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

by Liana De la Rosa

“Even at her sickest, she wanted to read a book.” Snorting, Gabby shook her head. “I’ll never understand it.” “They’re her escape.” As the studious, bluestocking sister, Isabel had shown herself to be happy only when surrounded by the written word. She had insisted on bringing a satchel full of books with her on the voyage, something that had initially annoyed Ana María, for their quarters were tight. Yet Isabel’s collection had come to entertain them those long days at sea. 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 you must be Ana María,” he murmured as he turned to her, his warm hands enfolding hers. “Your sister Gabriela is the spitting image of your mother as a girl, but you have her spirit. Puedo ver a mi hermana en tus ojos.” Ana María thought she may have smiled, but she couldn’t be sure. All the air had been siphoned from her lungs, leaving a yawning emptiness inside of her. She adored her mother, but was she truly like her? Always acquiescing? Always striving to make others happy at the expense of her own happiness? Always enduring heartbr— “Let us leave this foul place,” Tío Arturo said, sweeping his hand toward the door of the conveyance.

“Parisians are very stylish.” Miss Luna’s expression was open and amiable. “The dressmaker who created this lovely gown lived in Paris for many years. Her late husband was a diplomat, and when he died, he left her a sizable portion, which she used to open her own dress shop in Mexico City.” “She went into service?” Lady Emily sputtered, pressing a hand to her chest. Miss Luna’s brows knit together. “I’ve never considered what Señora García did a service, but I suppose you could say it was.” “What did you consider it, then?” Avery asked. “Artistry.” Running her black-lace gloves along the intricate stitching that graced the front panel of her gown, Miss Luna smiled. “Some artists coax beautiful notes from piano keys and violin strings, while others combine oils and canvas and produce vivid scenes that rob us of breath. Señora García takes fabric and thread, and creates masterpieces that are worn for the whole world to see.”

“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.”

“Are you looking for Montrose?” Whitfield continued. Like the headstrong mule he was, he refused to give up his line of questioning. “He’s not here, but then you knew that. Anderson mentioned it this morning.” “Did he?” Taking a sip, he leveled a look at the duke. “Not much Anderson says is worth remembering.” Whitfield rocked back on his feet, his blue eyes blinking rapidly. “Did you just make a joke? I feel laughter bubbling up my throat, but surely I’m mistaken.” “You are. It’s probably indigestion.” “Christ, man, you cannot do this to me.” The duke wiped a hand across his mouth. “If you have developed a sense of humor, whatever do I have to live for? Needling you to smile was my purpose in this wretched life.”

Avery looked down his nose at her. “You know what Shakespeare said about curiosity, don’t you, Miss Luna?” Ana María opened her mouth to say she was familiar with the quote from Much Ado About Nothing that he referred to, but Fox’s rich tenor interrupted. “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.

“Dios mío, Isa, get off your high horse,” Gabby grumbled into the silence. “For all his solemnity, Señor Fox has been very amiable. He’s paid me more regard than Señor Ramírez ever did. Plus, he’s infinitely more handsome. His cheekbones make me want to cry, and those lips . . .” She pressed her palm to her chest, and reclined as if she were swooning. “Do you think Señor Fox’s lips are as soft as they look? Like two feather-down pillows. I bet he’d whisper dirty words in your ear before he’d nibble across your jaw to claim—” “Gabby!” Ana María and Isabel exclaimed in unison. “¿Qué?” Gabby snorted. “Las dos son tan puritanas.” “I’m not prudish,” Ana María and Isabel cried, again in unison, each glaring at the other for their continued agreement.

“You have studiously kept your gaze from traveling to the other side of the room.” “Have I? I hadn’t noticed.” “Interesting. So you didn’t know that two-thirds of the Luna sisters are sitting like lovely roses in the sun in front of Lady Carole’s front window?” Gideon dropped his gaze from Whitfield’s and stared instead at the liquid in his glass. “Are they really?” “Indeed.” The duke drummed his fingers on his forearm. “Miss Isabel is wearing blue, which I must say looks striking against her dark skin.” “Miss Isabel is quite striking all on her own,” Gideon murmured. “And Miss Luna could probably wear any color, although I do prefer this primrose color she’s wearing now.” “She’s not wearing primrose.” Gideon realized his mistake when Whitfield’s lip curved up. Damn it. “What color is she wearing then, Fox?” The duke’s voice was low so only Gideon could hear him. “Seeing as how you seemed ignorant of her attendance, I’m curious how you’re knowledgeable of her attire.”

Pressing her lips together, Ana María paused a moment. “Very well, let us hope you have no reason to interact with him in the future.” Isabel made the sign of the cross, her countenance devoutly pious. “So let it be done.” “I thought it was His will be done.” “Yes, well, the book of Mark says we should also ask for what we want, so I am making it clear what exactly it is that I desire.”

Ana María suspected Mr. Fox had been on his own so long that he’d grown used to the utilitarian, and such details were beneath his notice. Ana María ached to give him a reason to notice beautiful things again.

“You believe me austere?” he asked. Ana María nodded, still not meeting his gaze. “I believe you can be. Not all the time, of course, but the more I come to know you, the more I think it just a part of your character.” “Interesting,” Gideon murmured, angling his head to stare out the carriage window. He sensed rather than saw her look up at him. “I hope I have not offended you.” “Of course not.” Against his better judgment, Gideon patted her knotted hands, his skin feeling hot and flushed. “It is just unfathomable to me that I’ve managed to hide how much you affect me.”

“Isabel doesn’t need this.” Gabby crossed the room and ripped the white tube from Isabel’s hand. “Why would she want to be a pale version of herself when she was born to stand out? When her skin has been touched by the sun?”

Ana María stiffened, her eyes flying to her sister. “Has the earl been untoward with you?” “No.” Isabel’s lip curled. “But I’ve overheard a few of the other women mention that he has been overly familiar.” “He’s a boor,” Gabby exclaimed as she sailed into the room. “If we didn’t need to be here, I would demand we return to London.” She waggled her brows as she plopped into an armchair across from them. “Preferably after I jabbed him in his a—” “Gabriela, really,” Lady Yardley hissed as she entered, a maid following close behind. After directing the maid to set the tea tray on the table in front of her, she turned a hard stare on Gabby. “I know you are capable of controlling yourself, so why must you court trouble?” Her youngest sister scowled. “How am I causing trouble? Only my sisters were in attendance, and this was a private conversation. Perhaps it is you who should apologize for interrupting a private moment.”

“Gabriela, I swear it will be a miracle if you do not find me with my hands around your throat at some point or another,” Lady Yardley growled. “Your ladyship,” Ana María gasped, before slowly allowing her lips to twist into a harlequin grin, “at least allow me to hold her down for you.” Rolling her eyes, Gabby snagged another biscuit from the tray and pointedly turned away from them to stare out the window.

“Am I to assume that your home in Mexico features hills grander than these?” Mr. Fox swept his hand at the surrounding countryside, and Ana María noticed he’d yet to put back on his gloves. She stared, transfixed, at the sprinkling of dark hair that peeked out from under his shirtsleeve, and she perversely wondered if it was as soft as it— “Miss Luna?” Ana María flinched, darting her gaze up to meet his. Mr. Fox stared at her for a pregnant moment, and slowly arched his brow. Her face went up in flames, and she was certain it now matched the vivid color of her habit. Pacing a few steps away to give herself a moment to regain her composure, she aimed for breezy when she murmured, “My apologies. I was just distracted by—” Her thoughts tumbled about in her suddenly empty head. How had a bit of forearm scrambled her mind so thoroughly? “Distracted by . . . ?” he encouraged, his lips stretching into a smirk. A smug smirk, damn it. Her spine went ramrod straight. “I was distracted by my inspection of the landscape and comparing it to my home. But Mexico City is surrounded by mountains, so these hills do not quite measure up.”

He stared down at her now, his bottomless onyx eyes trailing over her face as if her features were a map to some long-sought destination. And when his gaze landed on her mouth, her lips fell open as her tongue darted out to wet them. “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.” His mouth hitched up at the corner for a second before he mashed his lips together in a determined slash. With slow movements, he brought his hands—his deliciously bare hands—up to cradle her face, his thumbs sweeping across her cheekbones in reverent strokes, before he slowly, ever so slowly, brought his mouth down to meet hers.

Stroking his knuckles down her cheek, he kissed her temple, inhaling deeply of her scent. “You are an amazing woman, Miss Luna, and you deserve the world. And that’s the crux.” “It is?” she whispered. He hummed. “Because I’m not free to give it to you.”