Page 51 of Isabel and the Rogue

Sirius sat unmoving for several long minutes after the lieutenant colonel departed. Why had the older man brought up his men? Had he not worked hard to provide for them—to atone—since he’d returned to England? He employed one of his former lancers as a valet, and the gamekeeper and manager at Dancourt Abbey were former troopers of his regiment. He sent yearly stipends to both Taylor’s and Robinson’s families, for they had had the unfortunate luck of dying on the battlefield when Sirius, the lucky bastard, had somehow survived. He had thrown himself into his work for Green and the Home Office for the last eight years, maneuvering, outwitting, and seducing whomever was necessary to discover the information he needed so that his wretched life had a reason for being spared. For a higher purpose.

And when he had finally indulged his emotions with a respectable and altogether alluring young woman, suddenly he was letting his men down?

A sudden loud sound jerked his attention back to the moment, and Sirius stared down at his coffee mug, which now lay in cracked pieces on the tabletop.

Pressing his fingertips to the center of his brow, Sirius inhaled deeply, counted to five, and released the breath in a loud whoosh. Now was not the time to become frustrated or angry with Green. He knew the lieutenant colonel was only doing what he felt was best, because he was aware of how much Sirius struggled when he first returned to London. How he still struggled, although the nightmares were fewer and farther between.

Sirius pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. He tossed a few coins on the tabletop, jerked on his tie, and placed his hat on his head. Stamping his cane on the floor, he contemplated what to do next. Hunt out Westhope at the club? Return to his home and toss back an entire bottle of brandy while he cursed his errant emotions? Sirius instead stepped out into the midafternoon sunshine and directed his steps toward the club. He had a job to do.

• • •

“Ay, Isa, you haven’t turned a page in at least ten minutes.”

Isabel jerked her head around and met Gabby’s amused gaze. Glancing quickly down at the book in her hand, she noted her sister was right. She’d been on page fifty-five for far longer than the story warranted.

“I—I.” She stopped to clear her throat, quickly flipping the page to fifty-six. “I’ve had to reread it several times.”

“Is that so?” Her sister arched a black brow. “So what’s it about, then?”

“Um…” She pressed her lips together, frantically skimming the page for any notion of what was occurring in the story. “It’s about—about, uh…”

“Right.” Gabby clicked her tongue. “So what were you really thinking about?”

“Nada,” Isabel answered, a tad too quickly.

With slow movements, Gabby folded the newspaper she had been reading and set it down on the table next to her. Planting her hands on her knees, she leaned toward Isabel, her gaze intense. “You’ve been distracted all day. I assumed you were concerned about Mother and Father, as we’ve yet to hear from them again, but you were distracted last night, too.”

“I am worried for them”—Isabel toyed with the corner of the page—“so I don’t know what you mean.”

“You disappeared for quite some time at the museum,” Gabby continued as if Isabel had not spoken. Her hazel eyes were far away. “I thought you were wandering the galleries, intent on viewing the exhibits without Lord Westhope hovering at your elbow.”

Her lips twitched. “He’s very attentive.”

“Por supuesto,” Gabby said with a roll of her eyes. “Please don’t misunderstand. I like Lord Westhope. Very much. He’s kind and handsome and intelligent, for he fancies you. But you don’t feel the same way about him, do you, Isa?”

A great sigh sank Isabel’s shoulders. “No, I don’t. I like him, too, but my feelings do not go any deeper than that.”

Gabby nodded but continued to study her sister’s face. “I realized today, as I watched you stare at that page, that Captain Dawson disappeared last night at the same time you did.”

The blood in Isabel’s veins turned to ice. “Did he?” She smothered a cringe over how high-pitched her voice sounded.

“He did. And when he returned later, I noticed his face was flushed,” Gabby said, continuing to stare intently at her. “Captain Dawson is one of the most composed, disciplined men I’ve met.”

Isabel shrugged. “Yes, well, I’m sure he flushes easily considering how fair he is.”

“That’s true…but then I noticed the same of you.” A teasing smile settled on Gabby’s mouth. “Your face was flushed and your eyes sparkled.”

Dropping her sister’s gaze, Isabel glanced down at the book in her hands. Why must Gabby turn her critical eye upon her now?

“That’s because I was finally able to see the Maqdala exhibit without having to squeeze through the crush that’s usually packed around it,” she said, pleased with her flippant tone. Reaching for the teapot on the tray situated nearby, Isabel poured herself a cup. Studiously ignoring her sister, and any dubious look on her face, Isabel took a sip.

“Is that why your skirts were all wrinkled, too?”

The tea shot from her mouth on a gasp, and Isabel immediately pressed her napkin to her lips as she choked out coughs. Even through her blurry eyes, she noted Gabby’s pleased expression.

Once Isabel’s hacking coughs had subsided, Gabby clapped her hands together and pressed them to her chest. “I didn’t think you had it in you, Isa.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t have anything in me,” she bit out, determined to concede nothing.