Page 28 of Isabel and the Rogue

“Give me some credit, Isa.” Gabby bumped her shoulder into hers. “I remembered, but Gideon’s abolitionist work is not his only work. He champions a variety of causes. It’s something I’ve always admired about him.”

“Me, too,” Isabel echoed. She was immensely fond of her brother by marriage, not just because he always treated her with respect, but because he practically worshipped the ground Ana María walked on.

“Do you suppose if we’re to stay in England for several more years that you would be open to marrying an Englishman?”

Isabel frowned down at her sister. “Honestly, I never thought I would marry.”

“Why not?” Gabby asked with a matching frown.

She nibbled the inside of her cheek, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. “I suppose I’ve never had romantic notions. Father certainly made it clear he didn’t intend to dangle me as bait to his political friends, and when did we have an opportunity to meet gentlemen outside of the events he allowed us to attend?”

“We didn’t. We weren’t allowed to go anywhere unless he deemed it so.” Gabby exhaled noisily through her nose. “And once again I’m jealous of you. Father most definitely had a gentleman in mind for my husband. Probably a viejito with more white hairs than not.”

Isabel didn’t dare argue that assertion. Their father had made it abundantly clear that he possessed little care for his youngest daughter. While Elías Luna complained about Isabel’s behavior on occasion but mostly left her to her own devices, he outright ignored Gabby.

Isabel pulled Gabby to face her. “Mi amor, you know you’re worth far more than he ever gave you credit for.”

A flush of pink spread across the crest of her cheeks, but rather than dropping her gaze, Gabby laughed. “I know. I’ve always known. Which is why it always made me so angry when—”

“Good evening, ladies.”

Grimacing for a moment, Gabby eventually spun around in a cloud of silk. “Lord Belfry, how do you do?”

“Much better now that you’ve arrived.” Sliding his gaze to Isabel, the teasing smile melted from the baron’s face. “Miss Luna.”

Isabel barely managed not to roll her eyes.

As if she were simply a part of the wallpaper, Baron Belfry conversed and flirted with Gabby for several long minutes. While her sister repeatedly tried to include Isabel in the conversation, the baron was soon joined by a trio of gentlemen friends, and Isabel was all but pushed aside as the men flanked Gabby in a semicircle. The casual disregard would have stung if she didn’t see the outrage coloring every line of her sister’s face.

Still, Isabel chose to recognize it as the opportunity it was, for she certainly had no desire to participate in Baron Belfry’s inane conversation. As it was, Gabby appeared bored to tears. Thankful for the reprieve, Isabel waved a hand at her sister and melted into the crowd.

Isabel made her way to the refreshment table, where she poured herself a glass of lemonade. Pivoting about, she pretended to drink while she studied the room. Several grand archways ran the length of the space, serving as a barrier between the dance floor and the sitting area, where groups sat at tables chattering and eating a grand assortment of food laid out and meticulously maintained by the Westhope staff. A trio of double doors opened to a large veranda, and Isabel spied several couples in conversation in the cool early summer air.

Turning, Isabel pondered her next moves. The ballroom was designed in an oblong shape, and she noted four different corridors leading from the ballroom, including the foyer guests had taken to enter the room. Isabel nibbled her lip as she decided where to start first. Considering Westhope actively voted his seat in Lords and served on various committees, she imagined that the viscount’s study would probably be located near the front of the house. Much easier to welcome guests, she thought. Taking a sip of lemonade, Isabel studied the first corridor, making note of who came and went from it. It appeared to be less used by guests than the two exits located at the other end of the ballroom. Surely that meant those led to the retiring rooms, so Isabel would start her search with the first corridor.

Finishing her drink, Isabel set her glass aside and dabbed her mouth with a napkin. Abruptly, the hairs on the back of her neck rose. Was she being watched? Isabel sucked in a breath as she casually swept her gaze over the guests. No one appeared to be paying her any attention, and Isabel exhaled her agitation. She was always nervous before she embarked on a “scouting mission,” a term Fernando used in his letters, and she was doubly so on this night because she would be searching the personal belongings of a man she considered her friend.

And yet, it must be done. Squaring her shoulders, Isabel walked toward the first corridor, a barely there smile on her lips. She returned the greetings of several people she passed, but successfully reached the darkened hall without attracting undue notice. Glancing over her shoulder to ensure no one was watching, Isabel stepped into the darkness, allowing her eyes a moment to adjust to the dim lighting. As the path ahead came into focus, Isabel knew she had chosen correctly. Surely if this corridor was meant for guests, the viscount would have provided adequate lighting to brighten their way.

Grasping her skirts, Isabel moved swiftly down the hall, peeking into the various rooms as she passed them. When she pushed open the last door on the right, her gaze landed on a broad mahogany desk, and a smile crossed her face.

Stealing into the room, Isabel shut the door as quietly as possible, locked it, and leaned back against the wood. A single lamp burned on a side table in the corner, providing enough illumination for Isabel to take in the space. Bookshelves lined every wall, from the marble-tiled floor to the paneled ceiling. There were even bookshelves underneath the two beveled windows that looked down on the street below. Isabel’s hands twitched to investigate Lord Westhope’s collection. Although he had claimed to have spent a good deal of time and money building up his library, Isabel had not appreciated the endeavor until looking at it now. She’d like nothing more than to peruse the shelves, find a book to her liking, and curl up in one of the armchairs situated near the fireplace. But she did not have time for personal pursuits, for there was no guarantee that Lord Westhope would not come looking for her. Isabel figured she had about twenty minutes to search before her absence would be noted, and she refused to waste any more time.

With a silent exhale, she made her way to the desk. It was a cheerful space, with framed photographs, playful knickknacks, and a stack of books that included a folio of Shakespeare’s sonnets. A quick glance at the stack confirmed the rest were all rather bland books about architecture or art history, genres Lord Westhope had indicated a taste for.

Inconveniently, Isabel thought of Captain Dawson. Of the night he found her in his study at Dancourt Abbey and sent her back to bed with East Lynne. He had said it was scandalous, and it proved to be just that.

But she couldn’t think of the captain now. Definitely not now.

Crouching, Isabel made quick work of the lock on the center drawer, and slid it open with curious eyes. At first glance, nothing stood out as noteworthy, and Isabel pushed aside a quill and pen, a stack of blank letterhead with the Westhope crest displayed prominently at the top, as well as a letter opener with the crest imprinted into the brass. Isabel couldn’t help but roll her eyes at such a thing. It was definitely something her father would do with the Luna family seal.

Angling her head to peer in the back of the drawer, her breath stuttered when she spied a stack of letters neatly tucked into the corner. Ignoring how her hands shook, Isabel grasped them and pulled them out. The return address was in Martinique, and the seal on the back indicated it was from the governor’s office. Was this correspondence from the cousin Westhope had mentioned in passing? Isabel’s heart threatened to lurch from her chest.

With trembling fingers, she unfolded one sheet of parchment and quickly read its contents. It was an innocuous piece of correspondence that communicated everyday events and observations. Isabel refolded it and grasped another letter, her eyes quickly scanning the contents. Soon she had read through the entire stack, learning nothing of importance, but her confidence was bolstered. Lord Westhope and Jean-Charles, his cousin, communicated frequently, so surely Jean-Charles was bound to share tidbits about French movements in the region. Right?

Battling conflicting emotions, Isabel carefully returned the letters to their spot in the corner of the drawer…but before she could slide it closed again, the door to the study opened in a whoosh, revealing Captain Dawson standing in the entry.

Isabel jumped back, colliding with the desk chair and almost tumbling to the floor. At the last moment, her hand caught the corner of the desk and she was able to right herself. With panic swelling in her throat, she watched as the captain quietly closed the door behind him, turning the latch. The sound of the tumbler locking into place seemed to echo through her chest.