Page 5 of Isabel and the Rogue

“I’m surprised you noticed, considering every time I looked your way, you were surrounded by a crowd of admirers,” Isabel shot back.

Her sister’s expression clouded. “It’s quite tedious, really. But then Tío Arturo can’t say I’m not doing my part to bolster Mexico’s image among the ton.”

When they had arrived in Mexico two years prior, their tío Arturo had tasked them with improving the profile of their countrymen, hoping such a thing would aid him in his lobbying effort to win the support of the British government against the French. It was only weeks later they learned how many of those in power despised Presidente Juárez and his Zapotec antecedents.

“I wouldn’t dream of wasting ink and parchment on the likes of such a rogue.”

Isabel was proud of how nonchalant she sounded.

“He is a rogue, isn’t he?” At Isabel’s answering snort, Gabby chuckled. “The talk I’ve heard about the captain would shock you.”

“I assure you it wouldn’t,” she grumbled under her breath.

“So if you’re not fond of Captain Dawson, why did you dance with him last night?” Gabby cocked her head to the side. “I know dancing is not your favorite activity.”

“I didn’t have much choice.” Isabel plucked at the sash around her waist. “One minute I was returning to the ballroom after a visit to the retiring room, and the next I was being twirled about the floor.”

“Quite rude of him not to ask before he claimed your dance.” Gabby’s brows rose to her hairline. “Although I suppose some would say it’s a bit romantic. Captain Dawson cuts quite a swath.”

Rolling her eyes, Isabel bit back the bitter words that perched on the tip of her tongue. “It’s only because he’s handsome. If he were not so attractive, the ladies of the ton would not look twice at him.”

“Perhaps not.” Gabby snorted. “But thankfully for the captain, his golden hair and sapphire eyes easily snare hearts.” Her sister was deceptively quiet for a moment. “Do you think him handsome, Isa?”

Isabel wished the earth would crack open and swallow her whole. Gabby had always been observant…her sister had just never used those skills on her. Now, in an unfortunate turn of events, Gabby seemed to have sensed that something lurked under the cutting animosity between her and Captain Dawson.

Clearing her throat, Isabel infused as much apathy into her voice as she could when she said, “Whether I think Captain Dawson is handsome matters not. What matters is his character, and his is quite deficient.”

“He is a rake with a capital R. But you know what they say about rakes…” Gabby raised a palm. “They make the best husbands.”

“Reformed rakes do.” Isabel curled her lip. “And nothing about Captain Dawson’s conduct hints that he’s been reformed.”

“Goodness, Isa, you truly do not like the man.” Gabby held up both hands in surrender. “I don’t know what Captain Dawson has done to earn your ire, but I pity him. You are a jaguar when you’re threatened.”

“Do you think so?” Isabel’s chest swelled at the comparison, for she would never have thought to compare herself to the fierce jaguar.

Gabby nodded, a fond look softening her expression. “One day I hope you learn to see yourself the way I see you.”

Before Isabel could press and ask what she meant, Gabby jumped from the bed and walked to the door. “¡Vamos! Let’s eat breakfast and learn what her ladyship has planned for us today.”

Isabel remained seated for a long moment after her sister departed, contemplating her sister’s comment. Gabby wished Isabel could see herself the way she did. Years prior she would have assumed her younger sister thought her dull, but hadn’t Gabby just compared her to a jaguar? Her sister did not offer empty compliments.

Although it had crushed her at the time, Isabel was almost happy their autocratic father had sent them away from Mexico City as the French forces approached. The long ocean voyage, and the many long months since then, had allowed Isabel not only to get to know her sisters better, but to actually like them.

Rising to her feet, Isabel smoothed her hand over her shirtwaist, ensuring her letter to Padre Ignacio was still safely tucked inside. With a small smile, she followed Gabby, her mood vastly improved.

• • •

He hated his weekly trips to the Home Office.

His boots clicked on the cobblestone street as Sirius dodged riders, wagons ladened with crates, and swiftly darting street urchins running errands for merchants. Despite Sirius’s repeated offers to meet at his gentlemen’s club in lieu of a formal meeting at headquarters, his superior had always refused. So despite his distaste for the stuffy, cramped interior of the Home Office with its legion of self-important employees, Sirius squared his shoulders and set off for the building on King Charles Street in Whitehall every Friday, rain or shine.

Holding the door open for a clerk balancing a stack of papers in his hand, Sirius removed his hat as he stepped into the dim interior. His blinking eyes were barely adjusting to the light when a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

“Dawson, let’s get this over with, shall we?”

With a crisp nod, Sirius followed the severely dressed man down a crowded corridor until they came to a door at the end of the hall. Throwing it open without ceremony, the older man slid onto a chair tucked under a narrow table. Sirius took the chair on the opposite side without a word.

“What did you learn at the Meadows ball?”