When the Rogue Returns (18 page)

“That’s not true.” Except that it was.

If he told her about the duke, that still wouldn’t explain why he’d come here. If he told her about the Duke’s Men, he’d have to admit that he’d been hired to find out her secrets.

Then she could threaten to tell the baron about the dowager’s actions. Since Lochlaw was about as discreet as a four-year-old, the man would instantly plague his mother over what she’d done, and his mother would complain to Dom about Victor’s lack of discretion.

And if Dom were angry enough over it, he would refuse to help Victor bring Gerhart and Jacoba to justice—especially if there was a chance it might embroil the duke and Dom’s half sister in scandal. Then Victor would be stuck trying to capture the Hendrixes without help.

Out of nowhere came the voices of his inquisitors.
Admit it—she learned the truth about you and your father, learned how low you really are, and she aspired toward more. You were the guard, you besotted arse—that’s why she chose you. And like a dolt, you helped her.

Damnation,
that
was the real reason he didn’t want to reveal his high connections. No matter how much he told himself that everything the prince’s guardsmen had said was a lie, part of him feared it wasn’t. Part of him still wanted to be sure that she wanted him for him, not for his connections or anything else.

Isa regarded him expectantly a moment longer, but when he offered nothing more, she sighed and returned to dressing. “It’s late, Victor. I have to be at the shop in the morning, so I must go. We can discuss this more tomorrow.” She slid her corset down over her chemise and turned her back to him. “Would you lace me up, please?” she said in a prim voice that annoyed him.

He strode up behind her to catch her about the waist and pull her back against him. “I don’t want you to go,” he murmured into her silky hair. “Stay here tonight.”

“You know I can’t.” Her breath was coming quickly. “I have a life in Edinburgh. If I stay out all night, my neighbors will notice, and I’ll be the subject of gossip.”

“Because you spent the night with your husband?” he bit out.

“They think my husband is dead, remember?” She faced him, her expression once more wary. “Of course, if you choose to tell them otherwise, there’s not much I can do about it. But then they’ll know that I lied about my past. And if you tell them why—”

“I wouldn’t do that to you, damn it.” He caressed her cheek. “Honestly,
lieveke
, I don’t want the world knowing about the theft any more than you do.”

She dropped her gaze to his chest. “You can’t avoid that if you pursue justice for Jacoba and Gerhart. The whole world will learn of it then.”

“You’ve made your point. And I admit it’s a good one. But there must be a way to solve this. I just need to think, to decide what to do.”

“I understand.” A small smile graced her lips as she met his gaze once more. “But you won’t get any thinking done if I stay.”

“That’s an understatement,” he muttered.

Already he was rousing again, wanting her again. It seemed he couldn’t be sensible or reasonable or even logical when it came to her.

“Fine,” he added and turned her so he could lace her up. “I’ll take you home.”

“No,” she said quickly. Too quickly. Even as he scowled at her back, she added, “That’s as bad as my staying here the night.” She glanced at the clock. “If a mysterious gentleman brings me home at midnight, my neighbors will almost certainly talk.”

He jerked the ties of her stays hard enough to make her gasp. “I daresay the baron has brought you home late a time or two.”

“Not that late. And my neighbors and my servants know him. They don’t know you.”

She had an answer for everything. But that didn’t change one essential fact.

He tied off her corset, then turned her to face him again. “They
will
know me eventually,
lieveke
—I promise you that.” He clasped her head in his hands. “I refuse to lose my wife again. We will figure out how to manage it so we can be together, without ruining what you’ve built here. But let me make one thing clear: I’m not letting you go.”

The yearning that flashed across her face was unmistakable. “I don’t want you to.” She covered his hands
with hers. “But unraveling this will take time. And I prefer to maintain my respectability until we can settle matters.”

Although he knew she was only protecting herself, it chafed him to watch her leave. “I’m beginning to miss the old Isa,” he grumbled, “the one who deferred to her husband.”

She grew solemn. “I hope not. She was the one who didn’t believe in you when she should have. Who didn’t stand up for herself.”

“Who was sweet and shy and guileless—”

“Not guileless,” she said earnestly. “I hid the imitation parure from you. I hid my family’s greed. I didn’t tell you what they wanted from me.”

“True.” Back then he had thought he knew her, but he’d been wrong. He wasn’t even entirely sure he knew her now. She was still hiding things from him. He didn’t know how he knew it, but he did.

Or was he just so used to distrusting her that he simply didn’t know how to begin trusting her again?

“So I don’t want that Isa back,” she said. “And you shouldn’t, either.”

The fact that she clearly regretted so much of what had happened made it hard for him
not
to trust her. And he had to admit that he did like his new, bolder wife.

“Very well. We’ll put the old Isa to rest,” he said, running his thumb over her lower lip. “But the new Isa had best get used to my being around. Because I’m not going anywhere ever again. You’re still my wife, and
that isn’t going to change. Young Lochlaw will just have to look elsewhere for a bride.”

“As if Rupert could ever be a match for you,” she said lightly, then brushed her lips over his.

With a growl he drew her back for a longer kiss, reveling when she wrapped herself about him like a tree putting down roots.

She might not yet trust him completely, and she might have doubts about how he wanted to handle the matter of her relations, but one thing was certain. She desired him as much as or more than the old Isa.

And that would be his way back into her life.

I
SA KNEW SHE
was in trouble when she allowed Victor to take her back to bed. How did he send her good sense right out the window when he kissed and caressed her? As he made love to her fast and hard and raw, she lost herself in it with such abandon that she forgot everything that still stood between them.

Only afterward, when he fell into a doze, was she brought back to her senses. She looked over at him and sighed. When he was asleep, he looked so much like his old self. How many nights had she dreamed of him like this, only to awaken to the loss of him? How many years had she yearned fruitlessly for the husband who never came?

And now he was back, and she wanted nothing more than to take up where they’d left off. Except for one thing.

Amalie. She should have told him about her tonight. He deserved to know he had a daughter.

But what if his burning urge for revenge on Jacoba
and Gerhart couldn’t be assuaged? What if he insisted upon a trial, insisted upon dragging her back to Amsterdam? What would happen to Amalie? Would he be willing to give up his vengeance for his daughter
?
Or would he insist that he could manage a trial and investigation without harming any of them?

Isa wanted to believe in his ability to save them. He’d said he’d looked for her all these years, and tonight he’d seemed to accept what she’d told him about the past. But what about in the morning, after he’d had time to think about it? How could she trust him when he still kept so many secrets?

Until she knew why he was here and what he intended to do, she had to leave her choices open in case she had to flee again. In case he got so angry over her hiding his daughter from him that he lashed out and tried to assert his rights to the girl.

Because once he knew about Amalie, everything would change. For one thing, if he realized exactly how much Jacoba and Gerhart had taken from him, he might be so furious at them that he could no longer proceed with caution. It had become clear to her that when Victor was angry, he didn’t think straight. So before she put her life—and the life of her child—in his hands, she had to know what she was up against.

Slipping from the bed, she halted when he mumbled something and turned over. She stood with her breath tight in her throat until he slid back into sleep; then she edged away.

Creeping into the other room with her clothes, she
dressed quickly and put her hair back up as best she could. Then she found her reticule and headed downstairs. To her surprise, the butler came out of a little room off the foyer to greet her.

“Is my horse still out front?” she asked, wondering if he’d had it stabled while she was upstairs.

“I would imagine so, madam,” he said stiffly. “You left no instructions regarding its disposition.”

She started to leave, then thought of something and turned back. “Excuse me, Mr. Jenkins, but would you tell me something?”

“If I can,” he said warily.

“Do you happen to know how Mr. Cale and your master, the duke, are connected?”

His stare was as frigid as the winds off of the Firth of Forth. “I’m afraid you will have to ask Mr. Cale that, madam.”

She’d known the man would probably be circumspect, but she had to ask. It worried her that Victor was keeping his presence in Edinburgh so mysterious. Something odd was definitely afoot.

As she rode for home, she couldn’t for the life of her think of what it might be. If Victor had been searching for her, what had prompted him to look here? Or was he really Lady Lochlaw’s cousin, and his appearance here sheer coincidence?

Tomorrow she would hunt up Rupert and ask him if he’d ever consulted
Debrett’s
to unearth his connection to Victor. Perhaps she should just consult it herself. The subscription library might have a copy.

By the time she reached home, she was so exhausted she could do little more than fall into bed. And when Betsy came to wake her the next morning, she had to drag herself from the bed to perform her ablutions, dress, and have a cup of chocolate before heading off to the shop.

But as she rode toward town, sore in every muscle, she couldn’t help but smile. It had been a long time since her body had been so well used, but she couldn’t regret it. Last night had been even more amazing than she remembered. Hard to believe that Victor could have become even better at lovemaking.

Unless . . .

She frowned. He’d never said whether
he’d
been faithful. Had he sought companionship in some other woman’s bed? For all she knew, his connection to Lady Lochlaw was an intimate one.

No, she wouldn’t make herself frantic over such thoughts. She had to focus on the important things—what he meant to do and how she was going to deal with it. So she was glad that no one else was there when she let herself into the shop, an hour before they usually opened. She could use some time to prepare herself in case Victor did seek her out today.

She needed to work. It was her salvation for any of her troubles—nothing settled her more than manipulating softened gold or creating strass or losing herself in the planes of a beautiful uncut diamond.

She headed into the area behind the shop, then sat herself at her worktable and took out a bowl for mixing
up the metal salts she needed for painting on the back of her paste. As she stirred, her mind sifted through all that had happened.

What was she going to do about Victor’s determination to seek vengeance against her family? The situation was more complicated than he would admit. Somehow she had to make him understand the consequences of what he planned.

After a while, she heard Mr. Gordon enter the shop out front. As usual, he busied himself with preparing for opening and didn’t venture into the back to greet her. He knew she preferred solitude in the early mornings, needing the time to create while business was lighter.

As she continued the monotonous task of mixing salts, her mind fixed on Victor once more. It would help if she knew what he’d gone through in Amsterdam after she and her family had fled. But how was she to learn that if he wouldn’t tell her?

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been working and fretting when a ruckus out front dragged her from her thoughts.

“So ye’re back, are you?” Mr. Gordon’s accent thickened as his voice rose. “Ye’re nay welcome here. I willna have you bothering Mrs. Franke!”

She shot up and hurried through the door into the shop. “It’s all right, Mr. Gordon. I don’t mind speaking with Mr. Cale.”

“You see?” Victor said to her partner, though his unreadable gaze was on her. “Mrs. Franke knows I’m no threat to her.”

Mr. Gordon snorted, and Isa nearly did, too.

“I’m in the middle of a complicated task,” she lied for the benefit of Mr. Gordon. “Why don’t you join me in the workshop, Mr. Cale? We can talk while I work.”

Victor lifted an eyebrow but gave her a terse nod and walked toward her.

“Are you sure about this, Mrs. Franke?” Mr. Gordon asked as he followed Victor. “I dinna like this fellow troubling you.”