Page 3 of Isabel and the Rogue

And his subsequent interactions with Miss Isabel Luna had continued in much the same vein. It was clear she considered him a speck on the bottom of her shoe, and Sirius did his best to ignore her presence. Their mutual indifference would have continued if she hadn’t been forced to stay at his country estate, Dancourt Abbey, for several weeks. Their forced proximity had shown Sirius what he suspected he’d already known but had carefully avoided: that the quiet Luna sister had fascinating depths to her.

Sirius considered her now as he spun her around the dance floor. She was not pretty in the lauded English rose sense, but something about her sharp cheekbones, the proud tilt to her jaw, and the expressive nature of her dark brows drew his eye again and again.

It was annoying, really, how he’d noticed these details about her.

Which was why he had done his best to put Isabel Luna far from his mind. For Sirius had no time or inclination to befriend a young, unmarried woman, no matter their shared connections. He had a job to do and could afford no distractions. And without his work for the Home Office, how could he possibly honor the men he had served with and who had died in his place?

Yet now he’d gone and made Miss Luna his business, and the frustrating thing was, Sirius hadn’t even done it consciously. He’d been chatting with several ladies on the opposite side of the ballroom when he’d glimpsed her dark head disappear down a corridor. Sirius excused himself and immediately followed her, stationing himself nearby to keep watch. When several men had made an attempt to visit the retiring room, he had redirected them elsewhere so Miss Luna’s search of Lord Meadows’s study was not interrupted. Because of course Sirius knew what she was about, he just didn’t know why. Despite having told himself it was none of his business more times than he could count, he was decidedly uncomfortable at the thought of her actions bringing her harm.

But she was in his arms now, and he was determined to get answers.

“Are you finally going to tell me what you’re looking for, Miss Luna?”

“I was looking for a good book to read.” She huffed a breath. “I’d rather not be here, but as Lady Yardley has insisted upon my attendance, I figured I could read to pass the time.”

“Perhaps the viscountess hopes you will find a husband, much as your older sister did.”

Miss Luna’s chuckle was a dry, husky sound. “Ana María and Gideon’s connection is not one that is likely to be replicated. And anyway, I rather doubt I’m the sort to inspire men to marriage.”

“And why not?” Sirius’s voice was sharper than he intended, but did she not think herself worthy of being courted? Even if gentlemen were not charmed by her obvious wit and curious mind, her fortune alone would be enticement enough.

“I fear I’m not particularly friendly. Haven’t you noticed?”

Sirius snorted. “You? Unfriendly? Surely you jest.”

Large dark eyes flashed up to meet his, amusement apparent in their depths, though not on her face. “I wish I were. But there are even some fools who seem to think my sister Gabriela is more amiable than I am.”

“I pity them.” Sirius faked a shudder, although there was some truth to it. The youngest Miss Luna was a fearsome creature.

“You have no interest in joining Gabby’s court?” Miss Luna tilted her head. “She’s quite popular, you know.”

Frowning, Sirius said, “Of course not. Your sister is beautiful, but I know better than to associate with unmarried misses.”

“Oh, of course.” She rolled her eyes. “Only merry widows and bored ladies for you.”

Sirius huffed a chuckle. “Much less troublesome.”

“I doubt that,” she said, a smirk settling on her lips.

He had no reply, for she was right.

2

It was becoming harder and harder to write these letters.

Isabel stared at the blank sheet of parchment, tapping the end of her pen on the desktop, wishing she were doing anything but detailing her failures for Padre Ignacio once again. She’d even consent to dance with Captain Dawson if it meant saving herself the embarrassment of admitting another defeat.

Actually, no. That wasn’t true. Surely nothing could be worse than spending several long minutes in Captain Dawson’s arms—

She jabbed at the parchment with the sharp end of her pen, puncturing a hole in the thin paper. The captain had occupied enough of her thoughts the night prior, and Isabel could not allow him to run rampant within them yet again. Despite how her ribs abruptly felt too tight for her lungs when he’d admitted his concern for her safety, Isabel knew she could not let Captain Dawson interfere with her work. To allow him to dominate her thoughts and distract her was not to be borne.

Releasing a long exhale, Isabel shook out her hands and selected a fresh sheet of parchment. Grasping her pen once more, she licked her lips and wrote:

Estimado Padre Ignacio,

The Meadows ball was uneventful. I did my best to partake in all aspects of the festivities, and sought out entertainment where it could be found, but it was not as fruitful as I hoped it would be.

Isabel had learned to keep her letters short, the contents seemingly mundane, her words not hinting at any deeper meanings. Padre Ignacio knew the purpose of her communications, so she felt no need to elaborate on the measures she took to hunt out information. The concise summaries prevented Isabel from giving in to her need to make excuses for her shortcomings. She’d learned at her father’s knee that excuses oftentimes made failure worse.