Ana María and the Fox (The Luna Sisters, #1)

by Liana De la Rosa

A warmth traveled over his skin as he took her in.

Gideon found her more arresting than her prettier sister.

“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.”

“If you define everyone as the British and those who directly benefit from their exploits, and stability as wealth and power, well, then I think you might be correct.”

her scrutiny felt important, and he stood a bit taller.

although she was determined to start anew in London, the familiar reminder of home fortified her resolve.

Ana María had seen him approach, his expression placid but his obsidian eyes fervent as they considered her and her new group of friends.

His dress attire had been austere, with no embellishments aside from a crisp white cravat tie, but she supposed such things would have been overshadowed by the harsh beauty of his face.

He had appeared interested in their conversation but...

His disinterest had stung.

And why she should care about this man’s lack of attentiveness, Ana María knew not.

And guilt had long been a tool her father had used against her.

“Remember to refrain from speaking Spanish.”

“And yet no one seems to mind when French is spoken. I heard plenty of people speak French last night,” Gabby pointed out, her black brows rising. “And German, too,” Isabel added.

“Well I’m Mexican and will speak Spanish when I feel like it,” Gabby pushed, turning in her seat next to the viscountess to face her directly.

Her sister pressed her lips together for a pregnant moment, holding Ana María’s stare. There was so much anger festering in her sister’s hazel eyes. So much bitterness. And although playing peacekeeper exhausted her, Ana María refused to allow Gabby to treat her as the enemy.

“But,” Gabby continued, “while we’ve agreed to dance to this merry tune of Tío Arturo’s, I refuse to contort myself into an English rose simply to curry favor.” Ana María scowled. “No one’s asking us to be anything other than what we are.” “Are you certain of that?” Isabel murmured from her side, her mouth a firm slash.

“Teach her some Spanish,” Isabel called, taking off in the direction Dove was last seen and not hearing their sister’s annoyed growl.

Her slippers were more suited for drawing room visits than mad dashes after wayward dogs.

Her reserved sister, who was the living embodiment of the Luna family’s Purépecha roots, had long been subjected to lingering glances and whispered sneers. And her beauty was always compared to Gabby’s, and to a lesser extent Ana María’s own.

A familiar face loomed over her. With his onyx eyes and striking face, this man had inconveniently plagued her thoughts since the night before.

The gentleman continued to hold Ana María’s arm, his warm palm turning her thoughts to sludge.

“I’m well, thank you. The only thing injured is my pride.”

If she’d thought him handsome under the dim glow of gas lamps, it was nothing compared to how the sun kissed his bronze skin and made it glow. His dark beauty was hypnotizing, and her tongue felt glued to the roof of her mouth.

Ana María found it hard to believe the stoic man she glimpsed at the Montrose ball would showcase a playful side. It teased a grin onto her lips.

“But what could be more important than ensuring one’s own children were safe?” “You assume, Mr. Fox,” Isabel interjected, “that we are more important than their other interests.”

“So allow me to say that I’m glad you escaped a grave situation, and are here now, chasing mischievous canines through Hyde Park and brightening my monotonous day.”

The tips of his ears turned pink when she reached out and grasped his arm, her delight at his playfulness making her forget herself.

“I thought you were quite gracious, especially since she was not particularly gracious to you.”

“And who said you didn’t?” Mr. Fox moved a half step closer. “I was impressed.”

“Of course I’ll support your proposal . . . just as long as you don’t expect me to flatter any of those idiots in Lords.”

“Oh, don’t mind me. I am in a mood,” Whitfield replied with a wave of his hand. “You’re always in a mood.”

A small smile tugged at his lips as he remembered how she had tumbled over the hedgerows and landed in a graceless heap on the ground. Gideon had initially been worried she had injured herself, but her pink-tinged cheeks and self-deprecating words made it clear the only thing maimed had been her self-possession.

for transgressions were always magnified when committed by a woman.

From the fledgling beginnings of his career, he’d quickly learned to pay attention to the opinions of those who made society go around. And their distaste made his skin turn cold.

It suddenly occurred to him that perhaps Miss Luna was unaware of how her new friends were taking advantage of her . . .

Where was Lady Yardley to keep such fortune hunters away from her? How had she not considered the possibility that villains might exploit her naivety?

He’d engaged in only one conversation with Miss Luna, had yet to dance with her, and still he could not deny that he had an intense desire to protect her from rogues who would disgrace her.

“No one has tried to converse with us in our home language, and mi corazón hurts to hear it.”

“You are aware that Miss Luna is not from Spain, yes?” he ventured. “You’re not?” he said, jerking his chin back. She hiccuped a laugh. “I’m from Mexico, my lord.” “But that’s the same thing, isn’t it?” Gideon had no notion of what to say as he watched the light in Miss Luna’s eyes snuff out like a candle. How could this fool believe Mexico was the same as Spain?

“Mexico was called New Spain—by the Spanish—for a long time.” Miss Luna’s tone was polite but crisp, even as her words slurred a bit. “But Mexicans won their independence more than forty years ago, and we have been an autonomous country ever since.”

“World affairs are indeed interesting.” Gideon took a step back. “You should try reading the other sections of the newspaper, my lord. There are many fascinating international topics outside of the gossip pages.”

Her laugh was sharp, like the harsh toll of a bell. “You assume I’ve had friends, Señor Fox.”

“Of course there’s been talk. A woman’s reputation is a tenuous thing. She could live her entire life virtuously, be held up as an example to follow, and one wrong step will see her tumble from grace.” She raised her head to scan the crowd. “And of course a foreign woman, one whose accent declares to every ear that she is an outsider, will be afforded less leniency.”

“Men of his caliber exist in Mexico, too.”

A small, sad smile curved her lips. “My father’s people are Mexico. Like the maguey or águila or even the great mountain Popocatépetl. Long before the Spanish burned and pillaged their villages, and imposed Catholicism upon them, the Purépecha have lived and prospered in Mexico, and yet they are treated with derision.”

Her fierce pride. Her resiliency. Her poise and grace.

Her eyes found his, and Gideon was unprepared for the firestorm brewing in them.

“Instruct us? Do you suppose my sisters and I do not know proper manners? That because we were not educated in England we could not possibly know how to behave in a social setting?”

“Nevertheless, I won’t apologize for showcasing emotions other than quiet cheerfulness and docility.”