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.
Though the Theatre Royale was nicely fitted out, only thirty or so private boxes lined the walls, probably half of what might be found in a London theater. It took only one word with an usher, and Victor was promptly shown into the Lochlaw box.
Lady Lochlaw rose to greet him with a kiss to each cheek, making sure he got a good glimpse down her very low-cut gown. Her heavy perfume swirled about his head like steam rising from a harem’s bathing room, but he only had eyes for Isa.
She was standing at the other end of the box under a sconce, perusing a program with the baron. She frowned as the lad tried to explain certain English words.
Lochlaw looked only marginally better dressed than he had earlier. There were no holes in his coat sleeve, but both his cravat and his hair were rumpled, and the creases in his trouser legs had already started to vanish.
But Isa was a goddess in human form. Her hair was ornamented with ostrich feathers and a glittering diadem, probably made of imitation diamonds, though it was no less beautiful for it. If that was an example of her work, it was no wonder she and her partner did well.
Her gown was far simpler than the baroness’s heavily furbelowed one—white taffeta embellished with green piping, short puffy sleeves, and a respectable neckline—but the little it revealed and the way it nipped in at her waist reminded him of the last time he’d taken a gown off of her. Slowly, with the reverence of a hesitant new husband.
Now he wanted to rip it off of her with his teeth. Then cover her soft, pale flesh with his body and explore every inch with his tongue and hands and cock. He wanted to bury his mouth in the enticingly shadowed valley between her breasts, lick his way down her slender belly to the dark brown curls that covered the sweetness below . . . and drive himself inside her until she begged for more.
He fought an erection.
No wonder Lochlaw had stars in his eyes whenever he gazed at her. No wonder Lady Lochlaw saw Isa as a threat.
Just then the baron looked up and spotted him. “Ah, there you are, cousin!”
Lochlaw headed for him but Isa stayed in place, her eyes widening and her mouth flattening into a tight line that he wanted to kiss until it softened.
God, what was wrong with him? She had betrayed him, left him to deal with the authorities alone, to make apologies for her wrongdoing. She had left him without one look back.
And all of that melted away when he saw her in that gown.
“Good evening,” he said as Lochlaw reached him. He nodded in Isa’s direction. “Nice to see you again, Mrs. Franke.”
She nodded, a flush rising in her cheeks.
“I’m glad you’ve come,” Lochlaw said. “The opera is about to start, and you won’t want to miss the beginning.”
“Opera?” He stifled a groan. “I thought we were seeing some play called The Iron Chest.”
“They refer to it as a ‘musical play’ in the program,” Isa said. “But some of the reviews deemed it ‘operatic.’”
Her gaze met his, soft with memory, and he was catapulted back to Amsterdam. Gerhart and Jacoba had dragged them to the opera once. He and Isa had only been able to afford the worst seats, and they’d spent most of it whispering together, since neither of them had liked the singing. His opinion of opera hadn’t altered since then, despite attending a couple of them with his relations in London.
A bell rang, and Lady Lochlaw took Victor’s arm to lead him to two chairs sitting side by side behind two more. Lochlaw seated Isa in the chair directly in front of the baroness, then took the one in front of Victor for himself.
As the orchestra tuned up, Lady Lochlaw leaned over to Victor to whisper, “You see what I mean about vulgar? That tiara is the height of bad taste; I daresay the diamonds in it aren’t real.”
Judging from Isa’s stiffened back, she’d heard every word.
“I couldn’t tell,” he whispered. “And as I recall, in London many women wear tiaras to the theater.”
Lady Lochlaw sat back with a sniff. A moment went by, during which time the music began. Then she leaned close again. “Clearly she knows nothing about opera. Why, she pronounced the word aria as ‘area.’”
Just as he was about to point out that Mrs. Franke wasn’t a native speaker of English, Lochlaw half turned to hiss, “Quiet, Mother. I want to hear the music.”
And that was that.
Thank God, because Victor didn’t think he could tolerate many more of the baroness’s snide comments. But he did understand her reaction. Isa outshone her as a rose did a weed, despite the wealthier woman’s finery and expensive jewels. That had to gall.
The first act of the opera turned out to be not as bad as he expected. For one thing, it had a decent story, with some interesting political notes. And for another, from his vantage point he had a good look of Isa in profile. He could feast his eyes as much as he liked on her glorious hair, her delicate ear, her glowing cheek.
He knew it was foolish to do so, but he let himself dwell on the times he’d kissed her just there, where her pretty neck met her shoulder, or had run his tongue down the hollow of her throat. By the time the first act ended, every part of him ached to touch her.
Bloody idiot—he wasn’t here to take up with his wife again, damn it! He was here for vengeance.
No, not vengeance. Justice. That’s all. He had a right to expect that.
As the interlude began, they all rose.
“How did you like it, Mrs. Franke?” Lady Lochlaw asked, casting Victor a conspiratorial glance. “The contralto’s aria was lovely, don’t you think?”
A mischievous gleam shone in Isa’s eyes. “I didn’t really notice. I was too busy admiring the gorgeous necklace she’d purchased from my shop. It sparkled so nicely in the gaslights.”
Lady Lochlaw’s smug smile vanished. “Did it have real gems? Or imitation?”
“You mean you couldn’t tell?” Isa asked sweetly. “How odd. I would have thought it obvious to a woman of your discernment.”
The laugh that rose in him unbidden caught Victor by surprise, and he nearly bit his tongue holding it back. A servant entered just then with a tray of champagne glasses, which was a good thing, since Lady Lochlaw looked fit to be tied. Feeling oddly cheered by that, Victor took a glass. But when the baron handed Isa one, and she smiled up at him engagingly, Victor’s mood suddenly soured.
“So, Mrs. Franke,” he said in a hard voice, “what made you decide to leave the Continent for Scotland?”
She sipped some champagne. “The death of my husband. I wanted to escape the bad memories.”
“Of his death?” he bit out. “Or of your marriage?”
“Both,” she said pointedly.
He gritted his teeth. So that had been an illusion, too. All the time he’d been besotted, she’d been resenting their marriage. Damn her for having hidden it so well.
Lochlaw began to frown, and even her ladyship looked wary, but Victor ignored them. “What was wrong with your marriage? Was he cruel to you? Did he mistreat you?”
“Neither,” she shot back. “He didn’t have to. He just acted as if I were his pet. He never told me anything of himself or his family, never let me see inside him. After he was gone, I realized I never really knew him at all.”
That wasn’t the answer he’d expected, though on that subject at least, she spoke the truth. He’d been afraid that if she learned the dirty secrets of his childhood, she would bolt.
In the end, she’d bolted anyway. “Perhaps you weren’t married long enough to take his measure.”
“Perhaps. But that’s all the more reason I was stunned to learn how much he’d lied to me; how much he’d pretended to be one thing when he was quite another.”
What the devil was she talking about? “You make him sound like a villain,” he growled.
“See here, cousin,” Lochlaw interrupted, “this conversation is becoming very rude.” He cast Isa an uncertain glance. “Don’t you agree?”
“Your cousin is perfectly aware that it is,” Isa said. “But I’m happy to tell him whatever he wishes to know.” Setting her glass down, she came toward Victor. “Still, Mr. Cale, we needn’t bore Rupert and his mother with such nonsense. Perhaps you’d like to take a tour of the theater? I understand there are some very fine statues in the lobby.”
“And I’ll go with you,” Lochlaw broke in with a scowl.
Lady Lochlaw put her hand on her son’s shoulder. “No, you will not.” When he glowered at her, she added, “You can’t leave me here alone, dear boy. What would people think?”
“I’m fine, Rupert,” Isa said as she took the arm Victor offered. “Your cousin and I will take a little walk and be right back. I need to stretch my legs anyway.”
He’d succeeded in provoking her, thank God! He’d spotted an unoccupied box a few boxes over, perfect for a private discussion, so this time he would make sure she gave him solid answers.
As soon as they were in the hall, she said, “Speaking of lies, you’re not really her ladyship’s cousin, are you?”
He wasn’t about to reveal what he’d been hired to do, since that might spook her into fleeing. “You’re the one who remarked that I never told you about my family,” he said evasively. “You’re right. I didn’t.”
“So you really expect me to believe that you’re cousin to a Scottish baron.” Her voice turned acid. “And not that you’re insinuating yourself into her life for some devious purpose.”
They’d reached the other box, so he dragged her inside and pulled her behind a pillar where no one could see them from the theater. Thrusting her against it, he braced his hands on either side of her shoulders to glare down at her.
“My devious purpose is to unmask my wife,” he growled. “You can hardly blame me when I find her frolicking with a rich baron.”
“Frolicking?” she exclaimed, half laughing. “Are you mad? I keep telling you, Rupert and I are just friends!”
“You’re either blind or a fool.” He lowered his head. “He watches you whenever he thinks you don’t see. He stares at you as a man stares at a beautiful woman. Perhaps you consider him a mere friend, but I assure you, he does not. I’m a man—I can damned well tell when another man covets my wife.”
Her stunned expression told him that she truly hadn’t realized that Rupert’s feelings for her ran that deep.
Then she steadied her shoulders. “Even if you’re right, even if he does have an interest in me, why do you care? You don’t want me, so—”
“Don’t want you?” he said incredulously before he could stop himself. His eyes fixed on her mouth, and his heart began to thunder in his chest. “Now you really are a fool.”
Then, driven by the rampant need that had been boiling up in his blood ever since he’d seen her this afternoon, he seized her mouth with his.
♦ ♦ ♦
ISA FROZE AT the touch of his lips on hers. She ought to fight. She ought to shove him away. But years of wishing for this very moment kept her motionless. His mouth was exactly as she remembered, tender and needy, driving her blood into a fever. His hands moved to grip her head and she covered them with her own, fully intending to push them away.
Instead, she rose into his kiss, parted her lips for him, let him slide his tongue into her mouth to tantalize and tease her. It was the most exquisite madness. And she didn’t want it to end.
Suddenly they were young again, stealing kisses wherever they could, too hungry to wait for later, when they could be alone. He drank from her mouth with a slow knowing that roused her blood, and she let him, the way she’d always let him in the old days.
After a moment of heady, silken kisses, he whispered against her lips, almost reverently, “Isa, my Isa.” Then, as if reminded of what stood between them, he said in a harder voice, “My little temptress.”
And this time when his mouth took hers, it was no longer tender. It was hard and fierce and raw, taking what it wanted with no apologies. The scent of him swamped her as he thrust his tongue into her mouth over and over, more savage than sweet.
Which thrilled her even more. The husband she’d once adored was here in her arms at last. He’d hunted her down, and he was kissing her as if ten years were but a pebble in the ocean. She exulted in it, mad fool that she was.
She slid her hands into his beautiful hair, holding him tight, not wanting to let him go. With a groan, he skimmed his fingers down her neck to brush her shoulders, then moved them lower to cup both her breasts.
A wild fever erupted in her brain. She pressed herself into his hands, and that was all the encouragement he needed to fondle her shamelessly. She felt it even through her gown and corset and shift, felt her nipples bead beneath his deft caresses. It had been so long, so very long, and he was here and she wanted him so badly she could taste it.
He must have felt the same way, for with a groan he undulated against her, his hardened shaft reminding her of the last time they’d made love, the last time he’d been inside her, the last time—
“Ah, Mausi,” he murmured. “My sweet Mausi.”
The word resounded in her brain, a chant from years ago that no longer held true.
She shoved him back. “Stop,” she hissed. “I am not your Mausi anymore. If you wanted to keep your Mausi, you shouldn’t have abandoned me.”
His dazed expression gave way to hot, hard anger. “You were the one who called our marriage a mistake. You were the one who said you wanted more than I could offer, who said you were going off to find a better position.” His eyes glittered at her. “When actually, you were running off to spend the money you made from those stolen diamonds.”
She gaped at him. “What are you talking about?”
Pure rage flared in his eyes. “You know damned well what I’m talking about.”
Her breath felt heavy, thick. “I don’t. Truly I don’t.”
A muscle jerked in his jaw. “So you’re denying the theft? Denying that you made that imitation diamond parure so you and your bloody family could steal the royal diamonds?”
Why did he keep talking as if the theft was her and her family’s fault alone?
“I’m denying that I ever called our marriage a mistake,” she said in a low hiss. “I don’t know where you got such nonsense, but I never said any such thing. I was in love with you. Why would I have—”
Lady Lochlaw’s voice drifted through the door from out in the hall. “I’m sure they’re around here somewhere, Rupert. Do not fret so.”
“But the second act is about to start,” Rupert said peevishly. “We have to find them.”
“Well, you can hunt for them if you must. I’m going back to the box.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
Alarm seized her. She did not want Rupert speculating about her association with Victor, a supposed stranger. “I have to go,” she murmured, turning for the door.
Victor caught her by the arm and lowered his head to whisper in her ear. “Tell me where you live, and I’ll come to you later tonight. We have to talk.”
“That’s not what you want, and you know it.” He wanted to kiss and fondle her to distraction, to slip back into her life so he could get her to make more imitations.
You were the one who called our marriage a mistake. You were the one who said you wanted more than I could offer, who said you were going off to find a better position.
She swallowed hard. He’d spoken the words with such conviction. But she’d never said any such thing to him! His memory was playing tricks on him.
Oh, why was she even listening to him? She knew what sort of man he was. She must hold fast against him. If he came to the cottage he would find out about Amalie and use her against Isa, too.
“Tell me, damn you,” Victor hissed. “You can’t keep running from me.”
Rupert was calling her now, and the longer she waited to answer, the more curious he would become.
She stared up at Victor. “Tell me where you are staying, and I’ll come to you.”
He froze. Then, with a foul curse, he glanced away.
Anger seared her. He was hiding his purpose here, whatever it was. “That’s what I thought.” Wrenching her arm free, she headed for the door.
“We are not done, Isa,” he growled.
“For now, we are.” She called out, “I’m here, Rupert!”
The door opened, and Rupert thrust his head inside. The clear suspicion on his face made her stomach roil. Could Victor be right about him? Was the baron not as oblivious to her feminine attributes as she’d assumed?
“What are you two doing in here alone?” he demanded.
“The best view of the theater is from this box.” Better to lie to him than risk hurting him. “And since it was empty, we thought to take a look.”
He seemed to accept that. “Well, you’d better come along. The second act is about to begin.” His gaze flitted behind her. “You too, cousin.”
She could feel Victor’s presence like a hot brand against her back, and for half a second, she feared he would say something to ruin everything.
Then she heard Victor release a breath. “I’ll be along presently. I want to enjoy the view a moment longer,” he said in that husky voice that made her stomach flip over.
That was the trouble. He could still reduce her to mush with just a word, which made him dangerous. Because once she let him into her life, once he knew about their daughter, there would be no going back.
Rupert whisked her from the room. “Are you all right?” he asked as soon as they were in the hall. “You look flushed.”
She resisted the urge to press her hands to her hot cheeks. An idea struck. “Actually, I’m feeling unwell. Would you mind terribly leaving the play now and taking me home?”
“I’d be happy to,” he surprised her by saying.
She eyed him skeptically. “Are you sure?” Rupert tended to follow rules slavishly, and one of those rules was that people did not leave theaters before the performance was finished.
“Of course I’m sure,” he said resentfully. “What sort of gentleman would I be if I forced you to stay here and suffer?”
“Thank you, then. It’s very kind of you.” She tamped down a niggle of guilt at deceiving him.
Tomorrow she’d take Amalie to Carlisle on the mail coach, and her daughter would be safe. Then, and only then, she could concentrate on finding out why Victor was so determined to invade her life.