Page 9 of Isabel and the Rogue

Huffing, Lady Needham asked, “What could you possibly be doing that will be more enjoyable than spending the night with me?”

Sirius intended to spend the evening reviewing the ledgers from Dancourt Abbey and sending letters to his steward and some of the men who now made the abbey their home. He’d also managed to secure the translated version of Dostoevsky’s latest novel, something Sirius had been patiently waiting on because his Russian was atrocious. Nothing sounded better than relaxing in his study with a dram and a good book.

But Sirius had no intention of sharing this with Lady Needham.

Instead, he shrugged, smothering a snort when he noticed how the baroness’s eyes danced along the breadth of his shoulders. “I will be enjoying dinner with friends.”

A familiar face appeared in the crowd, and Sirius snapped to attention. There was Westhope, exactly the man he had hoped to see.

Inclining his head, he flashed Lady Needham a bright smile. “If you will excuse me, my lady, I see a friend I’d like to greet.”

The baroness glanced in the direction he had been looking, her hand coming up to shield her eyes from the sun. “Do you mean Lord Westhope? I’ll greet him with you.”

Irritation flashed hot in his veins, and Sirius nodded tightly. Extending his hand for Lady Needham to precede him, Sirius fell into step behind her, doing his best not to scowl.

That was until he heard a muted shriek. Sirius had no notion how he even heard it above the din, but he turned his head in time to see that the swell of the crowd had inadvertently jostled loose the tethers that secured one of the balloons. Now the basket rocked to and fro, the dark-haired young woman inside it grasping the wicker lip like a lifeline. In the pause of one heartbeat, her terror-filled eyes met his, and Sirius’s heart spasmed when he realized it was Isabel.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Sirius sprinted to her, his gaze not releasing its hold on hers. The basket now floated several feet above the ground, and Isabel’s normally tawny complexion was pale.

“Miss Luna,” Sirius called as he pushed and shoved his way through the crush surrounding the basket. When his hands curled around the basket lip, he hoisted himself inside, immediately reaching to grab Isabel’s arm. “Allow me to help you out.”

Isabel’s small gasp met his ears. “I think it may be too late.”

Pulling his gaze from her face, Sirius looked around and noticed that the balloon was now almost ten feet above the ground, the collective gazes of the crowd staring up at him as he stared down at them. He noted the gentleman Isabel had been speaking with earlier, no doubt the balloon engineer, was frantically trying to restake the tethers holding the balloon to the ground, several men rushing to assist him. Sirius’s stomach gave an uncomfortable swoop as the basket rose several more feet before it jerked to a stop, the ropes groaning with the tension. Peering down again, he spied the engineer waving his hat, before cupping a hand around his mouth.

“Hang tight. We’ll have you down in a few minutes,” he called.

Sirius lifted his arm in acknowledgment and slowly pivoted to face Isabel.

Her eyes were clenched closed. Her hands were curled about a canopy rope, and if she were not wearing gloves, Sirius was certain her knuckles would be white. The only time he had ever seen Isabel this terrified was when her sister, Ana María, had been abducted. His heart lurched out of rhythm at the sight.

“I can’t say I’m surprised you would jump at the chance to soar in a balloon above London,” he said, the tension in his chest easing when Isabel’s lips twitched around a smile.

“I assure you that a flight above the city was not my intention.” Her throat worked on a swallow. “I-I’m actually afraid of heights.”

“Are you truly?” At her nod, Sirius took a small step toward her. “I find that quite surprising. You don’t strike me as a woman who’s afraid of anything.”

Her soulful dark eyes blinked open then, and in their depths he glimpsed a perplexing bit of vulnerability. That couldn’t be right, and Sirius lifted his hand to reach for her, to reassure her…until he remembered himself. His arm dropped to his side with a thud.

“That may be the most flattering compliment I have ever received.” Isabel stared at him for a long moment and then her gaze slid away. “Sadly, I find myself afraid of all sorts of things.”

Sirius worked his jaw on a pause, unsure of what to say but mindful that his response could either ensure their quarrelsome interactions continued, or perhaps forge a new path toward friendship. And with their connections, friendship seemed an appealing alternative.

Resting his hand near hers on the basket, Sirius maneuvered his body until he prevented Isabel from glancing down to see the crowd below. Being this close to her, he caught a faint whiff of vanilla. Her soap or lotion, perhaps. It suited her.

Isabel looked up at him then, a pucker forming between her brows. Was she wondering why he stood so near to her? Before she questioned his motives, Sirius spoke, still unsure of exactly what he was going to say.

“There’s nothing wrong with being frightened of things. The world is a frightening place.” Sirius snagged her gaze. “It’s what we do with that fear that matters. Do we let it control us? Or do we acknowledge it and move forward anyway?”

The corner of her pink lips quirked. “Is this what you told your men on the battlefield?”

Sirius chuckled, mortified to feel heat spread across his face. “I wish I had been wise enough to think of it then, but alas, such insight was lost to me.”

Isabel ducked her head, but not before he spied a flashing glimpse of a smile.

“I read an entertaining little book about aeronautical balloons called The Balloon Travels of Robert Merry, and it reignited my curiosity. There was an exhibit in Mexico City several years ago that I had been excited to attend.” Isabel shrugged, but the movement was anything but blithe. “However, my father forbade me to go.”

“Forbade you?” He blinked. “But why?”