Free When the Rogue Returns by Sabrina Jeffries Page B

short puffy sleeves, and a respectable neckline—but the little it revealed and the way it nipped in at her waist reminded him of the last time he’d taken a gown off of her. Slowly, with the reverence of a hesitant new husband.
    Now he wanted to rip it off of her with his teeth. Then cover her soft, pale flesh with his body and explore every inch with his tongue and hands and cock. He wanted to bury his mouth in the enticingly shadowed valley between her breasts, lick his way down her slender belly to the dark brown curls that covered the sweetness below . . . and drive himself inside her until she begged for more.
    He fought an erection.
    No wonder Lochlaw had stars in his eyes whenever he gazed at her. No wonder Lady Lochlaw saw Isa as a threat.
    Just then the baron looked up and spotted him. “Ah, there you are, cousin!”
    Lochlaw headed for him but Isa stayed in place, her eyes widening and her mouth flattening into a tight line that he wanted to kiss until it softened.
    God, what was wrong with him? She had betrayed him, left him to deal with the authorities alone, to make apologies for her wrongdoing. She had left him without one look back.
    And all of that melted away when he saw her in that gown.
    “Good evening,” he said as Lochlaw reached him. He nodded in Isa’s direction. “Nice to see you again, Mrs. Franke.”
    She nodded, a flush rising in her cheeks.
    “I’m glad you’ve come,” Lochlaw said. “The opera is about to start, and you won’t want to miss the beginning.”
    “Opera?” He stifled a groan. “I thought we were seeing some play called The Iron Chest. ”
    “They refer to it as a ‘musical play’ in the program,” Isa said. “But some of the reviews deemed it ‘operatic.’”
    Her gaze met his, soft with memory, and he was catapulted back to Amsterdam. Gerhart and Jacoba had dragged them to the opera once. He and Isa had only been able to afford the worst seats, and they’d spentmost of it whispering together, since neither of them had liked the singing. His opinion of opera hadn’t altered since then, despite attending a couple of them with his relations in London.
    A bell rang, and Lady Lochlaw took Victor’s arm to lead him to two chairs sitting side by side behind two more. Lochlaw seated Isa in the chair directly in front of the baroness, then took the one in front of Victor for himself.
    As the orchestra tuned up, Lady Lochlaw leaned over to Victor to whisper, “You see what I mean about vulgar? That tiara is the height of bad taste; I daresay the diamonds in it aren’t real.”
    Judging from Isa’s stiffened back, she’d heard every word.
    “I couldn’t tell,” he whispered. “And as I recall, in London many women wear tiaras to the theater.”
    Lady Lochlaw sat back with a sniff. A moment went by, during which time the music began. Then she leaned close again. “Clearly she knows nothing about opera. Why, she pronounced the word aria as ‘area.’”
    Just as he was about to point out that Mrs. Franke wasn’t a native speaker of English, Lochlaw half turned to hiss, “Quiet, Mother. I want to hear the music.”
    And that was that.
    Thank God, because Victor didn’t think he could tolerate many more of the baroness’s snide comments. But he did understand her reaction. Isa outshone her as a rose did a weed, despite the wealthier woman’s finery and expensive jewels. That had to gall.
    The first act of the opera turned out to be not as bad as he expected. For one thing, it had a decent story, with some interesting political notes. And for another, from his vantage point he had a good look of Isa in profile. He could feast his eyes as much as he liked on her glorious hair, her delicate ear, her glowing cheek.
    He knew it was foolish to do so, but he let himself dwell on the times he’d kissed her just there, where her pretty neck met her shoulder, or had run his tongue down the hollow of her throat. By the time the first act ended, every part of him