Page 70 of Isabel and the Rogue

Rocking back on his heels, he reread the words. Did Green mean that the French had discovered President Juárez’s hiding spot? Good God, he had to find out what the lieutenant colonel knew, and once he was confident of his intelligence, Sirius would let Isabel know.

“Thank you, Daniels,” he said, clapping the man on the back. “I appreciate you bringing this to me as soon as you could.”

“Of course, sir,” Daniels said, dipping his head before departing.

Setting his shoulders, Sirius turned back to the women, intent on extracting Isabel from the situation as quickly as possible, but halted. Isabel no longer stood with Lady Needham, but instead was sitting in a well-sprung curricle that had parked behind his carriage. At her side, holding the reins, was Lord Westhope.

What the hell?

Surprise stole his words, and before Sirius could even call out to her, the curricle pulled away. Westhope offered him a friendly wave as they passed, but Isabel simply looked at him, her expressionless mask back in place. Sirius watched them drive away until they disappeared into the park, and he cursed under his breath.

“Now that we’re alone, say you’ll return with me to my house, Sirius,” Lady Needham said, tapping him on the arm with her fan. “I’ve missed you.”

Biting back unkind words, Sirius turned to look at her. “Unfortunately, my lady, that will not be possible. But I hope you have a good day.”

And with that goodbye, he climbed the steps of his carriage. “Take me to the Home Office,” he called to his driver, before stepping into the cab and slamming the door.

Clenching his head in his hands, Sirius groaned. How had the day turned so disastrous?

• • •

“How fortuitous it was to see you on the street, Miss Luna, when I was on my way to Yardley House to call upon you,” Lord Westhope said, flashing a bright smile at her.

Isabel attempted a smile in return. “A happy accident.”

“Indeed.” The viscount tipped his hat at a passing carriage. “Lady Needham seemed quite pleased that I had whisked you away when I did. Rumor is that she’s been pursuing Dawson for some time, and no doubt she knew your clever wit would showcase what a bore she is.”

Turning about in her seat, Isabel stared at him. “You think Lady Needham is a bore?”

Westhope’s brow crinkled. “Please forgive me if that sentiment was rude, but while the baroness is perfectly amiable, she is a bit empty-headed, don’t you think?”

She opened her mouth, but paused, uncertain of what she was going to say. Lady Needham had not been friendly to her, and her remarks were sometimes barbed. But more often, she simply ignored Isabel, which made her one of many. It certainly wasn’t the baroness’s fault that she was smitten with Sirius and wanted more from him than he could give her.

It was a feeling Isabel was acquainted with.

Isabel faced forward again. “Not everyone is as quick-witted and intelligent as you, my lord.”

Westhope’s gaze was heavy on her face; Isabel could feel it even though she steadfastly avoided looking at him. “I’m not sure about that.”

They rode in silence for several minutes, and Isabel was content to watch the scenery roll past. Summer had arrived and the landscape eagerly welcomed it, the trees dressing themselves in juniper and sage, flowers in lavender and cerise. Pulling her shawl from her shoulders, Isabel inhaled a fragrant breath of air. This was one thing she would miss when she returned to Mexico, for summer looked different in her homeland.

“Did I tell you the good news? That the manager at Hatchards sent a note to my secretary to let me know that he had finally managed to secure a first edition of the first part of Don Quixote?” Westhope asked abruptly, snaring Isabel’s attention.

Isabel shook her head. She knew she should be excited he’d finally found the edition he’d long coveted, and yet she struggled to find the necessary enthusiasm. Still, she tried. “What an incredible find.”

Lord Westhope laughed. “I can’t tell you how thrilled I am at the prospect of finally possessing one. It only took three years, four shopkeepers, and two rare book hunters.”

She reached for a smile. “I daresay I would be filled to the brim with excitement to own a first edition of El ingenioso hidalgo don Quixote de la Mancha.”

“I love the way you say that.” Westhope slid his eyes to look at her, the color rising in his cheeks. “The way you shape the words is so enchanting.”

“Oh, well, thank you.” Isabel ducked her head. She was so rarely complimented on her Spanish that it always caught her unawares. “Gabby and I discussed not long ago how much we miss hearing Spanish. Speaking in Spanish with others. It is a very different experience than speaking English.”

“That makes sense. I know speaking French, especially speaking it with a native speaker, uses my brain in ways it doesn’t when I converse in English.” A wistful look settled on Westhope’s face. “It makes me a tad melancholy for my French family.”

The hairs on Isabel’s arm rose, and she held her breath. It was just the sort of opening Isabel needed, and she released a long exhale as she contemplated how to advance. “You mentioned previously that you are a frequent correspondent with your cousin in the Caribbean, is that right?”

The viscount flashed her a pleased grin. “I’m flattered you remember. Yes, Jean-Charles lives in Martinique, where he works for the governor of the island. We communicate quite regularly. I actually received a letter from him today.”