Page 9 of When the Rogue Returns
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AFEW DAYSlater, Victor arrived in Edinburgh. He hadn’t been surprised to learn that Max owned a house here, but he’d been touched when Max offered to let him stay in it as long as necessary.
He’d almost refused the offer, in case his quarry found out his connection, but it was hard to say no to the cousin he was just getting to know, and even harder to say no to the man’s meddling wife.
Fortunately, the house wasn’t a large, imposing palace in the center of town, but a villa outside the city proper. He should be able to stay there relatively anonymously, especially after he made it clear to the servants that his presence in Edinburgh needed to be discreet.
As soon as he got himself situated, he headed off to Charlotte Square to meet his new client, driving a phaeton from his cousin’s stables. But Lady Lochlaw proved to be not at all what Victor had expected, and not because of her relatively young age, either. Though the termdowager baronessmight have led some to expect a doddering old lady, he’d known better. She was newly widowed, barely out of her mourning period, and with a twenty-two-year-old son; it made sense that she be in her forties.
Hehad, however, expected a woman very aware of her consequence and wealth. It was why she was hiring him to investigate her son’s “friend,” after all. And since describing another female as a “siren” generally showed a woman to be secretly envious, he’d also assumed she was unattractive.
Nothing could have been further from the truth. The moment he was shown into the drawing room of her fashionable town house, he was taken aback to find Lady Lochlaw tall and handsome, with honeyed curls, crystal-blue eyes, and a smile that would make any man feel at ease. Or the opposite, if the man happened not to be interested in what she was selling.
Which was why, when she ran her gaze down him familiarly while he was being announced, he had to grit his teeth. “My lady,” he said with a little bow.
“Please, Mr. Cale, do not stand on ceremony with me,” she purred as she approached to take him by the arm and guide him to a settee. “This isn’t stuffy old London, you know.”
When she sat down and patted the place next to her, he picked a spot at the other end of the settee and said firmly, “Ah, but you are still my employer, my lady. I wouldn’t dare to presume.”
It was a phrase he’d picked up at those London parties, though he’d never had to use it before.
“How very decent of you.” She cast him a dazzling smile. “Still, if I’d had any idea that dear Mr. Manton would send me such abrawfellow, as we Scots say, I would have insisted that you stay here at the town house.” With a fluttering of her lashes, she leaned forward to run a finger down his arm. “His letter of introduction said you fought at Waterloo. You must have been quite a sight on the battlefield.”
Trying not to stiffen visibly, Victor managed a bland smile. “Since I was only seventeen at the time and wet behind the ears, I imagine I was.” He made his tone crisp and professional. “Now, perhaps we should discuss the situation regarding your son.”
She stared at him, then sat back with an exaggerated sigh. “I only mentioned the war because my husband and I toured Waterloo in later years. Since we’d traveled all over Belgium, I found Mrs. Franke’s claim of being from Brussels rather suspicious when she didn’t seem to know much about it.”
That made sense. Isa had never been to Belgium. Assuming Mrs. Franke was Isa, that is.
“I see.” He drew out a notepad and a pencil. “When did your son and Mrs. Franke first become acquainted?”
“Acquainted? I fear it’s more than that. With her being so much older than Rupert—”
“How much older? Or do you know?”
“She looks to be thirty at least.”
Isa would be twenty-eight. “And they’ve known each other how long?”
“Only a year. They met when my son brought my jewelry into her shop to be cleaned.”
“But she’s lived here for ten. Are you sure he didn’t meet her before?”
“He was in school. He only came home after he reached his majority.”
“Ah, of course.” He scribbled notes in his pad. “Can you tell me anything else about Mrs. Franke that’s not in the materials you sent Manton’s Investigations? I gather, from your use of the termsiren, that she is attractive.”
Her ladyship examined her fingernails. “She’s pretty in a vulgar sort of way. I’m sure you know what I mean.”
“Not really.” He began to dislike the baroness. And feel sorry for her son. “In my experience, women are either pretty or plain, and I find both sorts equally distributed in all walks of society.”
Her gaze turned piercing. “Indeed? Inmyrather more vast experience, vulgar women lack the fine features and graceful movements of a woman of true breeding.” She leaned close again, as if to betray a confidence. “She walks like a man, as if she’s always in a hurry to get somewhere.” Her voice turned cynical. “And we both know where she’s in a hurry to get: into my son’s fortune.”
He took out the file he’d brought with him and made a show of flipping through it. “My understanding is that she’s a partner in a jewelry shop that does quite well.”
“Exactly!” she said. “A woman in trade? The very idea is appalling!”
“My point is, madam, that she has no need of your son’s fortune.”
