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And though she would never admit it, Ana María had long resented the refuge books granted Isabel. As the eldest, Ana María had been held to completely different edicts than either of her sisters.
“And do not think that because you’re off on the other side of the Atlantic that you need not honor your engagement to Señor Ramírez.”
After twenty-four years as the eldest daughter of Señor Elías Luna Cuate, Ana María knew better than to expect love and affection to fall from his lips, even in farewell.
Sliding her gaze to first Isabel and then Gabby, she glimpsed in their eyes the same longing, the same hope that was sparking like a newly lit candle in her chest. This proposal their uncle was presenting might be their only chance to experience life on their own terms.
All pretenses of aloofness dissipated when an effervescent laugh had him turning his head, seeking out the source before he knew what he was about. Gideon’s skittering gaze landed on her with the force of a cannon blast. She was flanked by guests, like a sun in the center of the universe.
“Do you suppose anything outside of Europe is incapable of beauty and culture and art? That only British history, European history, is worth knowing? As if the greatness of the British Empire, the Spanish Empire . . . the Roman Empire . . . weren’t built on the backs of those they stole from. Those they pillaged from, all while they claimed to be civilizing the native people.”
The gentleman continued to hold Ana María’s arm, his warm palm turning her thoughts to sludge. “Are you well?” he asked softly.
“Fox, Gideon Fox,” he murmured, his deep voice like crushed velvet.
“Perhaps,” she conceded with a wry smile. “I simply sought to make a good impression.” “And who said you didn’t?” Mr. Fox moved a half step closer. “I was impressed.” Her breath faltered as she met his piercing dark eyes. “Th-thank you.” “Will you be attending the Ralston ball tonight?” Swallowing, she nodded. “I believe we are.” He digested this information for a moment. “Will you save your supper waltz for me?” “I’d be honored to,” she murmured, her voice hoarse. “I look forward to it.” His smile was brief but devastating, and she rocked back on her feet at the sight of it. “Until tonight,
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He’d grown used to the colors of the season, yet on Miss Luna, those shades were brighter and more vivid. She was so . . . so . . . alive, and Gideon could not look away.
“Isn’t it silly, though? That young women are to showcase only the most benign of emotions? If they are amused or delighted by something or someone, their smiles cannot be too broad? If they find something humorous, they best not laugh too loudly?”
“And my future husband is welcome to share his opinion when he’s locked his chain about my finger and his surname around my neck.”
“But we’re in this together.” Isabel’s throat bobbed for a moment, and then it was her turn to look away. “Only you two know what we left behind and why. Only you two know the secret we carry and the treasure we guard.”
“How ridiculous,” Gabby growled. “Smiling and laughing are somehow sins? Or are they only when a woman does them?”
And she would keep laughing, because, Dios mío, she had earned that right, and she would not allow anyone to tell her to stop.
“I’m interested in all manner of topics, contentious and otherwise. I assure you that a woman can be both gently bred and also of an inquisitive, hardy temperament.”
As she struggled to collect herself, a handkerchief was thrust into her free hand. It was a simple cotton square in a deep navy blue, but it was soft against her skin, and as she placed it to her mouth, Ana María noted its citrus and mint scent. A blend that had imprinted on her memory since she’d enjoyed her solo dance with him.
“Shakespeare also said that curiosity is a sign of intelligence and a lively mind, did he not? ‘I will keep where there is wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools.’ ” Her palms grew clammy as her mouth went dry, and Ana María could only stare at him. Never would she have thought a man quoting an obscure line from Troilus and Cressida would be so attractive. But Fox snagged her gaze then, and she would not have been able to look away if she tried.
“I think it’s good you’ve found yourself in the gossip pages.” “And why is that?” Stansberry raised a shoulder. “It shows you’re human.”
Heaven knew that he had to work twice as hard for an ounce of the success he’d earned, because for some of his colleagues, he would always be an overreaching Black man from the East End.
“Are you referring to Miss Gabriela?” he asked, swinging his head about to look at the duke. Whitfield raised a shoulder in a manner that may have been dismissive if not for the hard look in his blue eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I have never had an interest in winning the approval of shrews.” Gideon’s lip twitched. “I never would have pegged Miss Gabriela as a shrew. She has always been polite and engaging in her conversations with me.” “Yes, well,”—the duke spread his palms—“she has only ever been critical and caustic when we’ve conversed.” “It sounds as if she treats you as you treat others.”
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It was no secret that Gabriela was of a fiery disposition, but seeing her orate—no, perform—a poem, solely in Spanish, was like watching a thunderstorm in all its ferocity. Most of the audience appeared enraptured, if a bit confused, as they could not understand what she was saying. Gideon snuck a glance at Whitfield, who was staring at Gabriela intently. An improvement from the sardonic look he showcased throughout the earlier readings.
Hearing her voice after weeks of depriving himself was like taking in a full gulp of air; his lungs rejoiced at being filled, and his blood sang.
“I know your exile has been forced upon you, and your reception here in London has been tenuous at times, but I think you very brave, Miss Luna.”
He once told me that the teachings in the Bible were to nurture his heart, while it was his responsibility to find books to nurture his mind.”
Ana María ached to give him a reason to notice beautiful things again.
“I was simply marveling over your expressions.” “My expressions?” she repeated dumbly. He nodded, propping his chin on his fist, his gaze unwavering on her face. “You’re like a prism, displaying your thoughts and emotions in an array of colorful expressions. I’m sure I could watch you all day.”
She could never be his, but Gideon had to tell her of how much he wished she could be.
“Not everyone prizes light skin,” Gabby hissed, stomping her foot. “Isabel’s features, including her dark skin, are gifts from our people. Of those who lived and breathed and loved for hundreds of years since before the world knew it as Mexico, and were never defeated by the Tenochca Empire.” She flung a hand out at Isabel. “Her bronze skin was worn by warriors. By survivors. To bleach it away because of some grotesque beauty standard would be a cruel sin.”
What’s ridiculous is that people think if you somehow look like everyone else, you’ll be beautiful. But that’s boring.” She squeezed Isabel’s hand. “And you’re anything but boring, Isa.”
But when he saw her, she was all he could see. Her sisters who stood by her side, the guests who flanked them as they issued their greetings, were all part of the void. Faceless, unimportant figures blotted out by the sheer brightness of Ana María’s presence.
For if she was brave enough to confront him about his fickle nature, well, then he could be man enough to look her in the eyes while she did it.
As if you could ever be a simple acquaintance, his mind bellowed.
And being with Ana María—in any way he could, even as just her friend—had made his days brighter.
A laugh burst from her mouth, chasing some of the tension from her body. “I assure you that despite my quest for perfection, I am but a mortal.”
“Have you noticed that many myths, no matter which culture they originate from, focus on love or loss or revenge?” Gideon rested his chin on the crown of her head. “Why are humans so consumed with the three?” “Because they remind us we’re alive.”
“Señorita Luna”—her name was a growl—“I should very much like to kiss you.” Ana María took a step closer to him, daring to wrap her hands around the hem of his coat. “And I would very much like it if you did.”
“I’ve wanted to do this from the very first moment I saw you,” he breathed, breaking free to press his cheek to hers. He wrapped his arm around her waist and hauled her closer still. When he nuzzled his nose along her jaw, gooseflesh swept over her body. “You’ve made it impossible to stay away.”
“You deserve more than dalliances. You deserve a man who will recognize how clever you are. How you think deeply about things, and approach new ideas or viewpoints with empathy. How despite a childhood spent in competition with your sisters, you refuse to view them as antagonists, and seek their happiness instead.”
“Marry me instead.”
“Miss Luna, I would gain you. The chance to welcome every sunrise by your side and say good night to every sunset. Just spending my life with you, orbiting around your smile and laugh, would make me the richest of men.”
“Miss Luna, you are clever and brave and charming, and I know you will speak passionately and eloquently about these great evils I’ve been working against. We could form an admirable . . . partnership.”
“I’d be happy to marry you, Señor Fox.”
She was to be his wife, and Gideon’s heart lurched out of rhythm at the thought.
“It does not trouble you that Miss Luna was engaged to another man?” Gideon asked with a shake of his head. “Yes, but he’s not here, now is he? And engagements can be broken.” Lady Yardley scoffed. “I’ve been waiting for you to win her over.”
“Please call me Gideon.” He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, his hand lingering on her cheek. “I think you more than deserve to use that name.”
“Only if there are any stakes left after Gabriela Luna does her best to send me back to the underworld.”
I admire Señor Fox greatly. In fact, I’m certain”—her mouth trembled—“it would be very easy to fall in love with him.”
“Even if I hadn’t been forced to choose, Señor Fox would have been my choice.”
“I’ll endeavor to make you happy,” he whispered against her cheek.
