Page 33 of When the Rogue Returns
Relief swamped her. She’d breached the fortress.
And what a fortress it was. As a jeweler, she’d seen plenty of grand halls, but this went beyond grand. The floors and staircase were of fine Italian marble, the curtains were of damask with gold threads, and the chandelier sparkled so brightly that it could only be crystal.
She couldn’t help gawking as the butler left. Was that a Rembrandt? She tried to look casual as she strolled over to look at it. She’d seen a Rembrandt once at a museum, but she wasn’t that familiar with fine paintings.
“Where the hell have you been these past two days?” demanded a hard voice from the stairs.
Isa stiffened, then turned to face her husband. “Why, good evening, Mr. Cale.” She cast a meaningful glance at the servants. “It’s nice to see you, too.”
Victor went rigid. Which had to be difficult, since he was already stiff as a starched cravat. Sadly, it only made him look more dashing. Despite the fact that he wore only a figured blue banyan over his shirt, waistcoat, and trousers, he looked every inch a man of distinction as he came down the last few steps.
It would be too much to hope that he had turned out to be a long-lost duke, and wanted to be rid of her so he could marry someone more appropriate. That would suit her nicely.
“Jenkins,” he barked as he marched toward her. “Mrs. Franke and I will be upstairs in my sitting room. We have urgent business to discuss, and we do not want to be disturbed.”
The butler didn’t so much as lift an eyebrow. “As you wish, sir.”
Well. Victor certainly had the aristocratic arrogance down pat.
Pausing only long enough to let the footman take her cloak and hat, Victor grabbed her arm and urged her toward the stairs. “You and I need to talk.”
“I couldn’t agree more, so there’s no need to manhandle me,” she snapped as she wrestled free of his grip.
“Forgive me,” he said acidly. “I forgot how independent you’ve become.”
I had to be; my husband left me,she wanted to retort, but the servants were listening with obvious interest.
“How did you find me?” he asked as they ascended the stairs.
“Mr. Gordon recognized your phaeton as belonging to the Duke of Lyons, with whom he’d once had dealings. He directed me here.” She shot him a sideways glance as they reached the next floor. “How do you know the Duke of Lyons?”
“He’s a friend,” he said tersely, but he wouldn’t look at her.
“He must be quite a good friend,” she said as Victor showed her into a well-appointed sitting room.
She spotted a bedchamber through an open adjoining door, and realized that the sitting room was part of a large suite. No doubt there was a dressing room connected to it as well.
“Very impressive,” she murmured. “How did you manage to make a duke’s acquaintance?”
Ignoring the question, Victor shut the door, then rounded on her with a black look. “Where were you today? Attempting to flee me?”
She glared at him. “I had business out of town. It had nothing to do with you—the trip was planned long before you came here. I wasn’t going to put it off simply because you decided to show up and make trouble.”
“What sort of business? Where?”
The suspicion threading his voice inflamed her. “Where wereyou?” she countered. “Oh, wait, I already know. You were at my shop, attempting to poison my partner against me.”
Victor scowled. “Is that what he told you?”
“He told me you made all sorts of wild speculations about how I was breaking into houses and stealing diamonds and trying to sell them to him.”
He had the good grace to look uncomfortable. “I didn’t say that... exactly.”
“Then whatdidyou say, ‘exactly’?”
“Nothing that wasn’t true.” He raked his fingers through already mussed hair. The gesture was so familiar that it sparked a reaction deep in her belly.
She forced herself to ignore it. “You mean you told him the parts of the story that would make me look bad, and left out anything about yourself. Because you hoped that if you went around spreading rumors about me, you could bully me into doing your bidding. Why else would you wait years to come after me?”
