Page 86 of Isabel and the Rogue

“I don’t know what I’m going to do without you there to defend me. From others, but more so from myself,” she sniffed.

“You’ve never needed a defender, Isa. You’ve always been the bravest of us all. But I’ve always needed a big sister”—Gabby held her tighter—“and I will miss you more than I can say.”

Soon Isabel stood on the ship’s deck, away from the other passengers on the rail, who waved to family and friends on the docks below. From her solitary spot, she considered her sisters, who stood side by side with their arms linked. It felt foreign and disconcerting not to be standing with them, and the realization that she didn’t know when she would get to be with them again made Isabel rock on her feet. If she weren’t so desperate for a second chance, would she be leaving now?

That dull ache that had taken residence in her soul pinged anew, and Isabel knew her answer. She yearned to pull a full breath into her lungs and not think of him. So much of London was now haunted by ghosts of what could have been.

And suddenly her gaze snagged on a figure in black standing on the far end of the dock. Even across the distance that separated them, his eyes were the bluest of blues, and Isabel could not look away. Not as the ship pushed from the docks, or as it eased into the sea-lane. Isabel raised her arm in goodbye to her sisters, blowing kisses on the breeze, but then she turned back to Sirius. She didn’t wave or call out a goodbye. Instead, Isabel clutched a hand to her empty chest and hoped that somehow, one day, she’d find a way to fill it again.

• • •

It took Sirius a moment to realize the banging he heard was not in his head, but rather a visitor at the door.

Lurching to his feet, he padded to it, grumbling with every step. He’d rented a room at the Grosvenor Hotel, assured it would provide him with the privacy he desired for such a trip to town. And yet somehow there was a visitor, pounding so loudly it would surely wake the dead.

Flipping the lock, Sirius threw open the door. “Who the hell do you—”

“Well, hello to you, too, Dawson.”

The Duke of Whitfield looked him up and down over his spectacles, before pushing past him into the room. Sirius watched his old friend prowl about, picking up the empty bottle of gin Sirius had finished after he’d returned from the docks. After he’d missed Isa—

“Gin? Lord help us,” Whitfield groused, shaking his head in disgust.

“He’s upset you didn’t let us know you arrived in town.”

Sirius whipped his head about, his gaze landing on Gideon Fox lingering on the threshold. His gaze moved over Sirius’s face, but whatever he saw there didn’t change his own expression. Fox was adept at keeping his thoughts concealed.

“I left quite abruptly.” Sirius stepped to the side to allow Fox to enter, and then shut the door. Leaning against the wood, he shrugged. “My only concern was getting here before she departed, but I couldn’t even do that.”

The ship had sailed away, taking Isabel with it, and the only thing Sirius could do was watch helplessly from the docks.

“You could have sent a telegram,” Whitfield snapped. “Given Fox time to delay matters.”

Fox frowned. “I don’t know that I would have been able to. Isabel was one of the last passengers to board as it was.”

Sirius recoiled hearing her name spoken aloud for the first time.

“How did you know about…” He trailed off, unable to say the words. In his current state, filled with cheap gin and bone-crushing despair, Sirius wasn’t certain he wouldn’t sob.

“Gabby told Ana.” Fox shrugged, picking up the copy of Sor Juana’s writings that Sirius had brought with him from the abbey. He studied the cover for a moment before glancing up at Sirius, a sympathetic tilt to his mouth. “She thinks you’re in love with Isabel.”

“I am,” he said candidly. Thumping his head back on the door, Sirius contemplated how much he wanted to tell them. “But I couldn’t ask her to stay. Not when she was so determined, so eager to leave. Now she’s gone, and there’s nothing left for me to do.”

There. He’d confessed the gist of it, and now perhaps Whitfield and Fox would leave him to nurse his battered heart and fractured pride in peace.

“Nothing left for you to do? Are you mad?”

Heat swept up his neck and cheeks, and Sirius glared at the duke. “What the fuck do you want from me, Sebastian? Isabel wanted a life in Mexico. She longed to prove herself, and I wouldn’t dream of stopping her.” Sighing in exhausted frustration, Sirius pushed off the door and plopped into a nearby armchair, burying his head in his hands. “I just wish I hadn’t taken so long…to truly see her. I wasted so much time.”

The duke scowled. “Did you ask her to stay?”

“Why would she ever want to stay here, with me?” Sirius demanded.

“Maybe you should have given her an opportunity to decide for herself.” Whitfield threw his arms wide. “You could have confessed your love for her and expressed how you wanted to build a life with her.” The duke’s eyebrows drew low. “You did tell her you loved her, right?”

Sirius shook his head, not daring to look up. He was more comfortable staring at his bare feet than at his fiery friend. “My love wouldn’t have been enough. It never has been.”

Not for anyone in his life. All he deserved was the casual—