse stables, that she already had plans. Yet despite all that, Gabby eventually nodded…albeit very slowly.

“Perfect.” Lord Westhope clapped his hands on his thighs and then rose to his feet. “I will meet you ladies at my conveyance outside while you grab your bonnets and parasols.”

After he departed, both Lady Yardley and Gabby turned to look at her in unison.

“My goodness, Isabel, a viscount?” Lady Yardley shimmied her shoulders, jostling little Dove in her lap. “And a handsome one at that.”

Isabel ducked her head, a stinging heat streaking up her back and across her chest. Reaching into her pocket, she plucked out her handkerchief to discreetly pat at her brow and the hollow of her throat.

“Which is the only reason why I agreed to accompany them,” Gabby said with a sniff. “Lord Westhope seems like a nice gentleman, and he obviously has exquisite taste if he fancies Isa.”

“I wouldn’t say he fancies me.” Isabel wrung her handkerchief between her hands. “I suspect Lord Westhope simply enjoys having a willing listener. I’m sure there are few young ladies who enjoy discussions about the inner workings of a horse farm.”

“That you know of.” Gabby arched a brow.

“Touché.” She released her handkerchief to smooth her damp palms on her skirts. “Be that as it may, let’s not assume Viscount Westhope has anything more than friendly regard for me.”

Gabby and Lady Yardley exchanged a glance, and Isabel’s hand itched to reach across the space to pinch her sister over the incredulous cast of her face.

“Whatever you say, Isa. We’ll assume whatever we wish…we just won’t tell you about it.”

• • •

Sirius never rode this late in the afternoon, preferring to hack out when the rest of the ton was still asleep in their beds. But seeing as how he’d been out later than normal, cavorting with various acquaintances at several gaming hells, Sirius had found it difficult to open his eyes before noon.

Which was why he now found himself attempting to steer his mount through the carriages and phaetons of every member of polite society. It was not an easy task, as riders and drivers alike stopped in the middle of the lane to exchange pleasantries with friends and neighbors, without a care for the queue that built up behind them.

Sucking a bracing breath into his lungs, Sirius turned his mount down a random path, issuing a noisy exhale when he found it blessedly empty. Dropping his head over the horse’s neck and loosening the reins, Sirius gave his mount its lead, relishing the warm breeze that whipped by him as his horse thundered over the dirt trail. After thirty minutes stuck on the crowded park lane, he laughed at the space and freedom he’d found, the sound carried away as he raced along.

Sirius was thankful that the pounding in his head was now a thing of the past, for its absence allowed him to focus on recent events. After Isabel Luna had arrived and diverted all of Lord Westhope’s attention, the opportunity to speak further with the viscount had been lost in the anticipation of the race, and later in the celebration of Delano’s victory. Upon leaving the racing grounds, Sirius had accompanied several gentlemen to a nearby pub, but only because the viscount had indicated he wished to continue celebrating there. Yet the man had stayed for only an hour, an hour in which every patron seemed intent on congratulating Westhope directly, shaking his hand, and wanting to hear the tale of Delano’s victory from his mouth. Sirius had watched in mounting frustration as any attempt to continue his earlier discussion with the viscount evaporated. When Westhope had eventually said goodbye and departed, Sirius had immediately ordered a bottle of brandy and proceeded to get smashingly drunk.

He had been so close to finally getting Westhope to discuss his family in France, the connections he had to the Napoleon government, however unknowingly…and that had all been derailed, first by Whitfield and then by Isabel. Sirius expected such inconvenient interruptions from the duke, but he had not anticipated how Isabel, with her dark, earnest eyes, thoughtful questions, and deep, husky laugh would snare the viscount’s attention. After trying and failing to join their conversation, Sirius had watched them converse for a spell, amazed by how animated Isabel was. It became uncomfortably apparent that Isabel Luna possessed a quick wit, and Lord Westhope had been enchanted by her.

His horse tossed his head back in agitation, and only then did Sirius realize how tightly he was holding the reins.

As he focused on relaxing, Sirius spied a curricle heading in his direction as he rounded a corner. Making a noise in the back of his throat, Sirius brought his horse up and pulled his spine straight, adjusting his hat before reworking the fit of his gloves. He squinted as the conveyance rumbled toward him, and Sirius thought he could make out three heads…and when their identities became apparent, he spit out a curse under his breath.

“Dawson, what a capital surprise,” Westhope cried as they drew closer. “Miss Luna was just telling us of a book you recommended.”

Sirius’s gaze swiveled to her like the magnet of a compass, not surprised to find Isabel staring back at him with a challenging look in her umber-colored eyes. She wore a pink striped dress that set off the bronze tone to her skin. With her dark-as-pitch curls bursting from beneath a sleek straw bonnet, and her red lips turned up in that barely there smile she always wore when she saw him—as if he hadn’t quite earned a full smile—she looked lovely. Beautiful even. How had Sirius never noticed?