Page 49 of Isabel and the Rogue

Spinning away from him, Isabel wrapped her arms about her waist. “I just want to make my father proud. I want to earn the right to return. My sisters and I weren’t given an option when we were sent here, and I don’t want to feel that powerless again. I refuse to.”

“Sunshine,” Sirius whispered, the word ragged. He reached for her and placed a hand on her arm, patiently waiting until she turned to look up at him. “I don’t understand how anyone could not be proud of you.”

Isabel dropped her eyes to his chest, her emotions threatening to overthrow her tenuous hold on them. She wasn’t certain anyone had ever looked at her that way. But it didn’t matter. Sirius’s life was here, where he was a beloved member of society, and hers was in Mexico…as soon as she was able to make a place for herself.

Daring to smooth her hand down his lapel, Isabel shook her head. “I just have to find something, anything, to send home.”

Sirius leaned down and bussed her temple, remaining there for a heartbeat. “I promised I would help you, and I intend to.”

12

Isabel was leaving.

Even a day later, Sirius had still not recovered from that damning revelation. He’d been winded from his ministrations, his cock aching and begging for release, when Isabel had declared her wish to return to Mexico.

Sirius stared down into his coffee cup unseeing. Why did everything about his life feel off-kilter? He didn’t recognize himself anymore.

She was returning to Mexico. Of course she was. Mexico was still her home, the place she was courting danger to protect. But until Isabel said the words, Sirius hadn’t fully understood what that meant. No longer would he sigh in frustration when he saw her disappear down a dark corridor. No longer would her brows snap together and her ebony eyes burn with devil fire when they saw him. And shouldn’t that make him happy? Sirius had enough responsibilities to concern himself with.

So why then had he been daydreaming about bundling Isabel up in cotton and absconding with her to Devonshire?

Damn it, what was wrong with him?

Scrubbing a hand down his face, Sirius pushed all thoughts of Isabel into the ether.

Lieutenant Colonel Green was due to arrive for their weekly meeting at any moment, and he needed his wits about him. Taking a sip of coffee, Sirius held the bitter liquid on his tongue for a long moment and willed it to ground him. He’d never had trouble focusing on the task at hand, a skill that had helped him in battle.

When Green finally arrived at the coffee shop and took the seat across from him, Sirius was vaguely confident he appeared as unfazed as he hoped himself to be.

“Is it any wonder why I prefer to meet at my office at King Charles Street? It’s too damn busy here. And noisy,” Green grumbled as he glared disdainfully around the coffee shop.

Sirius signaled a server with a flash of his hand, and soon a steaming mug of coffee sat on the table in front of the lieutenant colonel.

“So why the change of venue?” the older man asked, stirring several sugar cubes into his cup. He took a sip, his face contorting at the taste.

Sirius made a show of swirling the coffee in his cup around the rim. “Sometimes a change of scenery is good for the mind. I know you dislike leaving the comforts of your office, so it was very good of you to venture out and meet me here today. Thank you, sir.”

The older man’s eyes became slits of displeasure. “Do not think to placate me with your ill-placed flattery, Dawson.”

“Come now, sir,” Sirius said with a snort, “when have you ever seen me deploy flattering as a weapon.” When Green’s gaze turned menacing, Sirius chuckled. “All right, fair enough. But when has it not been productive?”

The lieutenant colonel waved his hand in dismissal. “So tell me how things have gone”—his gaze darted to the tables around them, before he dropped his voice—“with the Mexican chit you were so eager to help.”

Sirius managed to contain an internal cringe. Instead, he folded his hands together over his waist and glanced up at the ceiling. “As I had hoped, keeping an eye on Miss Luna has not only allowed me to keep her from trouble, but also permitted me to spend more time with the viscount.”

“Yes, the papers have mentioned he seems quite smitten with her.” Green drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “And what of Westhope?”

“We have become steady acquaintances over the last few weeks”—Sirius raised a shoulder—“and I attended his private showing of the Maqdala collection at the British Museum last night.”

Green lifted a brow. “And have you learned anything new or pertinent?”

Oh, he definitely learned something pertinent, but he knew Green would not care about that.

Sirius cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, nothing of importance yet. However, this was all about earning Westhope’s loyalty. How am I to expect him to tell me anything if he doesn’t count me as a friend?” Sirius tilted his head. “Surely you can’t fault me for wanting to build a trusting rapport with the man.”

“I can find fault with all manner of things about you, but I am willing to see how this situation plays out.” Green took a drink from his cup, wincing again at the bitter taste. “When do you plan to take advantage of his attachment to the Luna girl?”

“Soon. He already hangs on her every word,” Sirius murmured, shifting in his seat.