Free When the Rogue Returns by Sabrina Jeffries Page A

book has no practical applications. It’s strictly theory.”
    He eyed her askance. “Well, it is titled A New System of Chemical Philosophy . Philosophy tends to be theoretical.”
    She smiled. He could be so very literal. “I know. It was a foolish purchase.” She headed for the hallway.
    “You are never foolish,” he murmured as he followed her.
    Oh, she’d been foolish many a time. And the worst was when she’d given her heart to the man who’d trampled on it.
    But no more. Tonight she would force Victor to admit his purpose in coming here, one way or another.

5

    B Y THE TIME Victor arrived at the Theatre Royal, he was fit to chew nails. He’d started his investigation of “Mrs. Franke” at her shop on Princes Street, hoping to speak to her seventy-year-old partner. But the place was apparently closed on Saturdays, which was interesting. Shops closed on Sunday, not on both Saturday and Sunday. Not unless they made very good money.
    Judging from what those who ran the neighboring shops had to say, that was indeed the case. And apparently the other shopkeepers found Mrs. Franke a fascinating subject for gossip. Some praised her talent as a jeweler. Others commented favorably on her willingness to contribute to charitable causes. A few speculated about her past—whether she was Angus Gordon’s illegitimate granddaughter, why she’d settled in Edinburgh, what battles her soldier husband had fought in.
    None of them knew where she lived. Or if she attended church. Or anything about her family, beyond the fact that she was a soldier’s widow. To hear thedenizens of Princes Street tell it, Sofie Franke’s life began when she arrived at her shop in the morning and ended when she left at night.
    They did agree on one thing—the Baron Lochlaw was sure to marry her within the year. He visited the shop with great regularity, he spoke of her in glowing terms, and he was often seen trailing after her like a puppy. She would be a fool not to accept any offer he made.
    And Mrs. Franke was no fool.
    The past rose up to taunt him. You don’t expect us to believe that your wife, the talented diamond cutter, had nothing to do with the theft of those diamonds. She was no fool, your wife. She left you to pick up the pieces.
    Victor gritted his teeth as he entered the theater, an unprepossessing building with only a statue of Shakespeare for adornment on the outside. The very thought of Isa attempting to marry a rich baron made him want to smash a hammer into one of the marble pillars in the theater’s surprisingly lush interior. It wasn’t right that she should be rewarded for what she’d done.
    And he was going to make damn sure that she wasn’t—even if it meant exposing his own past.
    Though the Theatre Royale was nicely fitted out, only thirty or so private boxes lined the walls, probably half of what might be found in a London theater. It took only one word with an usher, and Victor was promptly shown into the Lochlaw box.
    Lady Lochlaw rose to greet him with a kiss to each cheek, making sure he got a good glimpse down hervery low-cut gown. Her heavy perfume swirled about his head like steam rising from a harem’s bathing room, but he only had eyes for Isa.
    She was standing at the other end of the box under a sconce, perusing a program with the baron. She frowned as the lad tried to explain certain English words.
    Lochlaw looked only marginally better dressed than he had earlier. There were no holes in his coat sleeve, but both his cravat and his hair were rumpled, and the creases in his trouser legs had already started to vanish.
    But Isa was a goddess in human form. Her hair was ornamented with ostrich feathers and a glittering diadem, probably made of imitation diamonds, though it was no less beautiful for it. If that was an example of her work, it was no wonder she and her partner did well.
    Her gown was far simpler than the baroness’s heavily furbelowed one—white taffeta embellished with green piping,