When the Rogue Returns (20 page)

She released a long breath. “Lonely. Yes. I enjoyed talking to someone close to my age who regards me well.” She gazed steadily at him. “But for me, Rupert has always been just a friend. Nothing more, nothing less. No matter
what
Mr. Gordon says about it.”

“I believe you.” The rational part of him did, anyway. The irrational part of him still growled every time the young baron began sniffing around her. “I believe that you consider him only a friend.”

“Good.” Then her expression turned mischievous. “So you thought I planned to steal the Lochlaw diamonds at the house party, did you?”

Beginning to wish he’d never brought it up, he muttered, “I told you, that was before I realized—”

“That I was
not
a master criminal?”

“I never said you were a master criminal.”

“No, indeed,” she said, eyes gleaming. “You merely said you thought me capable of making false keys and breaking into strongboxes and creeping into Lady Lochlaw’s bedchamber in the dark of night to unearth her diamonds.”

It sounded ludicrous when she put it like that. “You have to admit I had good reason to be suspicious.”

She conceded the point with a smile. “I suppose. Though you’ve developed quite the wild imagination in the years since I knew you. You see thievery everywhere you look.” Her voice turned mockingly dramatic. “And you seem to see
me
as some sly enchantress setting out to seduce young Rupert so I can get close to the Lochlaw diamonds.”

“Don’t even use the word
seduce
and
Rupert
in the same sentence,” he countered, only half joking. Especially with her looking so fetching in that flouncy green-striped thing she was wearing, which nipped in at her slender waist and showed her new, more ample bosom to good effect.

She chuckled. “Don’t be such a jealous fool. If I tried to seduce Rupert, he’d probably scream and run the other way.”

“I doubt that. He wants to marry you. He told me so himself.”

That seemed to startle her. “Really?” Her brow knit in a frown. “But he’s never said . . . He never even hinted . . .”

“He says he’s not good with women. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want one. That he doesn’t want
you
.”

She chewed on her lower lip. “His mother would never allow it.”

“How well I know.” When her gaze shot to him, he added quickly, “In any case, you should discourage him. This may seem a tad old-fashioned to you, but I take umbrage at having other men court my wife.”

Though laughter glinted in her eyes, she nodded. “I’ll have a talk with him.”

“
Soon
, Isa,” Victor said firmly. “Otherwise,
I’ll
talk to him, and he might end up rather the worse for wear.”

She snorted. “You know perfectly well you wouldn’t harm a hair on that boy’s head. You like him. Admit it.”

He did like him, damn it. That’s what made the whole thing more difficult.

“Besides,” she said with a calculating glance, “you wouldn’t harm your own cousin, would you?”

He groaned. Perhaps it
was
time he told her the truth about how he’d come to be here.

He was saved from having to answer when the door between the shop and the workshop opened and Gordon came in. “You have another visitor, Mrs. Franke,” he said in jovial tones. “His lordship is here.”

“Speak of the devil,” Victor ground out, ignoring Isa’s exasperated look.

Lochlaw entered behind Gordon, then stopped short when he spotted Victor. “Cousin! What the blazes are you doing here?”

Victor forced a smile. “After witnessing the beauty of
Mrs. Franke’s imitation jewels at the theater, I thought I’d come see if I could get her to share her secrets. I’ve never seen such impressive paste jewels.”

His explanation seemed to satisfy Lochlaw. “I know—aren’t they magnificent?” As Gordon returned to the shop, Lochlaw headed their way. “But no matter how much you watch her, you’ll never catch the hang of it. Mrs. Franke is an artist.”

“So I gather,” Victor said blandly. He glanced to where Lochlaw held a box wrapped up with pretty pink paper and a purple ribbon. “And so, apparently, are you.”

Lochlaw colored. “This?” He tugged at his cravat. “I wasn’t the one to wrap it. They did it at the shop.”

“The shop?” Isa asked gently.

Lochlaw’s eager look made Victor want to roll his eyes. “I bought you something I thought you could use at the house party.”

As Victor began to bristle, Isa hastily stepped forward to take the box. “Thank you, Rupert.” Sparing a warning glance for Victor, she opened the box and then stared into it, a look of complete bewilderment on her face.

Victor leaned over to see what Lochlaw had brought her. Inside a nest of satin lay a pair of delicate half boots in purple kid, with pink laces and a little red rosette on each toe. They were the most vivid shoes he’d ever seen.

They were also the smallest. Hmm.

“They’re for walking,” Lochlaw explained cheerily. “Since you enjoy it so much. And we’ll probably be walking a great deal on the estate.”

“Oh, I see,” Isa murmured. “They’re lovely, thank you.”

“And colorful,” Victor said, fighting to keep the amusement from his voice.

“You see, cousin?” Lochlaw said, triumph in his voice. “I know you were against the idea of walking shoes as a gift, but there were no hydrangeas to be had anywhere, and clearly she likes the half boots. Don’t you, Mrs. Franke?”

“They’re quite beautiful,” Isa said with a thin smile.

“Yet sturdy enough for walking,” Lochlaw said. “I was most particular about that when I saw them for sale at the cobbler’s yesterday.” He nudged the box. “Put them on. I want to see how they look on you.”

It was all Victor could do to keep a straight face. “Oh yes, do put them on, Mrs. Franke.”

Sparing a murderous glance for Victor, Isa smiled at Rupert. “I would hate to ruin them. They’re so pretty, and the workshop is so . . . full of chemicals and dirt.”

“Not at all like the outdoors,” Victor quipped.

Blatantly ignoring him, she told Lochlaw, “I’ll try them on later, when I’m at home.”

“Nonsense,” Lochlaw said. “My cousin is right. The outdoors is far dirtier than here.”

With a sigh, she faced Lochlaw, who was watching with happy anticipation. “I’m afraid I can’t put them on, Rupert. They won’t fit.”

Lochlaw blinked. “What do you mean?”

Victor leaned back against the worktable. “They’re too small.” And if he knew one thing about his wife, it was that she did
not
have particularly small feet.

A look of horror crossed the baron’s face before his gaze shot down to her shoes. “They can’t be. Mrs. Franke’s feet are dainty. All women’s feet are dainty. That’s what the cobbler said.”

Because he was trying to sell you a pair of shoes he couldn’t get rid of.

Victor didn’t have the heart to say that. “In theory, perhaps,” he drawled, “but in reality, women’s feet come in all shapes and sizes. And Mrs. Franke’s are not . . . er . . . dainty.”

“Thank you for calling attention to that particular flaw of mine,” Isa told Victor dryly. Then noticing Lochlaw’s crestfallen expression, she added, “But they really are very pretty shoes. I’m sure I can find a use for them.”

“Perhaps they will fit Amalie,” Lochlaw said, a hint of desperation in his voice.

Isa froze.

“Who’s Amalie?” Victor asked.

The blood drained from Lochlaw’s face. “Um . . . well . . .”

“My servant,” Isa broke in. “She does happen to have very dainty feet.”

Lochlaw’s head bobbed. “Very dainty. I know they’d fit her.” He looked absolutely terrified as he cast Isa an imploring glance. “They would, surely they would.”

“Of course they would,” Isa said quickly, and bent to pick up the shoes so she could restore them to their box.

The two of them seemed a bit afraid of this Amalie.
Victor would have to meet the dainty-footed servant who could frighten both Isa and Lochlaw.

The door to the shop opened and Mary Grace slipped in. She kept her head down as she approached, but he noticed that her cheeks were a bright red. “Mr. Gordon wants to know if he should send round for some tea for his lordship.”

Lochlaw was staring at the shoes, as if still trying to gauge if they really were too small. “No, no tea.” He frowned. “I wonder why the cobbler sold them to me,” he said to Isa. “He had them in the window and I thought they were perfect. He asked your size, and I said your feet were about this big”—he demonstrated with his hands—“and I think he just didn’t listen.”

“Probably,” Isa said in a soothing tone.

Mary Grace was edging back toward the door when Lochlaw called out, “Miss Gordon!”

She froze with the look of a startled doe before squeaking, “Yes, my lord?”

He grabbed the shoes from Isa and walked up to show them to Mary Grace. “Do these look small to you?”

The poor girl swallowed convulsively. “Um . . . it . . . well . . . it depends on who they’re for. You have to measure the woman’s feet to be certain.”

He slumped. “I should have done that. I didn’t think I’d need to, though. Women’s feet are all small, are they not?”

“Well, mine are,” she ventured, her blush creeping up to the tips of her ears, “but my mother’s aren’t, so it depends.”

“Of course it does,” he mumbled. “I should know that. I’m such a dullard.”

“Not at all!” Mary Grace protested. “You’re just not used to buying women’s shoes. When you go to the cobbler for shoes for yourself, he probably does the measuring for you.”

“Actually, I don’t go to the cobbler,” he admitted ruefully. “Some fellow comes to the house and Mother tells him what to make and they wrap a string around my feet.” Awareness dawned. “Ohhh, that’s what the string is for. Measurements.” He stared down at the shoes. “Some man of science I am.”

“Oh no, but you’re brilliant!” she cried. “Who cares about shoes? You understand
atomic theory
. That’s far more important than shoes.”

Lochlaw’s eyes lit up. “You know about atomic theory?”

She blinked, then dropped her gaze again. “Only a little. I read most of Dalton’s book, but I—I got a bit confused by the part about chemical synthesis.”

“That’s not as complicated as it seems at first glance.” He turned the half boots round in his hand. “I could . . . explain it to you sometime. If you want.”

Her eyes shot to him and her blush crept down her neck. “That would be lovely. Just . . . lovely.” From behind her, Gordon called through the doorway, and she mumbled, “I’d better go. Uncle wants me.”

When she turned, Lochlaw said, “You and your uncle should attend my house party. Mrs. Franke is already coming, and I see no reason why you couldn’t all come. It would just make it more complete.”

She halted, the redness now showing on the back of her neck. “If Uncle says it’s all right,” she said, “that would be quite . . . lovely.” Obviously Mary Grace wasn’t terribly articulate when it came to young gentlemen. Unless they were discussing science.

Victor glanced over at Isa, only to find her looking from Lochlaw to Mary Grace. When he raised an eyebrow at her, she whispered, “I’ve never heard her say that many words at one time in all my life. I didn’t even know she knew about atomic theory.”

“What
is
it?” Victor whispered back.

Isa shrugged. “No idea. I couldn’t understand one jot of that Dalton book. It was all numbers and proportions. I know about how to use chemicals, not what makes them work.”

“Well, I have no knowledge of chemistry at all,” Victor admitted. “That was one subject Father didn’t know enough about to teach me.”

“Your father taught you?” she asked.

Only when her carefully nonchalant tone registered did he realize he’d revealed more than he’d intended. “Some. We . . . er . . . traveled too much for me to have formal schooling.”

“I never knew that. Why were you traveling? Where did you go? What subjects
did
your father know?”

The baron was heading back toward them, looking pensive, and Victor seized with great relief on the chance to abandon the topic of his father. “Lochlaw, perhaps you should take those shoes back to the cobbler.”
So Isa and I can have some privacy.
“Clearly he
ought to have told you that you needed measurements before he sold them to you. I’ll bet if you go now and tell him what happened, he’ll make good his mistake.”

“That’s a fine idea,” Lochlaw said and turned for the door. But before he got very far, Isa called out, “Tell me, Rupert, did you ever look up Mr. Cale in
Debrett’s
as you said you were going to?”

Damnation. She wasn’t going to let that go, was she?

Lochlaw halted. “I forgot all about it.” He steadied his shoulders. “I shall do that after I’m finished at the cobbler’s. I’m sure Mother would wish to know. And we must have a
Debrett’s
in our library somewhere.”

Flashing Victor a self-satisfied smile, Isa said, “If you don’t, there’s probably one in the subscription library.”

Victor strode forward. “I’ll go with you, cousin. I’d like to see
Debrett’s
myself.”

Isa’s smile faded. “We should all go.”

“Don’t you have a piece of jewelry you have to finish this week?” Victor pointed out smugly, trying not to laugh when she glared at him. He took Lochlaw by the arm. “We’ll leave you to it. Besides, it’ll give me and my cousin more time to get acquainted, eh, Lochlaw?”

And perhaps in the process, he could find out exactly
what
Isa was hiding. It was becoming clear that he had a better chance of that with Lochlaw than with his wary wife.

Lochlaw brightened. “Oh, yes, that would be grand.” But as soon as they’d left the shop, Lochlaw said, “You have to help me, cousin.”

“I wouldn’t know the first thing about where to find a
Debrett’s
.”

“No, not that,” Lochlaw said with a roll of his eyes. “You have to help me get another present for Mrs. Franke. So she doesn’t think I’m a dullard.”

“I’m sure she would never think that,” he bit out.

“She would never admit that she does. But who wouldn’t think it after I bought the wrong-size boots?”