Isabel knew—sheknew—the woman’s identity.Hortense.
“She led me through a maze of tunnels until we reached a small gate. Two horses were waiting. We headed north to Bilbao.”
“That’s a long journey.”
“Traveling mostly by night, it took us several days to reach the port. She deposited me on the dock and wished me safe travels. A man took charge from there.”
The breath hitched in Isabel’s chest. “A man? What sort of man?”
“An Englishman.”
“Tall and lean? Dark hair that flops around?”
A humorous light entered Papa’s eyes. “Sí.”
“Wolfish?” She wouldn’t saydevastating.
“The man mentioned you.”
Isabel’s heart sprang into a full gallop. “Oh?”
“He knew you.”
“Did he bring you here?”
“Sí.” Papa reached into his breast pocket. His hand emerged holding a . . .rose. “This is for you.”
“How did you—” Isabel started, unable to complete a thought, much less a sentence. This rose had quite stolen the ability away. “Who—?”
“It is my understanding you knowwho.”
“Oh, um,” she began, taking the pale pink rose with fingers that had gone trembly. She had risen to a stand without realizing it. “Nell!” she called.
The next instant, the girl clanked around the corner, bearing tea service. “Miss, I was just—”
“No matter,” Isabel said, impatient. “Please take my father to Eva. I must . . .” she trailed over her shoulder, her feet already on the run.
Through the front door, she flew, her blood singing through her veins with the certainty thathewas waiting on the other side. But . . .
Oh. Nohim.
Not that there was a shortage of men as she scanned the lane. Men bustling about their business, coming and going, some tall and dark, even handsome, but none of them,him.
Isabel slumped her shoulder against a conveyance that could only be Lady St. Alban’s carriage, viscountly crest emblazoned on the side, and her heart sank. Percy had journeyed all the way to Spain to free her father and hurry him to London—and the roses . . . oh, the roses . . .—only to leave without saying good-bye?
Tilly was correct. She truly knew naught all about men.
A dark head bobbed above the back of the team of four’s lead horse for an instant before ducking back down. Isabel’s heart lurched. If only she could see the man’s face . . . “Percy?” she squeaked.
A face popped up.
Isabel blinked.
Before she gave her heart leave to soar in her chest, she needed to be certain her mind wasn’t playing tricks on her.
She blinked again.
It was him, unshaven and unkempt as if he’d taken not a lick of rest in all the weeks since she’d last seen him. Buthim, devastating as ever.
