Page 45 of Isabel and the Rogue

“I don’t understand what you mean, Miss Luna,” Professor Pfeiffer murmured with a frown.

“You spoke of responsibility. Of how artifacts and historical items should be protected, and I am asking why such things warrant more protection than the people who made them.” Isabel winged up a brow. “I’d wager that whoever swept into Africa to save these cultural objects we have been admiring this evening did not even think of how they could assist the Ethiopian people, whether by offering them food or shelter or aid.”

The older man laughed, and several other gentlemen at the table snorted. Sirius ground his teeth together.

“It’s not the museum or the British government’s responsibility to aid the people—”

“Just to protect their riches,” Isabel interjected.

Professor Pfeiffer scowled, jerking on his tie. “I’m sure this is a difficult thing for a young woman like you to grasp, but the workings of government have priorities—”

“Christ, Professor, if you are attempting to excuse the museum’s culpability in this, you are doing a poor job of it,” Sirius called, fixing a lazy smile on his face. “Just be honest. It’s easier and certainly more profitable to focus on looting the historical treasures of warring countries than it is to provide humanitarian aid.”

“I will say no such thing,” Professor Pfeiffer growled, “and I think it grossly unfair to place this sort of responsibility on the museum or even the British government.”

“You keep speaking of responsibility, Professor, and yet you seem quite adept at assigning responsibility only when it serves your needs.” Isabel smiled, the gesture not meeting her eyes. “A bit disingenuous, don’t you think?”

The older man gaped and stuttered, and Sirius simply took a sip of his glass and enjoyed the show. With a twitch in his lip, he noted the look of pride Gabriela flashed her older sister, and Sirius was certain his own expression mirrored hers. So often Isabel was overshadowed by her fiery younger sister, but she was fierce and strong in her own right. His Isabel was not to be overlooked.

His Isabel? Sirius took a mouthful of wine and welcomed the burn as it singed down his throat. He had no right—no interest, really—in claiming anyone, least of all someone as singular as Isabel Luna.

Her gaze met his then before it quickly flitted away. In the next moment, Westhope patted Isabel’s hand on the table next to him and leaned close to whisper in her ear. Red flashed before Sirius’s eyes. Gripping his glass with stiff fingers, Sirius willed himself to remain calm even while he battled the urge to throw the viscount across the room. Whatever was wrong with him?

“I’ve known Professor Pfeiffer for a good long while, and I can speak confidently that his intent is not to be disingenuous,” Westhope proclaimed to his guests. Yet when Isabel arched a brow, the viscount cocked his head at the older man. “Still, the Misses Luna bring up excellent points about how our society values tangible goods—property—while turning a blind eye to humanitarian issues.”

“I suspect the Misses Luna are more aware of this issue considering what is happening in their country,” Sirius said, pleased he managed to unlock his teeth. “Seeing how Mexico is now occupied by French forces and an Austrian grand duke is now their supposed emperor, I think their concern and frustration is more than warranted.”

Isabel met his eyes, the corners of her lips tilting ever so slightly up.

“I’m glad you think so, Captain Dawson.” Gabriela folded her hands demurely on the table in front of her, but her chin was lifted proudly. “When one is forced to flee their homeland in the middle of the night to escape an advancing army, sadly one’s thoughts are not of protecting hundred-year-old artifacts from the Mexica empire.”

“There is no excuse for fortune hunters and foreign dealers to prey upon such dire circumstances,” Isabel said with a firm note.

“I quite agree, Miss Luna,” Viscount Westhope interjected, flashing a look to the gathered guests that made it clear the topic would not be argued further. “Speaking of Mexico, what news is there of the war with France? Since we’ve become acquainted, I’ve tried to pay attention to any reports of it in the papers, but coverage has been lacking.”

“It has indeed,” Gabriela said tartly, “but Señor Valdés has managed to keep us abreast of the developments at home.”

Sirius listened with half an ear while Gabriela relayed what they knew about the moves Emperor Maximilian had taken to solidify his power within Mexico. He had made a number of liberal decisions that had surprised the monarchists who had aided the French, and Isabel chimed in to emphasize how the emperor’s decisions could undermine his support among his advocates. And now that the American Civil War had ended, the United States government was sending aid to Juárez supporters, and there was reason to be optimistic that the tide was turning. Several of the guests asked questions about the Mexican people’s attitudes toward the French and how political turmoil over the preceding years had paved the way for such an occupation.

It was obvious that the sisters were well informed about the topic, and although Gabriela did most of the talking, Isabel interjected on occasion with her own passionate words. Sirius knew he needed to be circumspect, especially at such an intimate gathering, and yet he found it difficult to look away from her. Everything about Isabel suddenly captivated him, from her quiet beauty to her unflappable composure. When Westhope inadvertently snagged his attention, the viscount’s brow crinkled in unspoken question, and Sirius hastily looked away.

He stayed at the table long after the other guests had embarked on a private tour of the Maqdala collection, nursing his wine and silently waging a battle with his riotous emotions. Westhope asked if he intended to join the group, and Sirius nodded, stating he would follow as soon as he was done with his drink. But he was in no rush. Truthfully, watching Westhope plant a hand on the small of Isabel’s back as he ushered her forward left Sirius seeing red.

He needed to do something. Something to finally discover what, if anything, Westhope knew about the French and their intentions. Because if his uncharacteristic agitation tonight was any indication, Sirius could not stand idly by and watch the viscount court Isabel. Two things were bound to happen if Westhope touched her again: the viscount would come to harm, and thus Sirius’s career with the Home Office would be at an end. Sirius had never considered himself a masochist, and he certainly was not going to become one now.

As he grappled with his turbulent thoughts, Sirius spied Isabel step away from Westhope and disappear down a side antechamber while he was in conversation with his other guests. Sirius knew the ladies’ room was on the other side of the building, so where was Isabel headed? Throwing back the rest of his wine with one acerbic gulp, Sirius rose to his feet and followed her…a smile pulling his mouth taut.

He did not search for long, finding Isabel standing in front of a large gold and silver processional cross, her mouth ever so slightly ajar as she looked up at it. It was an impressive sight, and Sirius couldn’t fault her for wanting to steal some time to study it alone.

And yet because they were alone, Sirius intended to take full advantage.

A door marked with a sign that read museum staff only was situated not far from where Isabel stood, and without a second thought, Sirius approached her and grasped her arm.

“Come with me,” he whispered in her ear as he pulled her along after him.

Isabel scowled, but did not fight him. “What do you want, Captain Dawson?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Isabel Luna.” A sigh of relief slipped past his lips when he found the door unlocked. The room was empty, so Sirius ushered her inside, locking the door behind them. Turning to look at her, he narrowed his eyes. “Now, whatever is wrong?”