It took the man a minute to compose himself. “Mrs. Franke . . . leaving Paris quickly . . . a criminal pursuit?” He gasped out one last laugh, then drew out his handkerchief to wipe his eyes. “Och, now, I needed that.”
“I confess that I miss the humor in it,” Victor muttered.
“You . . . you honestly think an eighteen-year-old girl was sneaking about Paris, breaking into . . . some mansion to run off with a fortune in jewels.” He started laughing again.
“You’re the one who called her imitations ‘amazing,’” Victor grumbled.
“Yes, but that’s a far cry from stealing real ones. The woman was timid as a rabbit when I met her—hardly the type who pick locks and break into houses. And why would she have come to me if she’d owned a fortune in real jewels?”
Ignoring the logic of that, Victor pressed the man harder. “Because finding a buyer for stolen diamonds isn’t that easy.”
Gordon’s humor vanished. He rose from his chair to round the desk. “Are you implying that I was her buyer? That I started my business concern here with ill-gotten jewels?”
Victor crossed his arms over his chest. “Well? Did you?” Sometimes anger made people blurt out things they wouldn’t say otherwise.
“I damned well did not!” He drew himself up with a dignified sniff. “And you have insulted me and Mrs. Franke long enough. This conversation is over. Time for you to leave.”
He’d pressed too hard. Victor rose, too. “I beg your pardon, sir. I didn’t mean to imply—”
His accent thickening by the moment, Gordon said, “If you think I’ll stand here letting you disparage my character and that of my partner in our own shop, ye’re as mad as that woman who sent you over here to dig up imaginary secrets on Mrs. Franke.” He held the door to his office open. “Good day, sir.”
Victor tamped down his irritation and headed through the door.
The testy codger followed him into the workshop. “And I’ll have you know I was one of the wealthiest jewelers in Paris because of my trade in imitation jewels. That is why Mrs. Franke came to me—because she knew I’d appreciate her skills.”
“I see,” Victor said, surprised. But then, his only experience in the jewel trade had been his few short weeks as a guard.
They passed out into the shop, and Gordon followed him to the front entrance and out into the street.
The Scot glanced around, then growled, “And you can tell that cat, Lady Lochlaw, that I willna stand for her spreading lies about thieving and such just to separate Mrs. Franke from his lordship. She ought to be ashamed of herself, trying to part two lovers.”
Victor froze. “Lovers? Are they lovers?”
Gordon blinked. “I only meant that they’re in love. Not that they behave scandalously. They’re respectable in their dealings, to be sure.”
His heart thundered in his ears. “But you’re certain that Mrs. Franke is in love with the baron.”
Looking uneasy, the Scot glanced away. “All I’m saying is she’s no fortune-hunting female like her ladyship would paint her. And she’s certainly no thief.” His voice hardened. “That witch of a baroness knows better than anyone that my partner is a good woman, reliable and trustworthy. Did she tell you how her son met Mrs. Franke?”
“Yes. He brought in some jewelry to be cleaned for his mother.”
“Not just any jewelry.” Gordon crossed his arms over his chest. “The Lochlaw diamonds, a necklace renowned throughout Scotland for its value and beauty. It’s easily worth seventeen thousand pounds. Lady Lochlaw sent it to our shop without a qualm. Would she have entrusted them to us if she’d feared thievery? That lying she-devil had no trouble with Mrs. Franke at all until her son became smitten.”
But Victor had honed in on the words Lochlaw diamonds. He’d been wondering what Isa might be after—and now he had his answer.
Except that it made no sense. Why wait ten years to steal again?
Perhaps she’d run out of money from the first theft. Cleaning the diamonds would have given her the opportunity to study them and make an imitation. Then all she had to do was wait for a chance to switch them with her copy. And getting close to the baron might provide that.
No, that made no sense, either. She would be the first to be suspected once the copy was discovered.
Unless it never was. Lady Lochlaw had already proved she couldn’t tell imitation diamonds from real. That might explain why Isa had been letting young Lochlaw court her. The upcoming house party would provide the perfect chance to switch out the necklace.
He was still thinking it through when he caught Gordon staring at his phaeton. The man’s gaze snapped back to Victor. “Yer equipage?”
Victor’s guard went up. “While I’m in town, yes. Why?”
A carefully blank expression crossed the man’s face. “It’s a handsome rig. Very nice. Very expensive.”
“It belongs to my host,” Victor said warily.
“Ah.” Gordon nodded to it. “Well, perhaps you should drive back to wherever you came from. Because ye’ll find no scandal here for smearing Mrs. Franke.”
Victor stared him down. “I only want the truth. If you’d just tell me where she lives, I could get all the answers I want from her without bothering you again.”
Gordon lifted an eyebrow. “If his lordship hasna told you where Mrs. Franke lives, and Lady Lochlaw doesna know, then I damned well won’t invade the woman’s privacy. Ye’re on your own with that, laddie.”
“Then you can expect to see me here first thing in the morning, when Mrs. Franke returns.”
With that, Victor climbed into the duke’s phaeton and drove off. But as he made his way back to the villa, he wondered if Isa had already slipped the net.
No, she wouldn’t leave until she got what she wanted. And if what she wanted was the Lochlaw diamonds, she wouldn’t get away with it this time.
7
FOR THE FIRST hour of her trip home from Carlisle, Isa did nothing but cry. It was always so hard to leave her baby at school. Oh, she knew it was necessary, even more so with Victor in town, but it still broke her heart every time.
Amalie never fussed over being left, which only made it worse. Was she just being stoic? Was she secretly grieving the loss of her mother and her home for three more months? Or was she so happy to be back at school that she’d already forgotten her mother?
That thought sent Isa into another bout of tears. Fortunately, she wasn’t the only one crying. Two other inhabitants of the mail coach had left their children at school, so they commiserated together.
By the time she reached Edinburgh, she’d found some measure of peace. In truth, it was much better for Amalie to be away just now.
It was dark when the mail coach pulled up at the inn. Mr. Gordon was waiting for her, the dear man, as he always did. He’d offered before to drive her and Amalie to Carlisle, but she wouldn’t hear of it. No point in closing the shop on a day they were generally open.
He helped her down. “How’s our girl? Settling in well?”
“She was her usual buoyant self. I swear that she . . .” She trailed off when she noticed he wasn’t paying attention. The look in his eyes definitely boded ill. “What’s wrong?” she asked as he led her to his carriage. “Has something happened?”
“A man came looking for you today at the shop.”
Her heart sank. Victor. It had to be. What if he’d revealed himself as her husband? “Who was it?”
“Some damned cousin of the Lochlaws by the name of Cale.”
Mr. Gordon surely wouldn’t call Victor a Lochlaw cousin if he knew the truth.
Her partner scowled. “You know he’s been asking the other shopkeepers about you, don’t you?”
“No, but I’m not surprised.” Blast him.
“You know him?” Mr. Gordon asked as he handed her in.
You could say that. “We’ve met. What did he want?”
By the time Mr. Gordon got done relating the entirety of their conversation, Isa wanted
to scream. How dared Victor hint at the old theft? Was that his sly way of threatening her? Was he implying that if she didn’t cooperate with whatever his blasted plans were, he would ruin her?
Oh, she was going to throttle him with her bare hands the next time she saw him!
“I didn’t tell him about Amalie, though,” Mr. Gordon added. “No point in letting that witch Lady Lochlaw learn that you have a child. She would never approve a marriage between you and her son then.”
Not bothering to remind him yet again that she and Rupert were merely friends, she let out a long breath. “I appreciate your discretion.”
After Amalie was born in Edinburgh, Isa had kept private the fact that she had a child because she’d wanted to establish her credentials as a jeweler. It was hard enough for a woman to be taken seriously, and people also assumed that a mother would be more slack with her business than a man would. Only Mr. Gordon knew her situation, and he had no concerns.
Once a few years had passed and Victor hadn’t followed the bread crumbs she’d left for him, she’d had a different reason for caution. After so many years of ignoring her, he would only show up if he wanted something from her. And she’d been determined that the something wouldn’t include her daughter—not until she knew she could trust him.
Keeping her life private hadn’t been hard. She and Amalie lived in a cottage outside Edinburgh proper, and Mr. Gordon was circumspect by nature. Betsy had been with her since Amalie was born, and she, too, was discreet. And Rupert had never mentioned her daughter to Lady Lochlaw.
So, thank God, Victor still didn’t know about Amalie.
But if he kept pressing her friends and acquaintances, he might find out. It was time she reminded her husband that he had something to hide, too—and if he tried to interfere in her life, he would ruin himself in the process.
Mr. Gordon settled back against the squabs. “Don’t you go worrying about what that fellow will say to Lady Lochlaw. I made sure that he understood how things were with you and his lordship.”
Oh, dear. “What did you tell him?”
“That the two of you were in love, of course.”
“Mr. Gordon!”
Her old friend thrust out his chin. “Well, I couldn’t let him think you were after the baron’s money. I couldn’t have him looking down his nose at you. Especially when Mr. Cale has even loftier friends than the Lochlaws.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I recognized that phaeton he was driving. Belongs to a duke.”
She gaped at him. How could Victor possibly know a duke well enough to borrow his phaeton? “Are you sure that it wasn’t Mr. Cale’s?”
“Yes. I asked him right out. He said it belonged to his host. I recognized it from years ago, when the heir to the duke came to the shop to have a bracelet repaired for his mother. Everyone on Princes Street came out to have a look at that phaeton, since back then there weren’t too many hereabouts. We were all mightily impressed.”
“I don’t remember that.”
“You weren’t there. It was around the time Amalie was born. Anyway, rumor was that the family had come up to stay at their villa in Edinburgh while they consulted with some doctor on account of the duke’s going mad. Turned out to be true.”
Victor knew a duke. Oh, Lord. “What was the duke’s name?”
A frown knit Mr. Gordon’s brow. “Kinloch, as I recall. No, that was the son’s title. The duke’s was Lyons.” His face cleared. “That’s it. The Duke of Lyons. Though I think he’s dead now, and his son has the title. The young heir couldn’t have been any older then than Lochlaw is now. He looked a sight, poor lad, so troubled. Must be hard to have a father lose his wits like that.”
Isa tightened her hands into fists. Yes, it would be hard. And a newly minted duke in such a difficult situation might be vulnerable to someone as clever as Victor. Someone looking to further his own interests once he realized the proceeds from those diamond earrings wouldn’t go very far.
Was that what Victor had done? Insinuated himself into the Lyons household by implying that he was a distant cousin? Was that what he was doing with the Lochlaws now? She wouldn’t put it past him. She knew better than anyone how he could show two faces at once—that of a loving husband and that of a conniving thief.
Well, all that was about to change.
“I presume that Mr. Cale is staying at the duke’s villa, since he referred to the owner of the phaeton as his host. Do you know where this villa is?”
Mr. Gordon went still. “Why?”
“I think it’s time I speak to Mr. Cale and find out what he’s up to.”
“You can speak to him in the morning. The fellow said he’d be there to greet you when we opened, and I don’t doubt that he will.”
She didn’t, either. The trouble was, she did not want to have this conversation in front of anyone else. It needed to be private.
“Besides,” Mr. Gordon went on, “I know what he’s up to, and I set him straight. Don’t you worry.”
“I am worried. What if he goes running off to Lady Lochlaw to whisper poisonous accusations in her ears? I’d like to know where he lives, at least, just in case that happens. Please, Mr. Gordon? This is my future we’re talking about.” She steeled herself for the lie. “My future with Rupert.”
Mr. Gordon let out a long breath. “Very well. My coachman may remember from delivering the bracelet all those years ago, after it was repaired. I’ll ask him when we get you home.”
“Thank you.”
The full moon was high by the time they reached her cottage. It had to be nearly nine o’clock. She was exhausted from her trip, yet she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep while this was unsettled.
To her relief, Mr. Gordon’s coachman did remember where the Duke of Lyons’s villa was. Best of all, it was on her side of town but farther west, near Calton Hill. Indeed, she’d seen the Palladian mansion a number of times and wondered to whom it belonged, since it was so lovely.
Leave it to her wretch of a husband to latch onto such a wealthy host.
Mr. Gordon accompanied her inside, where Betsy was waiting to take her cloak. Isa could smell supper cooking; Betsy always had a warm meal ready when she returned from these trips, and Mr. Gordon sometimes joined them.
Isa forced herself to offer him supper, relieved when he said he’d already eaten and was heading home. As he bade her good night, she kissed his papery cheek and whispered, “I do so appreciate your finding out where Mr. Cale is staying. I know you think I’m being silly, but I will sleep much better knowing that I can call on him if I need to.”
“I don’t think you’re silly,” he said gruffly. “I think you’re mad. Then again, since you’re generally sensible, I suppose you can be allowed to be daft once in a while.”
She laughed. “Thank you, I think.”
“See you in the morning?” he asked as she saw him to the door.
“Of course.”
She waited until Mr. Gordon was well down the road, then told Betsy, “Have Rob saddle my mare.” Isa rushed upstairs to change. When Betsy followed her, obviously bewildered, Isa explained, “I have to pay a call on someone.”
“Tonight?” Betsy said, clearly shocked.
“Something urgent has come up. Help me into my riding habit.”
Though Betsy did as she was bade, Isa could feel the older woman’s disapproval like a chill wind.
“I hope this don’t got naught to do with the baron,” Betsy said as she finished. “Wouldn’t be fitting for you to meet with him at night.”
“Betsy!” she cried in her best tone of outrage. “Surely you are not implying what I think you are.” She headed out of her bedchamber.
Betsy hurried behind her. “I’m just saying that it’s a sad day when a woman as respectable as you starts going about late at night paying calls.”
“Not that it’s any of your concern,” Isa bit out as she hurried down the stairs, “but it’s nothing of that sort. It’s som
ething having to do with Amalie, and it will not wait until tomorrow.”
“Well, then,” Betsy said, her entire tone changing, “if it’s for the little mite, you’d best be going.” She caught Isa’s arm. “But first you must eat something. Can’t have you fainting in the saddle.”
When Isa started to protest, Betsy added, “I’ll see to rousing Rob, and by the time you’ve got something in you, he’ll have your horse ready to go.”
“Fine,” Isa said with a sigh. When Betsy got her mind set on something, there wasn’t much use in fighting her. And it probably would help to have some fortification before she confronted her husband.
Still, when she rode off half an hour later and the moon was lower in the sky, she wished she hadn’t lingered. The last thing she needed was to be stuck at the duke’s villa once the moon set and there was no light to ride by.
But she had to settle this once and for all. If she ended up being turned away by the duke’s staff and spending the night in some haymow, she would survive. She always survived.
That thought cheered her a bit. When she knocked at the door of the villa and a stiff-necked butler opened it to scour her with a critical glance, she held her head high.
“I’m here to see Mr. Victor Cale,” she announced.
The man glanced to where she’d tethered her horse. “And who should I say is calling?” he asked, his voice dripping with condescension.
“Mrs. Sofie Franke. A relation of his.”
She let down the hood of her cloak and the butler’s gaze fixed on the jewelry she still wore. Though she wasn’t fool enough to wear diamonds when she traveled, her small earbobs were gold with real emeralds.
Clearly the high-in-the-instep butler could tell quality when he saw it. “It is very late, madam,” he said, his tone a trifle less condescending this time.
She forced hauteur into her voice. “Trust me, if Mr. Cale is in, he will see me. And if he hears that you turned me away, he will not be happy.”
The man took in her cloak of good-quality wool and her fashionable hat, then stepped aside to allow her to enter. “I shall see if Mr. Cale is in to visitors.”
When the Rogue Returns Page 9
