6
VICTOR SPENT THE next day with the Lochlaws, because he had no way of finding Isa. The sly wench had slipped away from the theater while he was trying to regain his composure, so he’d been unable to follow her home. She might not like being called Mausi anymore, but she certainly had a mouse’s talent for sneaking out of one’s grasp.
But he would find her. Tomorrow he’d wait at the shop until she arrived, and then he’d make her give him answers.
I’m denying that I ever called our marriage a mistake. I don’t know where you got such nonsense, but I never said any such thing.
Those words seared a hole in his brain even as he attended church services with the Lochlaws. There’d been no mistaking the shock on her face. No mistaking how she’d glossed over the theft to focus on his words about their marriage.
I was in love with you.
As his throat tightened, he cursed his easy reaction. He knew better than to believe her. She’d wanted access to the diamonds and had seen how he’d wanted her. In his life, in his bed.
He still wanted her. What was wrong with him? He wasn’t some randy young idiot anymore; how could she still do this to him?
No doubt she’d said those words to distract him, to keep him from hounding her about the theft. Though it was odd that she hadn’t denied making the imitation parure. Or at least pretended outrage at his accusation. That wasn’t the behavior of a criminal avoiding culpability.
Still, she hadn’t admitted to doing it, either. She’d danced around the subject, but the fact that she even knew of it meant she’d been part of it somehow.
Didn’t it?
Damnation, the inconsistencies in her behavior, her character, were eating at him. He had to get to the bottom of it!
Sunday droned on into a dinner with the Lochlaws. Lady Lochlaw clearly saw her son as little more than a child to be managed, and in her presence, he became one—sulking at the dining table, mumbling answers to her barbed questions, and toying with his food.
Until her ladyship suggested that he and Victor take a walk about town. Once they were out of the house, Lochlaw’s entire demeanor changed. He became friendly, expansive, chatty. He didn’t even seem to be upset about finding Victor and Isa together the night before. Perhaps she’d been right. Perhaps the man really did just regard her as a friend.
They headed toward Edinburgh Castle, which Lochlaw insisted that he visit. “You can view the entire city from the Battery,” the young baron gushed. “And you should also see the regalia, which is on display. The crown itself . . .”
Victor could barely attend the man’s prattling. All his thoughts were for Isa—where she was, how he could find her.
He waited until they’d visited all the public areas of the great castle and were walking down High Street toward the Palace of Holyrood House before he broached the subject.
“Where is Mrs. Franke today?” he asked, trying to sound casual.
Lochlaw turned instantly nervous. “I dunno. I never see her on Sundays. Mother insists I spend Sunday with her.”
“Ah.”
They walked a moment in silence. Then Lochlaw surprised him by asking, “What do you think of Mrs. Franke?”
“She seems lovely,” Victor said through gritted teeth. She’s my wife, damn it! Keep your bloody hands off of her! But he couldn’t stake his claim to her publicly yet. Not until he figured out what she was up to. The last thing he needed was her trying to paint him as the thief.
Caution was the best course of action, yet he had this visceral need to proclaim her his wife. Especially after last night’s kiss, when she’d melted in his arms, reminding him of how they’d once been.
Of how she’d once been, generous with her soft, sweet kisses and easy acceptance of who he was. Though in truth, she hadn’t really known who he was back then. After the war, he’d been so eager to calm the heavy turmoil in his soul that he’d seized on her as his oasis. Instead, she’d proved to be his Waterloo. And he’d never been the same.
Lochlaw was watching him. “Mrs. Franke is lovely.” But he said it as if it were a curse.
Very curious. Might as well find out about the baron’s feelings for Isa while the lad was willing to talk. “Your mother worries that you mean to marry her.”
“And what if I do?” Lochlaw said with sudden belligerence. “Mother has no say in it. I’m the baron. I can do as I wish.”
“So, is that what you wish?” Victor’s gut clenched. “To marry Mrs. Franke?”
“She’s the only woman who’s ever really been nice to me. And since I have to marry to sire an heir . . .” A look of despair crossed Lochlaw’s face. “But even if I did wish to marry her, she would never have me.”
Oddly enough, the young man’s woeful expression tugged at Victor’s sympathies. He remembered all too well the torment he’d suffered working himself up to ask for Isa’s hand, sure that she would see only a worthless soldier with no fortune, no family, and no permanent position to commend him.
“You’re a man of wealth and high rank,” he pointed out. “She’d be a fool not to have you.”
Lochlaw shook his head. “She doesn’t care about all that.”
“Trust me,” Victor said cynically, “every woman cares about all that.”
“Not her.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ve spent most of my life with a woman who does care. Mother rates flowers by their cost. Roses are ‘splendid’; daisies are ‘cheap.’ A man who drives a phaeton or a cabriolet is ‘important’; a man who drives a curricle is ‘unfashionable.’”
Which was probably why Lochlaw drove one.
“But Mrs. Franke rates flowers by color, which makes more sense. She likes hydrangeas and violets because they’re purple. She doesn’t care about carriages, because she likes to walk.”
Victor was growing annoyed that the lad knew so much about Isa’s likes. Though he hadn’t mentioned dahlias. Those were her favorites. Victor definitely remembered that.
Then Lochlaw added, “And she prefers red oxide of lead to white.”
“Red oxide of what?”
“Lead. It’s a chemical she uses in her work. She says it’s very pretty.” Lochlaw sighed. “But when I brought her some as a gift, she merely said thank you and acted as if it meant nothing.”
“You brought her red oxide of lead instead of hydrangeas?” Victor said incredulously.
“Why would I bring her hydrangeas? They weren’t in season.” Lochlaw blinked. “Oh, Lord, should I have brought her hydrangeas? Or perhaps some walking shoes? I don’t know where to get walking shoes for ladies. I suppose at a cobbler, but—”
“Don’t bring her walking shoes,” Victor snapped. “Trust me on that one.”
That deflated poor Lochlaw. “I’m not good with women. They’re like foreign creatures to me, even Mother.”
“Ah, lad,” Victor said dryly, “every man the world over thinks the same. But we all muddle through somehow.”
Lochlaw gazed at him beseechingly. “You’re older and know more. Will you help me court Mrs. Franke?”
Victor’s reaction was instant, raw, and fierce. “Absolutely not.”
Lochlaw looked wounded. “Why?”
Because she’s mine! “Because every man has to find his own way with a woman.” He choked down anger. “And I barely know her.”
That had begun to seem very true.
God, he couldn’t take another minute of this. He changed the subject, and as soon as he could politely make his escape, he did.
He spent that night in restless dreams, plagued by memories he’d banished years ago. Now he dredged through them, trying to find the Isa he used to know, before he’d erected a replica of her to throw stones at. As always, she eluded him.
So, the next morning he entered the shop on Princes Street as soon as it opened. Inside, it looked much like the one where he’d served as night guard, with glass cases flanking the sides and a door set in the back wall that probably led to the work areas.
But this shop had some feminine touches: paintings of laughing ladies dripping with gems, black velvet in the cases, a nicely upholstered settee. And vases of purple dahlias. He smiled. Clearly Isa had laid her hand on the place.
As he entered, he was greeted by a dapper old man wearing a natty wool coat, a waistcoat of figured silk, and a pair of trousers that Victor’s ducal cousin wouldn’t be ashamed to don.
Isa’s partner? He had to be.
“Good morning, sir,” the shopkeeper asked. “May I help you?”
“Actually, I was hoping to speak to Mrs. Franke.”
“She’s not here today, I’m afraid.”
Victor’s blood began to pound in his ears. Surely she hadn’t fled, damn her.
“I’m her partner, Angus Gordon,” the old man went on. “Perhaps there is something I could help you with?”
“It’s a personal matter, actually,” Victor snapped. “Where is she?”
“She’ll be back tomorrow,” Gordon said blandly. “Perhaps you should return then.”
“Back?” She really had fled. “Did she leave town?” he demanded, throwing caution to the winds. “Where did she go? Why?”
Gordon’s eyes narrowed. “And who might you be?”
Victor forced himself to calm down. He would get nowhere by antagonizing the man. Time to change tacks, and soothe Gordon’s suspicions.
Somehow he managed a smile. “I’m Victor Cale, cousin to the Baron Lochlaw.” Lochlaw was a popular figure around here. “Since Mrs. Franke isn’t here to answer my questions, perhaps I could speak with you about her?”
“Ah, yes. The Lochlaws’ cousin. I’ve been hearing about you.” Gordon looked him up and down, dissecting him with a thoroughness generally reserved for dead frogs. “You roused quite a flurry of gossip with all your questioning of the shopkeepers on Saturday.”
“I’m merely concerned about his lordship’s future. I want to know what sort of woman he has taken up with.”
“And of course your interest is purely selfless, borne of naught but your concern for the baron,” Gordon said with a faint Scottish brogue.
Victor ignored the dollop of acid in it. “Exactly.”
Gordon stared hard at him. Then he shouted, “Mary Grace!” and a slender young woman hurried into the shop through the door in the back. “Could you watch the front for a while, lassie? I’ve business to conduct with this gentleman.”
“Certainly, Uncle,” she mumbled into her chest, which wasn’t hard to do, since she stood hunched over as if afraid someone might see her freckled face. She was also doing her best to hide her flaming red hair, for it was scraped up beneath a mobcap, with only a few curls peeking out to betray its color.
As Gordon led Victor into the back, which did indeed prove to be a sort of workshop, he murmured, “Mary Grace is my brother’s granddaughter. She comes to the shop to get away from her plague of a mother, who’s always going on about her making a splash in good society.”
They passed through a labyrinth of locked cabinets and worktables, skirted a large furnace, and finally entered a cozy little room containing a leather-topped mahogany partner’s desk with brass fittings, two Windsor chairs on either side of the desk, a large cabinet, and a small fireplace.
Gordon closed the door, then gestured to one of the chairs. As Victor took a seat, the man went to stoke up the fire. From behind, Gordon resembled a priest with a tonsure, his gray curls surrounding a circlet of shiny bald pate.
“So,” the old fellow said, “you want to know about Mrs. Franke.”
“I understand that she and the baron have a . . . more than friendly relationship.”
“Humph.” Gordon sat in the chair opposite the desk from Victor. “You’ve been talking to his lordship’s mother.”
“What makes you think that?” As Tristan was fond of saying, Answer a question with a question if you don’t want to answer with the truth.
“Her ladyship is obsessed with getting the poor man out of Mrs. Franke’s so-called clutches. Don’t know why. Mrs. Franke is a fine lass. The young baron would be lucky to have her.”
“But would she be lucky to have him?” Victor countered, before he caught himself.
“Why should you care?”
Victor suppressed a curse, aware of the old man’s gaze on him. Steady now, you dolt. Stop letting your emotions rule your head. “I don’t. But I confess I was wondering what she could possibly see in the man. Aside from the obvious.”
“The obvious?” Gordon asked.
“His title. His fortune. His connections.”
“Ah.” Gordon’s gaze chilled, though when he spoke again, his tone was mild. “How well do you know Mrs. Franke?”
“I just met her yesterday.” That was certainly true. “Mrs. Franke” hadn’t existed for him until then.
“Then I should correct the impression of her that Lady Lochlaw has obviously given you. Mrs. Franke doesn’t care about title, fortune, or connections.”
Was every man who knew Isa completely smitten? Why did they all see her as such a saint, when she most certainly was not?
“Then what does she care about?” Victor snapped.
“Her—” Gordon paused. “Her work.”
Victor had a sneaking suspicion that the man had started to say something else. “You mean, her work making fake jewels.”
The Scotsman glared at him. “I mean, her work designing beautiful jewelry, and attempting with every new creation to surpass the last.”
Victor flashed on a memory of Isa bent over a table in the jeweler’s shop in Amsterdam, her eyes alight as she manipulated tiny diamonds into an intricate brooch. Through the years he’d imbued that enraptured look with a certain greed, part of his way of explaining to himself how she could have chosen a set of royal jewels over him.
But had there really been any greed in her face? Or had that just been his rewriting of the past? “Isn’t it odd for a woman to be satisfied with work alone?”
“Not when the woman is extraordinarily talented, no. Have you seen an example of her work?”
Even now, Victor remembered how lovely the imitation royal parure had been, so perfect that until the palace had forced the jeweler to make a closer examination of it, the man had missed that it was a fake. “Yes, I have.”
That seemed to take Gordon off guard. “Oh? When?”
“Last night at the theater,” Victor said swiftly. “Mrs. Franke told us that she had designed the necklace worn by the opera singer.”
Gordon’s face cleared. “Ah, yes. A beautiful piece.”
“The tiara Mrs. Franke wore was her own work, too, I presume.”
“It was.” Gordon stared hard at Victor. “Why do you think I took her on? When she came to my shop to beg that I hire her, she brought a ruby ring left to her by her family. She’d refashioned it, using the most amazing imitation diamonds I’d ever seen. It was exquisite. I hired her as an apprentice on the strength of that ring alone.”
“I gather from what Lady Lochlaw said that she’s from the Continent. How did she end up in Scotland?”
Gordon looked confused. “You misunderstand. I didn’t hire her here. She traveled with me to Edinburgh after I hired her in Paris.”
That flummoxed Victor. She’d stolen a fortune in diamonds, and then gone begging for a position from Gordon? That made no sense.
And if she’d been trying to escape being captured, why not just pay for her passage with the proceeds from the theft?
“Why was she seeking work with you?”
“Why do you think?” Gordon said testily. “She had to live somehow. After her husband died in the army, she was left destitute.” He scowled. “I suppose you’re one of those who think a woman is better off starving than going into trade.”
“Not at all,” Victor said, trying to find his way in this increasingly odd conversation. “I’m just surprised that you would hire a woman you barely knew and pay for her passage to Scotland, merely so she could work for you as an apprentice.”
Gordon sat up straight. “What the devil are you implying? That I had some other motive in hiring her? That I took advantage of the woman? That I’m some lecher who—”
“No, forgive me,” Victor said hastily. The Scot was quick to take insult. “I’m saying this badly. But jewelers do tend to be circumspect about whom they hire. It was kind of you to take on a widow about whom you knew so little.”
The man’s glare faded a bit. “Well,” he grumbled, “I needed an apprentice. She needed a position. There weren’t many Frenchmen who wished to travel to Scotland.”
“So you were in a bit of a pickle. Perfectly understandable.” He chose his words carefully. “Did your wife mind that you were hiring a woman?”
A shadow crossed Gordon’s face. “She’s dead,” he said softly. “That’s why I came here. After my French wife was gone, there was no reason to stay in Paris. I missed my home.”
And Isa might have offered to share a few of the diamonds with Gordon if he helped her start a new life.
But then why go through the nonsense about being his apprentice? Why not just live off of the money from the jewels? Or steal more? Victor was missing something in all this. He just didn’t know what.
Gordon was staring at him now. “Her ladyship put you up to finding out about Mrs. Franke, didn’t she?”
Victor tensed. “You can’t blame her for worrying about her son. By your own account, you took in a stranger without knowing a thing about her except the tale she spun about her soldier husband. How can you be sure that she didn’t come to you simply because she needed to leave Paris quickly? Because, perhaps, she’d been using her ability for creating imitation diamonds in some criminal pursuit?”
The shock on Gordon’s face had barely registered before the Scotsman burst into laughter. He laughed so hard he nearly fell out of his chair.
Not the reaction Victor had expected. “What’s so amusing?”
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.