Or take her, over and over. Because now he was only too aware of her painfully familiar scent—violets and honey—and of the softness of her flesh beneath his fingers. Of the way her breath was quickening, as if she felt what he did—the echoes of their past reverberating around them.
“Mrs. Franke!” Lochlaw cried. “Are you coming?”
“Yes,” she said lightly. “Right away.”
Pushing free of Victor’s hold, she said in a low voice, “One more thing. Do as you want with Lady Lochlaw. But if you hurt Rupert in any way, you will have to answer to me.”
And with that peculiar statement hanging in the air, she left.
The hell Rupert was merely a “friend.” She was protective of the man; clearly, she had deep feelings for him.
Victor had to restrain himself to keep from following them. But there was no reason to rouse the baron’s suspicions; surely he could find out where she lived from someone in town. It was time to start doing what he’d been paid to do—investigating.
Now that she had as much as admitted her culpability in the theft, he meant to learn everything he could about what she’d done with the diamonds. There were a few hours before he must dress for the theater, and he would use them to study Mrs. Franke’s life in Edinburgh. The next time he saw his wife, he would be better armed for the encounter.
4
ISA SHOOK UNCONTROLLABLY on the first part of the ride to her cottage on the outskirts of Edinburgh, and not because of Rupert’s manic driving. Granted, he narrowly dodged hackneys and wheelbarrows at full speed, like a hare escaping a hound, but she was used to that. Thankfully, it made conversation impossible. After her encounter with Victor, she needed to settle her nerves.
It hadn’t gone well, what with Victor insisting that she’d deserted him and looking daggers at Rupert and trying to bully her into letting him drive her home. In that moment, she’d known she had to escape him . . . and take Rupert with her.
For one very good reason.
“Rupert?” Now that they’d left Edinburgh proper and Rupert had finally slowed on the quieter country road, she could learn what she needed to know. “Have you ever told your mother about Amalie?”
“No, indeed.” He clicked his tongue at the horses. “She already disapproves of our association. If she knew you had a child, she’d make even more trouble over it.”
Relief coursed through her. At least Victor couldn’t find out about Amalie through Lady Lochlaw.
Then the rest of Rupert’s words registered. “‘Even more trouble’? What do you mean?”
He stiffened. “It wouldn’t be gentlemanly for me to say.”
Her heart stumbled. “I need to know.”
“Oh, all right. She forbade me to invite you to the house party. And I told her that I wanted you there.” A mulish look crossed his face. “I reminded her that I am lord of Kinlaw Castle, so I can invite whomever I please. So we compromised. She said I should bring you to the theater tonight, and she would judge for herself whether you could behave with propriety in good society. If you could, she wouldn’t make a fuss over your coming to the house party.”
Isa gaped at him. Lady Lochlaw never ceased to amaze her. The woman had one set of rules for her son and an entirely different set for herself. “I don’t need to attend your house party. Don’t invite me, and make your mother happy.”
With a dark scowl, he flicked the reins. “I can’t abide those things. If it weren’t a family tradition, I’d refuse to have it. But if I do that, everyone will assume there’s some horrible reason. We’ve only just recovered from the most recent outlandish tales about Mother.”
Lady Lochlaw was rumored to have been caught in the bed of a notorious local rakehell, who happened to be married. Isa suspected that it was every bit the truth. Of course, Rupert didn’t want to hear that. She wasn’t even sure he would understand it. She wasn’t always sure what he understood.
“I need you to be there,” he went on. “Otherwise, I’ll go mad with all the inanity.”
She laughed. “Is that even a word?”
“Of course, and you should add it to your vocabulary, as it describes half of what Mother calls ‘good society.’ I hate good society; all they ever do is gossip. I never know whom they’re discussing, and I never care, either. If I have to hear one more word about who is sneaking where with whom, I will shoot myself.”
“You will not. You don’t even like to go shooting at your estate.”
“True.” He slumped in the driver’s seat, then shot her a sidelong glance. “Why do you ask if Mother knows about Amalie?”
She blinked at the abrupt change of subject. But Rupert never let go of a topic until he’d squeezed the facts out of it. Unfortunately, she couldn’t tell him the truth; that she didn’t want his mother revealing Amalie’s existence to Victor. That Victor might use his rights as Amalie’s father to force Isa into something.
“I like my privacy as much as you.” She smiled thinly. “Why do you think I live so far out of town? If your mother knew about my daughter, she might say mean things about Amalie just to anger me. I can’t have that.”
“I understand.” He sighed. “Amalie is a sweet girl—I’d hate for her feelings to be hurt by anybody.” The baron had only met Amalie a few times, but he’d always been kind to her. “Don’t worry; I won’t mention anything about her to Mother if you don’t want me to.”
“Or to your cousin, either,” she prodded as he pulled up in front of the cottage and helped her down.
“Whatever you wish,” he said, though he watched her with burgeoning curiosity while securing his horses to a tree.
Avoiding his gaze, she hurried toward the cottage and prayed he would keep his promise. When Rupert was thinking of some new experiment, he paid no attention to anything. Just as Father used to do.
A lump filled her throat. She did have a fondness for oblivious men of science.
Before she was halfway up the walk, Amalie burst through the cottage door. “Mama, can I pack my new hat to bring to school with me tomorrow?”
“May I pack my new hat,” Isa corrected her.
Making a face, Amalie fell into step beside her. “May I? It goes so well with my pink gown.”
Rupert joined them. “Is that the gown with the spiders on it?”
“They’re not spiders, my lord!” Amalie protested. “They’re little fleurs-de-lis!”
“They seemed awfully spidery to me when I saw them last week. I’m not saying that’s bad. I happen to like spiders.”
Planting her hands on her hips, Amalie gave a dramatic roll of her eyes. “You’re only saying that to torture me, since you know that I loathe spiders.”
“Then why wear something that looks like them on your gowns?” he asked in all seriousness.
“They do not look—” She broke off with an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know why we are even talking about this.” One eyebrow shot up as she scanned his eccentric attire. “Clearly I know more about fashion than you, sir.”
“Amalie!” Isa chided. “Don’t be impudent to his lordship.”
“She’s right.” Rupert grinned. “Fashion is not my purview. I prefer atoms to cravats any day.”
Amalie eyed him askance. “How many men named Adam do you know, anyway? You’re always going on about the Adams, but I’ve only ever met one in my whole life.”
“My dear girl,” Rupert said, looking genuinely shocked, “did you not even open your mother’s copy of Dalton’s book?”
“I opened it.” Amalie sniffed. “And I closed it right back up. Honestly, sir, how do you read such nonsense? It makes my head hurt.”
“Yet that monstrous new hat of yours does not?” he countered.
It was Amalie’s turn to be shocked. “Monstrous! But big hats are all the rage!” When he burst out laughing, she blinked, then shot him a sly look. “Oh, I see what you’re about. You’re torturing me again. Well, it won’t work. I like my monstrous hat.” She turned to Isa. “So may I pack it, M
ama?”
“Of course, dear. If you can do it without crushing it.” Remembering the hatpins, Isa opened her reticule to draw them out. “And I brought you extra adornment for it.”
She’d never before made jewelry for Amalie, worried that the child might still be too young to take care of it. But her daughter was growing up, and she deserved something special as she went off to school. “What do you think of these hatpins?” Isa said, holding them out.
Amalie’s eyes went wide as she took them, handling them with great reverence. “Oh, Mama.” She glanced up. “Did you make them yourself?”
Isa nodded. “Rupert isn’t the only one who has noticed your affection for fleurs-de-lis.”
“You see?” Amalie said saucily to Rupert. “Mama knows they’re not spiders.” With a look of awe, she ran her fingers over the ruby-and-diamond-crusted emblems.
“The silver is real, but the gems aren’t. If you show that you can take good care of these two, I’ll give you a pair to wear for important occasions that are made of gold with real gems.”
“Mama!” she squealed, and hugged Isa tightly. “How fabulous!” Fabulous was Amalie’s latest favorite word. “But these are perfect, too. I adore them. I’m going to try them with my hat right this minute!” She skipped back toward the cottage. “Maura and Danielle will be green with envy when they see my fabulous hatpins!”
As she disappeared inside, Rupert shook his head. “Does that girl ever walk anywhere?”
“Afraid not. Whirling dervishes have nothing on my daughter.”
Isa still couldn’t figure out how she and Victor had created such a boisterous creature. Or such a pretty one. Amalie had Jacoba’s blond curls and Victor’s height, but her eyes were an unearthly green.
And Isa had no idea where Amalie’s sense of fashion came from. Isa had always been good with jewelry, but it had taken her ten years to figure out how to dress well—to pick the right gowns, find the right colors, combine the jewelry and clothing in interesting ways. Amalie had sprung from the womb knowing the right thing to wear. Perhaps Victor had a modiste in his family tree.
A sigh escaped her. What was she to do about him and Amalie? Of course, she had no intention of letting them meet until she was sure of his purpose in coming here. And then? Amalie believed that her father was a dead soldier. It would devastate her to learn that he was a live scoundrel.
They entered the cottage, and Betsy, her maid-of-all-work and sometime nanny to Amalie, asked if they needed anything.
“His lordship is just here to get a book,” Isa explained.
“I looked for it when he asked about it earlier,” Betsy said, “but I couldna find it.”
“I know where it is,” Isa said. “Were you able to finish altering my gown?”
“It’s waiting for you on your bed, madam,” Betsy said cheerily. She shot Rupert a knowing glance. “I’ll just go get everything ready for you to try it on.”
“Thank you,” Isa said, suppressing a sigh.
Betsy had lofty dreams of Isa becoming a baroness. For that matter, so did Mr. Gordon. Neither of them could see that Rupert regarded her more as a teacher than as a lover. He liked to talk about science with her because she didn’t scold him for it like his mother, or call him a dabbler like the local scholars who thought him too young to know anything. She wasn’t sure Rupert even realized she was a woman. Victor had nothing to be jealous of, if he was indeed jealous.
A moment’s fear seized her. Victor could easily destroy poor Rupert; the young man was very unsure of himself. For that matter, Victor could easily destroy her. If he started talking to Mr. Gordon and her friends, making them question her and her past, who knew what might happen?
Her business partner believed that her husband was dead. Desperate to escape Paris and her family, she’d thought he might be more sympathetic to a soldier’s widow. Though the lie weighed on her conscience more and more through the years, it would be awkward now to explain. It might raise questions about her past that she could ill afford.
After all of Mr. Gordon’s kindness to her, it would kill her to have him suspect her of thievery. Curse Victor. Why couldn’t he have stayed away?
“I think I left the book in the parlor,” she said to Rupert, eager to have him gone so she could figure out what to do about Victor.
As she headed into the room, the young man followed her. “Why don’t you want Mr. Cale to know about Amalie?”
“Because it’s none of his concern,” she said, hoping that would be enough of an answer.
“Don’t you like my cousin?” Rupert prodded. “He seemed nice enough.”
“For a vulture circling overhe—” She caught Rupert staring and forced a smile. “I’m sorry. I merely worry that he is here to take advantage of you and your mother, now that your father has passed on.”
Rupert’s eyes got very round. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Sometimes poor relations swoop in to see what they can get, once the family is vulnerable.”
A frown creased Rupert’s pale brow. “I don’t think he’s poor. He drives a very costly phaeton. And while I don’t know fashion, I can tell that his clothes are quite fine.”
How could she possibly explain the tactics of a sharper to someone as oblivious of the world as Rupert? Gerhart had dressed finely in Paris, too. And all the while, he’d been plotting another theft. If she hadn’t left when she had—
Good Lord, was that why Victor had thought she deserted him? Had he gone to Paris after she’d left? It would have been just like Jacoba and Gerhart to tell him some mean thing about how she didn’t want him anymore.
She raised her chin. Well, she’d waited for him in Paris as long as she could. With the child growing in her belly, she’d had to act, and she would just point that out to him. If indeed he had gone there looking for her. She didn’t trust a word he said. Not after his part in the theft.
“Are you even sure that he’s really your cousin?” she ventured.
“Mother says he is, so he must be.” Rupert cocked his head. “Besides, I know I’ve seen his name somewhere. Probably in the family tree. Or Debrett’s. I never forget names, and Victor is an unusual one for an Englishman.”
“Pay me no mind,” she said. “I’m probably wrong about him.” She found the book he wanted and handed it to him.
“I hope you are. Mother wouldn’t like being taken advantage of.”
“I imagine not.” Though Isa suspected Lady Lochlaw could hold her own against fortune hunters, sharpers, and schemers of any kind.
Rupert stared down at the book for a long moment. “I want her to like you,” he said suddenly.
Now, what had brought that on? “It doesn’t matter,” Isa said. “We can be friends whether or not she likes me.”
“Friends,” he mumbled, two spots of color appearing high on his cheeks. “Of course.”
When he continued to stare at the book, she asked, “That is the one you wanted, isn’t it?”
He looked up, his eyes oddly filmy. “Yes. Are you sure you can spare it?”
She laughed. “I can’t make heads or tails of it, to be honest. My English is good enough for novels, but understanding a scientific book is beyond me.”
“Then why did you buy it?”
“Because I thought I could glean some knowledge on using chemicals to alter the colors of imitation gems. But he never speaks of that. The book has no practical applications. It’s strictly theory.”
He eyed her askance. “Well, it is titled A New System of Chemical Philosophy. Philosophy tends to be theoretical.”
She smiled. He could be so very literal. “I know. It was a foolish purchase.” She headed for the hallway.
“You are never foolish,” he murmured as he followed her.
Oh, she’d been foolish many a time. And the worst was when she’d given her heart to the man who’d trampled on it.
But no more. Tonight she would force Victor to admit his purpose in coming here, one way or anothe
r.
5
BY THE TIME Victor arrived at the Theatre Royal, he was fit to chew nails. He’d started his investigation of “Mrs. Franke” at her shop on Princes Street, hoping to speak to her seventy-year-old partner. But the place was apparently closed on Saturdays, which was interesting. Shops closed on Sunday, not on both Saturday and Sunday. Not unless they made very good money.
Judging from what those who ran the neighboring shops had to say, that was indeed the case. And apparently the other shopkeepers found Mrs. Franke a fascinating subject for gossip. Some praised her talent as a jeweler. Others commented favorably on her willingness to contribute to charitable causes. A few speculated about her past—whether she was Angus Gordon’s illegitimate granddaughter, why she’d settled in Edinburgh, what battles her soldier husband had fought in.
None of them knew where she lived. Or if she attended church. Or anything about her family, beyond the fact that she was a soldier’s widow. To hear the denizens of Princes Street tell it, Sofie Franke’s life began when she arrived at her shop in the morning and ended when she left at night.
They did agree on one thing—the Baron Lochlaw was sure to marry her within the year. He visited the shop with great regularity, he spoke of her in glowing terms, and he was often seen trailing after her like a puppy. She would be a fool not to accept any offer he made.
And Mrs. Franke was no fool.
The past rose up to taunt him. You don’t expect us to believe that your wife, the talented diamond cutter, had nothing to do with the theft of those diamonds. She was no fool, your wife. She left you to pick up the pieces.
Victor gritted his teeth as he entered the theater, an unprepossessing building with only a statue of Shakespeare for adornment on the outside. The very thought of Isa attempting to marry a rich baron made him want to smash a hammer into one of the marble pillars in the theater’s surprisingly lush interior. It wasn’t right that she should be rewarded for what she’d done.
And he was going to make damn sure that she wasn’t—even if it meant exposing his own past.
When the Rogue Returns Page 6
