Page 13 of The Dreamer and the Deep Space Warrior (Xaal Alien Romance #1)

Isobel

Isobel yawned and only remembered to cover her mouth when the Viscountess Langley gave her a stern look from where she sat at a table with other mamas.

Henry had dragged her and Clara out of Nott Manor for the occasion.

“I need you to be there for Clara,” he’d said.

And if there was one thing to make her set aside her troubles, it was her love for her niece.

Though, Isobel couldn’t for the life of her remember what the occasion was.

The young gentlemen were having an intensely polite game of lawn bowls.

That was to say, Isobel could tell their sporting nature was being tested, but since they were there for the sole reason of impressing the eligible young ladies and their mamas, they mostly stood around and stole glances at the shaded tables.

The daughter of the viscountess, Miss Victoria Browning, was currently regaling their table with how the Prince of Merce had been impressed with her recitation of some poem.

Which she launched into immediately .

Clara listened patiently, a small smile affixed to her face. Tucked beneath the shade of a canopy, their table was full of eligible debutante women in bright day dresses. Isobel was one of the few exceptions.

Letting what should be lyrical prose but which sounded rhythmless in Victoria’s nasally tone fade away, Isobel’s mind wandered.

Last night, after Ved escorted her back home, she’d been restless. Unable to sleep, she’d traced the path Ved’s thumb had taken over her lips more times than she could count. Even now, her fingers itched to do the same.

She couldn’t stop thinking about it. Their late night promenade together, it had been reckless. Improper. Completely irresponsible.

And lovely.

Something had come alive within her. Rising from a depthless slumber. It was something she’d only read about.

Desire.

She had to search for the word like it was a trinket long forgotten. It had never existed within her. Or perhaps it had always been there and was just waiting for the star sailor to call its name.

Even more curious, she’d felt it from him—that same heated craving. It’d been in the way his leather-covered fingertips danced up her arm, how his touch burned across her lips. He’d been talking about how Xaal earned their armor, but his hands were saying something else entirely.

She’d never experienced anything quite so exhilarating.

And dangerous. Giving in to any of it, even something as innocent as secret meetings, would be her downfall.

And not just hers but the entire Nott family’s.

Their name would become a topic of whispered rumors.

Invitations to events would halt, and people would go out of their way to avoid them as if they were lepers .

Though that didn’t necessarily seem like such a bad thing to Isobel, it would destroy Henry.

Some rules she could easily flex or bend—like walking alone to the bookstore or not attending every social event. But some were more like short chains trapping her in place, and others the puppet strings that kept her playing her role.

A weight she knew well sank and settled in her stomach. That constricting feeling of never being free to choose.

But there was another reason she should put an end to seeing Ved.

Something beyond a damaged reputation—the ache of disappointment she’d feel when he returned to the stars and she was left behind.

The Nott family would eventually recover from ruin, but she was quite certain she’d never recover from that.

And the more she discovered through Ved, the more it would hurt.

It would be like living inside her favorite novels for weeks only to be thrust back into reality. She’d be left to marry Lord Richard. To act as if she didn’t know an entire universe was alive out there. More than a damaged reputation or being snubbed by society—this would be her ruin.

“Don’t you agree, Miss Nott?”

She slammed back into the present moment with a flinch. The entire table was looking at her expectantly as Clara elbowed her surreptitiously. “Yes?”

A flicker of annoyance crossed Miss Browning’s face, but her smile didn’t falter. “I was saying I prefer a spring ceremony because of how it feels like new beginnings. It’s advantageous for the larger selection of flowers to choose from. I presume that is why you chose to be married then as well?”

“I didn’t choose.”

The ladies looked at her with mildly horrified expressions .

Blazes. “That is to say, Lord Richard made his desire for a spring ceremony known, and I agreed,” she lied. “The flowers are lovely then.”

Their expressions went from appalled to skeptical.

“And the weather, of course. It isn’t too hot or too cold.” It was all lies. If anyone had bothered to consider what she wanted, she would have chosen an autumn wedding.

That seemed to appease the group. “Precisely.” Miss Browning beamed. “That’s why spring is perfect for weddings.” She lifted her chin as if she’d accomplished some spectacular feat, getting Isobel to agree with her.

Isobel glanced at Clara, who gave her a knowing smile.

It took all her energy to try and remain present for the rest of the day.

The purpose of the event, she discovered, was for the viscountess and her daughter to show off their topiary gardens—full of bushes trimmed in swirls and spheres, the Queen’s guards, bears standing on their hind legs, and other such novelties.

At another time, she’d have found the display enjoyable.

However, it was unseasonably warm for early spring and the heat made her skin prickly.

It didn’t help matters that she was forced to act as a human shield to keep an overly interested Mr. Wells from sneezing all over Clara.

The poor man was either suffering from such a fit or wiping at his watery eyes and snotty nose whilst attempting to woo her niece. Unsuccessfully.

Then, as if that was not reason enough to wish for a lifetime of seclusion, she’d been forced to ride in a carriage with Lord Richard who droned on about his summers in Candalot.

It was all rather miserable.

And when at last she could be alone, curled up beneath the covers in her bed, sleep evaded her once again.

She was still in the throes of indecision. Could she keep herself from seeking Ved out again to save herself further disappointment? The next couple weeks would be torture, knowing he was out there fixing his ship and that she shouldn’t see him.

But her biggest fear was falling into another “malady of the mind,” as the physician called it.

She’d experienced it several times in her youth, each bout worse than the last. It was a heaviness that left her apathetic and lethargic, an all-consuming melancholy.

It was a dark, endless pit that even all the books by SV in the world couldn’t pull her from.

Such periods had worried her father immensely, especially when the physician mentioned putting her in an institution during one such episode.

Her father had adamantly refused. But something told her that Lord Richard wouldn’t hesitate to do so.

By the next morning, she felt so wretched and exhausted that she didn’t realize she’d mindlessly gone down the stairs to the first floor. Her brother’s voice finally broke through her foggy mind.

“Ah,” Henry said, “there’s my favorite sister.”

The hall came back into focus. “Good morning,” she said, even her voice sounding far away.

Lord Richard appeared in the hallway next. “It is a good morning,” he drawled with a snobbish flair.

She huffed out a breath. Why must he be so … himself ?

Softening her expression, lest her true feelings showed on her face, she offered an agreeable dip of her chin. But her gaze caught on their attire. Dark green fitted tailcoats and course beige trousers.

They were dressed to hunt.

They’d be in the woods and the far fields on the property. With dogs and at least a dozen men.

“You’re hunting? Today? ”

“It is hunting season, after all,” Henry said. “The deer will be out in numbers.”

“You can’t,” she said with enough shrillness that the pair looked at her quizzically.

Shit.

Her brother’s brow creased—he looked so like their father in that moment that it was uncanny. But it was Lord Richard who questioned, “And why not?”

Isobel wet her lips, trying to search for any logical reason. “I thought I heard it was to rain today.”

Henry’s expression relaxed, his lazy smile returning. “Not a single cloud in the sky. You are well enough to chaperone Clara? You agreed last week to sit with her while she visited with her suitors.”

Isobel vaguely remembered. It felt like a lifetime ago. Most likely, he had asked her when she was dashing out the front door, her focus fully on getting to the bookstore rather than setting plans for the next week.

“Of course,” she breathed. “How many are we expecting?” She would need to warn Ved as soon as she could, but she couldn’t leave Clara alone with her callers.

“Three this morning. Then her friend, Miss Shanning, is visiting. Cook and Margaret will ensure they have everything,” Henry said as he pulled on his gloves. “Wish us luck on our hunt.”

“Happy hunting,” she murmured, barely able to scrounge up enough cheeriness to avoid an interrogation from her brother.

She wouldn’t be able to tell Ved for several hours. If they found him, what would they do to him?

And more concerning, what would he do to them ?