The Soldier's Rebel Lover

Consuela, to her surprise, giggled. ‘Mr Urquhart looks at you as if he would like to have you for his dinner. I think that it would be very nice, to be Mr Urquhart’s dinner, to be devoured by him.’

‘What on earth can you mean by that?’

Her sister-in-law gave her a coy look. ‘You must trust me on that, and you must wait to find out for yourself when you are married. You are going to marry Gabriel, aren’t you?’

‘Everyone seems to expect it, but my feelings for him are tepid at best, since we are being frank.’

Consuela rolled her eyes. ‘I forget you have no mother to guide you. I will tell you, then, what my mother told me. Love blossoms after marriage, not before. It is perfectly natural, when you think about it. Until a woman truly knows her husband, as his wife, she can have no reason to love him any more than she loves any other suitor.’

‘Do you love Xavier?’

Consuela looked surprised. ‘But of course. He is my husband. It happened just as my mother predicted. She is never wrong. It will happen to you, too, when you marry Gabriel.’

Love was not a subject to which Isabella had given much consideration, and it was not one that much interested her, either. Consuela’s persistence, though, made one thing clear that had not occurred to Isabella before. ‘It would suit you for me to be married off and gone from Hermoso Romero, wouldn’t it? I am sorry. I have endeavoured not to interfere in the running of your household since you arrived as Xavier’s bride two years ago. I have been at pains to give you your place, but you must appreciate that I have been de facto mistress of Hermoso Romero for many years.’

‘I do understand that, and I assure you, it is not a big problem for me. I don’t dislike you. I don’t see you as a threat, Isabella, though I know you think I do. Xavier thinks that because you are his sister and I am his wife, that you should also be my sister. But you’re not,’ Consuela said simply. ‘The truth is I would love my real sister to come here to live, but while you are here Xavier will not countenance it. So for that reason, you understand, your presence is—inconvenient.’

‘Oh.’ Isabella felt like a fool. She also felt—rejected. ‘I had no idea.’

‘You have never asked. I am very relieved that you have broached the subject now.’

Mortified, she remembered that Finlay had hinted she do so. What a fool she had been. ‘Yes. I see.’ Isabella smiled weakly. ‘I am sorry.’

‘It is easily remedied. Gabriel Torres is waiting only for a sign from you and he will propose. I am glad we have cleared the air. And now here is Mr Urquhart at last.’ Consuela rose from the table. ‘I have had a letter from my husband. Isabella will explain. You must excuse me. I promised to take my son for a drive in the carriage today.’

The door closed on a swish of silken skirts. ‘My sister-in-law has just informed me that I am to marry Gabriel in order to allow her sister to come and live here in my place,’ Isabella said dully. ‘But you knew that, didn’t you?’

‘I did, yes. I’m sorry.’

‘There is no need. At least now I understand my position.’

‘It’s a damned unfair one. This has been your home much longer that it’s been hers.’

Her own thoughts exactly. Hearing them expressed aloud made Isabella feel marginally better. Finlay had poured himself a cup of coffee, though he had not sat down. He had a tiny nick on his chin, a cut from shaving. There was a rebellious kink of hair standing up like a question mark at his hairline. It was oddly endearing. He was wearing buckskin breeches and top boots. She wondered if his legs had lost their tan. Looking up, she caught his eye. ‘Do you miss wearing your kilt?’ she asked.

‘In London, it caused more bother than it was worth. Ladies either found it indecent or intriguing. A fair few found it to be both. I was never quite sure whether it was indecently intriguing or intriguingly indecent! Do you miss wearing your breeches?’

‘Yes, I do.’ Isabella smiled faintly. ‘In Spain, we pretend that ladies do not have legs, you know.’

Finlay laughed. ‘It is no different for ladies in England.’

‘You seem to know a lot about English ladies and fashion, unless you were inventing it for Consuela’s benefit.’

‘I’ve been to my fair share of balls and formal dinners.’

‘Do you know the steps to this new dance, the waltz? Xavier thinks it is too shocking to be danced in polite society.’

‘I reckon I could teach you. Do you want to be shocked, Isabella?’

She began to rearrange the untouched bread on her plate again. ‘Your turning up here is quite shocking enough. Since you left the army, though, you will have had little time for balls and parties, I would imagine, while building your business. All work and no play, as the saying goes.’

Silence fell. Finlay poured another cup of coffee, but still did not sit down. He was waiting for her to speak. A knot formed in her stomach. ‘I have something...’ Isabella cleared her throat. ‘We need to talk,’ she said.

‘I agree, we do.’