Page 37 of Isabel and the Rogue

“Oh,” she cried, her eyes wide, “so the British government has noticed that France has occupied Mexico illegally.”

“Of course they have—”

“So they don’t care, then,” Isabel said, that damn half smile on her lips.

Dipping his head, Sirius chuckled. “As I’ve said, it’s not about caring so much as prioritizing interests.”

A bit of her heart glinted in her expression. “So the odds the British will intervene in the French conflict in Mexico remain at zero?”

Rocking back, Sirius shook his head. “The odds are never zero. But again, the British government won’t intervene unless British interests are at stake.”

“But they are at stake,” Isabel cried, throwing her arms wide. “Why can’t they see that France won’t stop at Mexico? They will bleed my country dry of her resources and wealth and people, and then use those ill-gotten gains to fund their conquests of other countries. And Britain will be on that list. How could they not be? It’s only a matter of time.”

“I know.” Sirius slid his gaze to the groom waiting down the path, desperate to look at anything other than the helplessness in her eyes. “And I suspect those in power know this as well.”

He could hear her throat work on a swallow.

“So what is there to do? Is there anything to do? Will they only be convinced once French forces arrive on the shores of Kent?”

“I don’t know.” He canted closer to her, his arms shaking with his desire to reach out and comfort her. “But let’s focus on what we do know and what we can control.”

“Of course,” she whispered, pressing her hands to her cheeks.

“What are your plans for this evening?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

Isabel’s eyes widened before they glazed over in confusion. “Oh. Um…I’m not—”

“Do you know if you received an invitation to the Fairchild dinner party?”

“I’m not sure. Should we have?” she said, frowning.

“I’m certain you have,” Sirius said, tapping his crop against his thigh, “because Mrs. Fairchild is on friendly terms with Lady Yardley.”

“Right,” she said simply, her brows stitched together. “The viscountess has many friends, and I often struggle to keep track of them.”

“Understandable. But then it would behoove you to know,” Sirius said, dropping his voice as he took a small step closer to her, “that Mr. Fairchild owns various silk production mills in Lyon.”

It took a second for Isabel to understand the import of his words, but he chuckled when she gasped sharply. “He does? Surely then that means he has contracts with the French government for silk. Right?”

“His company does.” Sirius nodded. “From my understanding, he has several different contracts with the Napoleonic government, not only for silk, but for wool and carpet, too.”

Sirius knew this because a fellow Home Office agent was monitoring Fairchild’s activities.

“Goodness,” Isabel whispered, her eyebrows high on her head as she gazed unseeing at a point over his shoulder. “But if he has so many lucrative connections with the French government, why does he live here in London?”

“He has homes in many places. Here, obviously, but also Paris, Lyon, and an estate in Essex.” Sirius shrugged. “Fairchild just so happens to be here in London now. I wager it’s because of the wool contract he has with the British military.”

Isabel dragged her gaze up to his. “Thank you for telling me. I had no idea Mr. Fairchild was so connected.”

Sirius bowed his head. “I told you I would help.”

“Indeed you did.” Isabel looked back in the direction of where her groom waited. “Captain, if your friends at the Home Office were to learn you were helping me pass secrets to my compatriots, would there be trouble for you?”

No, because Sirius wouldn’t be helping her pass along secrets to Mexico. Not really. An idea was formulating in his mind, and he needed to speak with Lieutenant Colonel Green about how he could accomplish his directive while also keeping Isabel out of trouble. Surely between him and the older man, they could determine what information could be shared to aid President Juárez? For while Napoleon was not necessarily Britain’s enemy, they were certainly not friends.

Of more concern to Sirius at the moment was how quickly he had agreed to help Isabel. How his gut had clenched and his groin had hardened when she looked up at him with those piercing midnight eyes of hers. How the vanilla scent of her, the way she tucked her teeth into her lips in that endearingly demure manner of hers, masked layer upon layer of fire and grit and determination.

He was attracted to her…and that was the real risk he took by helping her. It had made him soft, in ways he had never been with any other woman. Where he’d been able to engage in casual affairs with his past paramours, Isabel deserved so much better than casual.