Page 12 of When the Rogue Returns
“Mrs. Franke?” Lady Lochlaw asked, a note of bewilderment in her voice. “Are you all right?”
“I’m sorry, my lady,” she said swiftly. “I’m just surprised. Your son never mentioned that he had a cousin coming to visit.”
“It was rather sudden,” Lady Lochlaw said smoothly. “And Mr. Cale is a very distant cousin; I’m not sure Rupert even knows him.”
“Well,” Isa choked out, “any cousin of yours is a welcome addition to our society. I’m delighted to meet you, Mr. Cale.”
Would he reveal their past connection? Her blood beat a fierce tattoo in her veins.
A second passed, then two. Then Victor gave an abbreviated bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Mrs.... Franke, is it?”
He was taunting her, but she didn’t find that nearly as unsettling as hearing his voice for the first time in ten years. Especially since he was speaking English flawlessly, with no trace of an accent. As if he were English.
Perhaps he reallywasLady Lochlaw’s cousin. Wouldn’t that be a cruel twist of fate? She let out a breath. “Yes, Sofie Franke.”
“My mother’s maiden name was Franke,” he said in a sharp tone.
That was why she’d chosen the name in the first place—so he might find her through it. But she’d never guessed it would take him nearlyten yearsto do so. Or that she would no longer wish to have him find her. Or that when he did, he would look at her with such anger.
What didhehave to be angry about? Clearly he’d engineered this... this farce of a meeting. He had come here forsomepurpose, but what could it possibly be?
A horrible thought occurred to her. What if he’d decided to hunt her down and get her to make more imitation jewels? She wouldn’t put it past him. The sale of those diamond earrings wouldn’t have plumped up his pockets forever, especially if he’d lived extravagantly. Which he obviously had, judging from his fine attire.
Outrage seared her. She had to get him alone, figure out what he was up to. And if another thieving scheme was his purpose, she would threaten to expose him—even if it meant exposing her own part in the previous theft.
She swallowed. Surely it wouldn’t come to that. It couldn’t. She had Amalie to think of.
A servant appeared in the doorway carrying a tray, and Lady Lochlaw smiled. “Ah, there’s our tea. Come, sit. We can all get better acquainted.”
The last thing Isa wanted was to make small talk with her rogue of a husband, but she had no choice. Her ladyship would be watching for unusual behavior.
Besides, for Rupert’s sake, she should be polite. The poor manwasher friend, and he had enough conflicts with his mother as it was. Lady Lochlaw’s flagrant flirtations perplexed him, and her dislike of his focus on scholarly interests wounded him. The woman simply refused to accept that he would never be the dashing man about town that she kept pushing him to be.
Isa took a seat and Victor followed suit. As her ladyship poured the tea, Isa seized the opportunity to look Victor over.
He kept his hair shorter these days, and his clothes were the height of fashion. Gone was the rough soldier, and in his place was a fine gentleman. He looked a little older, too, which made him even more attractive, more... settled in.
Yet some things about him were exactly the same. She’d forgotten how tall he was, and how well he filled out his coat. She’d forgotten that he had the aquiline nose of an aristocrat and the warm eyes of a sensualist.
She’d forgotten his crooked mouth.
How could she have forgotten that,after all the times they’d kissed—secretly at the shop, heatedly in the alley beside it, passionately in their bed...
Drat him, she wouldn’t let him do this to her again!
She tightened her grip on her reticule. No, she would take this chance to find out as much as she could about his purpose. “So, how long do you intend to remain in the city, Mr. Cale?” she asked as Lady Lochlaw handed her a cup of tea.
His brutally intense gaze speared her. “I haven’t decided. It depends on... a number of factors.”
“But he’s staying at least through my house party,” Lady Lochlaw put in. “Aren’t you, my dear?”
He stiffened. “If that is what your ladyship wants.”
Her ladyship clearly wanted quite a bit more, which sent a surge of jealousy through Isa that annoyed her exceedingly. She no longer cared whose bed her wretch of a husband shared. Shedidn’t.
The baroness flashed him one of her not-so-coy smiles. “Don’t be so formal, cousin. You must call me Eustacia.”
“As you wish, my la—Eustacia,” Victor said. But his eyes were on Isa, scouring her as if trying to flay the flesh from her bones so he could see every secret in her heart. “And shall I call you Sofie, Mrs. Franke? Or do you have some nickname you prefer?”
