Page 8 of When the Rogue Returns
He certainly could. Excitement growing in his chest, Victor flipped through the papers. “Is there any mention of the woman’s age or what she looks like?”
“Why?” Tristan asked with lifted eyebrow. “Is how she looks important?”
“Perhaps,” Victor said.Though not for the reason you think, you sly dog.
“The baroness described her as a ‘grasping siren with her hooks in my son,’” Dom said dryly, “so I assume she’s somewhat pretty. As for age, the baroness didn’t mention it, probably because she doesn’t know, but considering that the baron is only twenty-two, his lady friend can’t betooold.”
“Yes, but the woman is a soldier’s widow,” Tristan pointed out. “The Belgians haven’t fought any wars since Boney—and that’s been thirteen years. Depending on when her husband died, she could be well past thirty, easily.”
A soldier’s widow.Victor’s excitement ratcheted up a notch. It made sense that Isa would stick as close to the truth as she could. “She may have married young.” And she might know that her soldier husband was out for her blood.
What were the chances of there beingtwoDutch-speaking female jewelry designers with a penchant for imitation diamonds and soldier husbands? The timing was right, and Isa could very well have fled to Paris when she left him. There was also the fact that Mrs. Franke was at the very least hiding her real name and place of origin.And that she bore his mother’s maiden name.
Still, it made no sense. The Isa he thought he’d known—shy and hesitant and reliant on her family and him for everything—would never have had the fortitude to travel across the sea and become a partner in a business.
And the Isa of his suspicions—a scheming thief who cared only about money—wouldn’t have settled down in such a place as Edinburgh for ten years. She would have stayed on the Continent to live the high life under her assumed name. With her talent, she might even have gone on to more thieving, and that would have required moving around.
So how could Mrs. Franke be Isa?
“Soldier’s widow or not,” Dom said, “she has to be young enough to bear Lochlaw an heir.”
Victor froze. “So the baroness really thinks her son and this woman mean tomarry?” The irony of it didn’t escape him.
“Her ladyship seems very sure of it,” Dom replied. “Her son will inherit a great deal of money, and he has a title besides.”
His blood chilled. Well,thatwould certainly attract a scheming thief. Still, ten years was a long time to plot to entice a baron, especially since she would have had to start when the man was only twelve. And would she really be fool enough to commit bigamy?
Though perhaps she’d assumed that Victor had gone to prison for her crime. With her false name, she might have felt certain that no one would uncover her past.
“We can’t know the true situation for sure,” Dom went on, “until you get there and assess matters. You know these dowagers—they always think unsuitable women are trying to reel in their eligible sons.”
“Actually, Idon’tknow these dowagers,” Victor said. “Five months in London society hardly qualifies me as an expert. So you probably shouldn’t play up that I’m the duke’s cousin, because I’m bound to disappoint your client if that’s what she’s looking for.”
“The baroness didn’t hear of us because of the ‘Duke’s Men’ connection,” Tristan put in, “but because of a referral from someone in Edinburgh whose case Dom handled a few months ago. She may not even recognize your name.” He cast Victor an amused glance. “So you can be as boorish as you please, old chap. She won’t know you as anything but one of our investigators.”
Victor let out a breath. “Good.” Because if Mrs. Frankedidturn out to be his missing wife, he would prefer that Isa not learn of his grand connections—not at first, anyway. The last thing he needed was for the thieving chit and her family—if they were still about—to try insinuating themselves into Max’s life on the basis of Isa’s marriage to Victor.
A marriage Victor meant to put an end to once and for all... assuming the woman in question was Isa. If he could prove that she really had been involved in the theft of the royal jewels, then no court in Europe would contest a divorce.
And he damned wellwouldsee her and her relations prosecuted for it.
The image of Isa’s last stark note to him flashed into his mind:
Dear Victor,
Our marriage was a mistake. I want something more than you can offer, so I’ve taken a position with a jeweler elsewhere. One day you will thank me.
Isa
Thankher? Even then, he’d knownthatwould never happen, though he hadn’t quite believed her note. Even after she didn’t come home, even after her family disappeared, supposedly going off to look for her, he’d thought she was just suffering a case of new wife’s nervousness. That she would come back to him soon.
All of that had changed a week later, when someone at the palace discovered that one of the commissioned parures was imitation. When the authorities had come afterhim, he’d realized that Isa had really left him. That she’d intentionally sent his life spiraling down into hell.
Only then had he looked back to see the little signs he’d missed. Yes, she’d been an innocent on their wedding night, but that had been the only truthful thing about her. And perhaps she’d lied about that, too, sprinkling pig’s blood on the sheets or something. He’d been so stupidly in love that he would have believed anything she told him.
Not anymore. After her desertion—and his weeks of “interrogation”—his heart had grown hard as stone. He’d taught himself to be cold and thorough and unmoved by feminine wiles. So this time he would be prepared. He would turn the tables onher.
Perhaps then he could purge her from his mind once and for all.
