When the Rogue Returns (22 page)

Her mind raced. That would certainly explain how Victor had found her. He’d said that “fate” had thrown them together. Perhaps he’d really meant that.

But then, why was he still hiding his reason for being here if he meant her no harm?

“What did Mr. Cale say when you confronted him with this?” Isa asked.

Rupert stared at her blankly. “I didn’t confront him. I discovered all of this after he left me.”

“What do you mean?” She could have sworn that Victor had gone off with Rupert precisely to prevent the baron from digging into his own affairs. “Are you saying that you parted as soon as you left the cobbler’s?”

“We didn’t go to the cobbler’s. I figured I’d hold on to the shoes in case . . . well . . . some other lady might want them.”

She was too worried about Victor to care if he meant Mary Grace. “So you parted as soon as you left my shop?”

“No, first we went to—” He scowled. “It doesn’t matter.”

“If Mr. Cale went with you, it most assuredly matters to me. You have to tell me, Rupert.”

“I can’t.” A flush had risen in his cheeks. “It’s a surprise.”

“I don’t need any more surprises, believe me.” She searched his face, then softened her voice. “There are things you don’t know about me, things that Mr. Cale is probably here to uncover. I can’t figure out how to deal with him if I don’t know what he knows.”

“He doesn’t know anything from our visit to the flower shop!” Rupert protested. “I was very careful to hide your address when I gave it to the florist.” He
scowled again. “Oh, blast, I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Her heart dropped into her stomach. “You’re saying that you arranged to have flowers delivered to me.”

He hesitated, then nodded.

“Whose idea was that? Yours? Or Mr. Cale’s?”

“Mine, of course.” Rupert screwed up his face in thought. “Well, it was his idea to have them delivered.” When she paled, he said, “I know what you’re thinking, but I was too clever for him. I didn’t let him see where I was sending the flowers.”

“And he left you directly after that?”

“Yes. He said he had business to attend to.”

Following the deliveryman, no doubt. Of course, it wouldn’t occur to Rupert that anyone would be so devious.

She forced a smile. “Well, thank you for the information you discovered. You’re a dear.” She headed into the livery. “I have to go.”

Most Edinburgh florists made deliveries in the evenings. If she left now, she might beat the deliveryman to the cottage and be waiting for Victor, so he couldn’t question her neighbors or Betsy and find out about Amalie before she could tell him.

It was time to tell him—she
had
to tell him—but first she had to know what he was up to.

Rupert followed her into the livery. “Wait, what are we to do about Mother?”

“Nothing.” She cast him a thin smile as the groom went to fetch her horse. “Rupert,
you
are in charge of your own life. And that means you can do as you please,
no matter what your mother says. Leave her to her machinations; they will do her no good. I will deal with Mr. Cale. You just take care of yourself, and everything will be fine.”

Rupert sighed. “I really thought he was my cousin. I asked him for advice. I
trusted
him.”

“I know. And I truly believe your trust wasn’t misplaced.” She prayed that it wasn’t. “He thinks kindly of you. Of that I’m certain.”

The groom came up with her horse, and she allowed Rupert to help her mount. “I would love to talk to you more about this, but I must go. It’s important.” When his face fell, she said, “And you have to make plans for the house party, don’t you? It’s the day after tomorrow.”

“You’re still going to come?” he asked anxiously.

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.”

As she took up the reins, he said, “And . . . er . . . Mr. Gordon and Miss Gordon? Will they come?”

She stifled a smile. “Mr. Gordon said that although he couldn’t leave the shop for that long himself, he would speak to Mary Grace’s father about it. But he saw no reason why she couldn’t go, as long as I was there to chaperone.”

A brilliant smile lit Rupert’s face. “Wonderful.” As she rode out of the stables, he called after her, “I hope you like the flowers! And that you tell everyone about them!
Everyone!
”

With a shake of her head, she waved and prodded the horse into a trot. She would have thought Rupert was trying to play her and Mary Grace off of each other,
if she hadn’t known he was incapable of such a game.

She frowned as she sent the horse racing out of Edinburgh toward her cottage. Victor, however, was excellent at playing games. And at manipulating poor Rupert. She would give him a piece of her mind about that as soon as she saw him.

There was more traffic than usual along the road to her cottage, but she kept an eye out for the florist’s deliveryman. When she never saw him, she breathed a sigh of relief. That gave her a little time to prepare Betsy for Victor’s arrival.

So it was with surprise that she rode up to the cottage to find Victor waiting out front for her. He was leaning against the wall and watching her with that devouring gaze of his, and despite everything, she caught her breath to see him looking so stalwart and handsome.

She leapt down from the horse and handed it off to Rob. Waiting until the fellow disappeared into the barn, she approached Victor warily. “Well, aren’t you the clever one, tricking poor Rupert into revealing where I live?”

That seemed to startle him. “You talked to Lochlaw?”

“Yes. It seems he found a
Debrett’s
after all and learned that you’re not his cousin.” When Victor tensed, she added, “But that wasn’t the real surprise. That came when he discovered that you’re the Duke of Lyons’s cousin.”

As alarm rose in Victor’s face, she added, “So tell me, Victor, are you here on behalf of yourself, Lady
Lochlaw, Manton’s Investigations, or your cousin the duke?”

A curse escaped him. Then he shoved away from the wall. “All but the last. My cousin doesn’t even know you exist. Yet.”

She swallowed hard. “So Rupert was right. His mother hired you.”

“His mother hired Manton’s Investigations. And I was in their office when they showed me your file.” He thrust his hands into his coat pockets. “It didn’t take much for me to figure out that Sofie Franke and you were one and the same.”

She struggled to breathe. He’d come here for her from the very beginning. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You know why—I thought you were a criminal at first. I was hoping to find evidence of that.”

Rubbing her clammy hands on her skirts, she said, “And after you knew how we had been tricked? Why not tell me then?”

“For the same reason you wouldn’t tell me where you lived—because I was still trying to figure out what to do. How we were to go on, now that our lives are so different.”

“You mean, now that you are cousin to a duke who might not approve of a wife like me.”

“I don’t care if he approves,” he said fiercely. “He has nothing to do with it.”

“But Manton’s Investigations does. I knew there was something suspicious about how you found me, but I never guessed that you’d been sent here by the English
authorities. If you’ve told them about me already, then you will have to give me over to them.”

A scowl knit his brows. “They’re not the authorities, devil take it! They work for themselves, and I didn’t tell them a damned thing. They only know that Sofie Franke is being courted by the Baron Lochlaw. They don’t know about you and me. I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure that Mrs. Franke was you.”

“But you’ll have to tell them eventually,” she pointed out, “when you give them your report. And then they will learn about the theft and I’ll be hauled off to gaol.”

“Damnation, Isa, no one’s hauling you anywhere!” He came up to her and lowered his voice. “Surely you can’t think that after all we have shared, I would let you be arrested.”

“I don’t know
what
you would do anymore. You hid your purpose from me even after we shared everything. Tell me the truth, Victor. Did you come here for vengeance?”

A muscle flexed in his jaw as his gaze caught hers. He stared at her a long moment, then released a hard breath. “I did. But that’s in the past.”

“Is it?” she asked tremulously. “What are you going to tell your employer?”

He tipped up her chin with one finger. “That I found the wife I thought I’d lost. Which makes Lady Lochlaw’s reason for having you investigated rather pointless. We’ll work out the rest, I swear. I refuse to lose you again.”

When he bent his head as if to kiss her, she pulled away. “Not out here, where anyone can see us.”

Though he muttered a curse at that, he followed her as she hurried into the house. But she didn’t get far, struck dumb by the sight that greeted her just inside the door.

Her foyer was filled with purple dahlias. There were seemingly hundreds of them—arranged in vases with baby’s breath, done up as nosegays, laid casually in bunches upon her front table. She had never seen so many dahlias in all her life.

Tears sprang to her eyes. She couldn’t believe that Victor still remembered her favorite flower after all these years. Or that he’d told Rupert about them.

With her heart quavering, she turned to cast Victor a questioning glance.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Though I encouraged young Lochlaw to order them, I returned to the florist after the baron left to ask that the bill be sent to me at the villa. And that I be allowed to deliver them myself.” A faint smile touched his lips. “One advantage to being a duke’s cousin is that florists are willing to bend the rules for me. Thank God. Because no man but me is going to send my wife flowers.”

His eyes bore into hers, full of heat and yearning, making her throat constrict. And that was when she knew for certain: He meant it when he said he wasn’t here for vengeance anymore. He was here for her, only her.

She cast him a blazing smile that he returned easily.
But before he could pull her into his arms, Betsy came hurrying up the hallway.

“You’re home!” Betsy cried. “Isn’t it marvelous? I know the baron must have sent them, but the brash fellow who delivered them insisted on waiting until you arrived. I wouldn’t let him in here, mind you, but—” She came to a halt in the foyer, her eyes going wide as she caught sight of Victor. “Oh. I see that
you
let him in.”

Victor stared at Isa with one eyebrow raised, and she hesitated. But though she could trust Betsy, she needed to tell Victor about Amalie before she presented him as her husband. And she had to do that now, privately.

“Betsy, this is Mr. Victor Cale,” she said. “We are well acquainted from when I lived on the Continent. It’s a long story, and I promise to tell you all of it later, but first I need to speak to him privately. Afterward we will want some dinner, but for now we’ll be in the parlor, and we don’t wish to be disturbed.”

Though Betsy looked bewildered, she nodded. “Whatever you wish, madam. I’ll just go make sure there’s enough dinner for two.”

As soon as Betsy left, Isa drew Victor into the parlor.

“Still not ready to claim me as your husband?” he said tightly as she closed the door.

“It’s not that. But before we can go any further, I have to tell you something.”

She paced, wondering where to start. How would he feel to know that he had a daughter? And how angry would he be to learn that she’d kept it from him?

“The thing is—” she began. The sound of voices in the hall made her pause.

Then a knock came at the door to the parlor. She bit back an oath as she strode to open it.

Betsy stood there wide-eyed. “There’s a lady here to see you, madam.”

“Just get rid of her,” Isa said irritably. “I told you, we do not wish to be—”

“I know. I haven’t let her in.” Betsy glanced nervously down the hall toward the entrance door. “But I thought you might want to know about it because . . . well . . . she claims to be your sister.”

Isa froze. “My . . . my sister?”

“Aye. It was hard to make out her words, since she barely speaks English, but I’m fair certain she said ‘sister.’ Oh, and she gave her name. Mrs. Hendrix. Jacoba Hendrix.”

Lord help her. After all these years, her family had found her. And now there would be hell to pay.

V
ICTOR
’
S BLOOD RAN
cold, then hot. Hadn’t Isa said— “You told me they were still in Paris,” he accused as he came up behind her.

When she faced him, her skin the color of ash, he realized she was as astonished and upset as he. “I swear this is the first time I have so much as heard her name in a decade.”

He dragged in a heavy breath, belatedly realizing that the servant hadn’t seemed to know who the woman at the door was, which didn’t exactly imply that Isa and her sister were seeing each other regularly.

Still, he had to be certain. Leveling a steady look on Betsy, he asked, “Have you never met this woman before?”

Betsy glanced to Isa, who said, “Tell him the truth.”

“No, sir,” Betsy said, obviously perplexed. “To my knowledge, Mrs. Franke don’t have a sister.”