“Anything else is boring,” Tristan shot back. He grinned at the doctor. “Besides, I’ve got Worth here to patch me up if I get into trouble. Come on, Doctor, let’s see if we can find some.”
As the young doctor allowed Tristan to pull him away, Dom shook his head.
Isa had really grown to like the man after Victor had begun working with him. Tristan could be fun to tease, but he was also exasperating; Dom was as solid as the rock of Gibraltar.
He smiled at her. “We’re delighted that you caught Lochlaw’s eye and drew Victor to Edinburgh. The man deserves some happiness.” He glanced at Victor. “And . . . well . . . we’ve been thinking about asking you if you might like to do some work for us from time to time. Looking at chemical compositions and evaluating gems for our clients to see if they’re real.”
“They could also use some help in the office,” Lisette put in. She laid a hand on her noticeably rounded belly. “I’m afraid I’m not going to be much good to them anymore. I simply have too much to do.”
The duke slid his hand about her waist and gazed down at her fondly. “My wife has decided that our nursery needs a complete overhaul, now that we’re intent on filling it.”
“Oh, do you have a baby, Your Grace?” Amalie exclaimed. “I love babies!”
“You love everything,” Lisette said fondly and ruffled her hair. “We don’t have a baby now, but we will soon, and you are welcome to come help with it whenever you wish.”
“Papa, did you hear that? I can help with the baby!”
“Yes, lambkin, I heard,” Victor said. “Everyone in the town house heard.”
They all laughed. The trial of their lives was trying to teach Amalie not to be quite so boisterous.
“So, what do you say?” Dom asked Isa. “Would you be interested in helping us from time to time? At least until you decide what to do with your jewelry business?”
“Actually, that sounds intriguing,” Isa said. “We can try it for a bit, anyway.”
A footman came in to announce that dinner was served. As everyone moved toward the door, Victor murmured something to Lisette, who took Amalie’s hand and drew her off. Then Victor halted Isa with a hand and called out to the others, “We’ll be there in a moment.”
For his pains he got lots of sly looks from his friends, who had now become her friends, too. He stoically ignored them. As soon as the others were gone, he pulled out a little box.
“Since we were too poor to afford a ring for you all those years ago, I decided to remedy that situation.” He opened the box, and she was surprised to see a ring with several gems in a line.
She caught her breath. Lapis, iris, emerald, vermeille, emerald, kyanite, emerald. Lieveke.
Tears clogged her throat. “Oh, Victor, it’s beautiful!”
“They’re real gems, too,” he said. “Mr. Gordon had a devil of a time finding a gem to use for k, but Lochlaw suggested the kyanite, and there you are.”
He slid the ring onto her finger, where it fit perfectly.
“I will forever be grateful to Lochlaw,” Victor went on as he kissed her hand, “and not just for the kyanite either, but because he brought you back to me.”
She covered his hand with hers. “Yes. Although sometimes, when I’m being whimsical, I fancy that our lonely hearts grew tired of waiting for us to find each other, and simply called out in the night until they got their answer. And that’s what really brought us together.”
“I like that,” he said as he drew her into his arms. Then he kissed her so sweetly that for a moment she was eighteen again, sneaking off to be with her bold young soldier.
When he drew back, all the love in the world shone in his eyes. “Because I know for certain that my heart will always hear yours.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I DIDN’T MAKE Isa and Mr. Gordon up out of whole cloth. They’re partly inspired by Alsatian jeweler Georg Friedrich Strass, who invented the imitation diamond (which is why the glass for faux gems is called strass after him). He made a small fortune selling imitation gems. The other inspiration was a story I came across in a Regency-era English magazine, about a swindler in Paris who created such amazing faux diamonds that he managed to amass two million francs selling them as real diamonds before he was caught. Out of those two things Isa was born.
I state that Victor is Belgian even though Belgium wasn’t officially a country at the time my books were set. That’s because everyone still referred to the region as Belgium. There are whole books from this period and earlier discussing travel to “Belgium” at a time when Belgium wasn’t officially a country. I assume the region was known as that before it was officially named that.
I’m not a legal expert, so I could only assess Dutch law to the extent that I could find it written in English and could understand the legalese, but everything I read stated that at this time a divorce could be obtained for desertion of the wife, without requiring the wife’s presence. If that’s not true, mea culpa!
And yes, atomic theory has been around since 1808, when chemist John Dalton published A New System of Chemical Philosophy. So Rupert was not ahead of his time!
Turn the page for a sneak peek at the third book in the Duke’s Men series from New York Times bestselling author Sabrina Jeffries!
HOW THE SCOUNDREL SEDUCES
Coming soon from Pocket Books
1
London
January 1829
WHEN THE HACKNEY halted, Lady Zoe Keane drew her veil aside and peered out the murky window to survey the building standing opposite Covent Garden Theater.
This couldn’t be Manton’s Investigations. It was too plain and ordinary for the famous Duke’s Men, for pity’s sake! No horses standing at the ready to dash off to danger? No imposing sign with gilt lettering?
“Are you sure this is their offices?” she asked Ralph, her footman, as he helped her out.
“Aye, milady. It’s the address you gave me: twenty-nine Bow Street.”
When the brittle cold needled her cheeks, she adjusted her veil over her face. She mustn’t be recognized entering an office full of men, and certainly not this office. “It doesn’t look right somehow.”
“Or safe.” He glanced warily at the rough neighborhood. “If your father knew I’d brought you to such a low part of town he’d kick me out the door, he would.”
“No, indeed. I would never allow that.” As Mama used to say, a lady got what she wanted by speaking with authority . . . even if her knees were knocking beneath her wool gown. “Besides, how will he find out? You accompanied me on my walk in St. James’s Park, that’s all. He’ll never learn any different.”
He mustn’t, because he would almost certainly guess why she’d sought out an investigator. Then, like the former army major that he was, he would institute draconian measures to keep her close. She couldn’t let that happen just when she was beginning to learn the truth. She wouldn’t!
“I shan’t be here long,” she added. “We’ll easily arrive home in time for dinner, and no one will be the wiser.”
“If you say so, milady.”
“I do appreciate this, you know. I’d never wish for you to get into trouble.”
He sighed. “I know, milady.”
She meant it, too. She liked Ralph, who’d served as her personal footman ever since Mama’s death last winter. From the beginning, he’d felt sorry for Zoe, “the poor motherless lass.” And if sometimes she used that to her advantage rather shamelessly, it was only because she had no choice. Time was running out. She’d already had to wait months for Papa to bring her and Aunt Flo to London so she could maneuver this secret meeting in the first place.
They climbed to the top of the steps, and Ralph knocked on the door. It took forever for someone to come. She adjusted her cloak, shifted her reticule to her other hand, stamped snow off her boots.
At last the door swung open, to reveal a gaunt fellow wearing an antiquated suit of bottle-green silk and a puce waistcoat, who appeared to be headed
out the door.
“Mr. Shaw!” she cried, both startled and delighted to see him again so soon.
He peered at her veiled face. “Do I know you, madam?”
“It’s ‘your ladyship,’ if you please,” Ralph corrected him.
As Mr. Shaw bristled, Zoe jumped in. “We haven’t been introduced, sir, but I saw you in Much Ado About Nothing last night and thought you were marvelous. I’ve never witnessed an actor play Dogberry so feelingly.”
His demeanor softened. “And who might you be?”
“I’m Lady Zoe Keane, and I’m scheduled to meet with the Duke’s Men at three p.m.”
It wasn’t too much of a lie. A few months ago she’d caught the well-known investigators orchestrating a pretend theft in order to capture a kidnapper. In exchange for her silence, they’d agreed to do her a favor at some future date.
That date was now.
She only hoped they’d remember. Mr. Dominick Manton, the owner, and Mr. Victor Cale, one of his men, both seemed responsible fellows who would honor their promises.
Mr. Tristan Bonnaud, however . . .
She tensed. That bullying scoundrel had caught her by surprise, and she hated that. Why, he hadn’t even wanted to agree to the bargain! No telling what he would do if things were left to him.
“Have you just been here to see the investigators?” she asked Mr. Shaw, wondering why he continued to block their way in.
He grimaced. “Alas, no. I am employed here. Acting is my second profession at present. My first one is as butler and sometime clerk to Mr. Manton.”
Oh, dear. She only hoped he wasn’t privy to his employer’s meeting schedule. “In that case, perhaps you should announce me.” When he stiffened, she added hastily, “I would be most honored. What a pity that I didn’t expect you to be here, for then I would have brought my playbill for you to autograph.”
Given how he arched his eyebrows, that was probably laying it on a bit thick. “What a pity indeed,” he said. But thankfully he ushered them inside anyway.
Removing her cloak and veiled hat, she surveyed the foyer. This was more like what she’d expected: simple but elegant mahogany furniture; a beautiful, if inexpensive, Spanish rug; and nice damask draperies of a pale yellow. The decor could still use a bit of dash—perhaps some ancient daggers on the walls for effect, but then she always liked more dash than other people.
Besides, the newspapers told enough daring tales about the Duke’s Men to make up for any lack of dash in their offices. It was said that they could find anyone. She dearly hoped that was true.
“I don’t believe any of the gentlemen are present at the moment.” Mr. Shaw kept eyeing the front door with a peculiar expression of longing. “They must have forgotten your appointment. Perhaps you should return later.”
“Oh, but that’s impossible!” she burst out.
When his gaze swung to hers, newly suspicious, she cringed. Why must she always speak the first thing that came into her head? No matter how she tried to behave as Mama had taught her, sometimes her mouth just did whatever it wanted, and to hell with the consequences.
She winced. Not hell. Ladies didn’t so much as think the word hell, not even ladies whose papas used the word regularly while teaching their daughters how to manage the estates they would one day inherit.
Sucking in a breath, she added sweetly, “I can’t imagine that the famous Duke’s Men would forget an appointment. Perhaps they came in the back.”
After all the risks she’d taken to meet with them, the thought of being thwarted just because they were all out investigating made her want to scream.
He sighed. “Wait here. I’ll see if anyone’s in.” He darted up the stairs like a spider up a web.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Ralph grumbled, “Still don’t see why you want to consult with investigators. Your father would gladly find out whatever you wish to know.”
Oh, no, he wouldn’t. She’d already determined that. “Don’t worry. It’s nothing that will get you into any trouble.”
It was only the entirety of her future, but she wasn’t about to go into that with Ralph. None of the servants could ever know of this.
The door opened behind her. “Well, well, what have we here?”
She froze. She would recognize that voice anywhere. Oh, botheration, why did it have to be him?
Steadying herself for battle, she faced Mr. Bonnaud . . . only to be struck speechless by the sight of him.
This wasn’t the Mr. Bonnaud she’d encountered in the woods near Kinlaw when she’d extracted her promise from the Duke’s Men. That fellow had been barrel-chested, thick waisted, and rough looking, with a floppy hat and a beard that hid most of his face.
Belatedly she remembered his saying on that day that he was wearing a disguise. She hadn’t believed him.
She did now. Because the man before her wasn’t remotely burly or bearded or badly dressed. He was lean and handsome and garbed almost fashionably, if one could call a sober riding coat of dark gray wool, a plain black waistcoat, tight buff trousers, and scuffed boots fashionable.
Not that any woman would care about his clothes when his broad shoulders and his muscular thighs filled them out so well. Heaven help her.
Then he removed his top hat of gray beaver to reveal a profusion of thick black curls worthy of a Greek god, and she had to suck down a sigh. Though Mr. Bonnaud’s face wasn’t remotely Mediterranean—his nose was too narrow and his jaw too finely crafted—the combination of his features with his hair was stunning. Absolutely stunning.
No wonder his name was so often linked to beautiful actresses and dancers. With those fierce blue eyes and that seducer’s shapely mouth, he probably spent half his time in bed with willing females.
The images that rose in her mind made her curse her wild imagination. Ladies weren’t supposed to think about that either.
He looked closely at her, and recognition leapt in those splendid eyes. “Lady Zoe,” he said, bowing.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Bonnaud.”
He crooked up one eyebrow. “Finally decided to call in your favor, did you?”
With a furtive glance at Ralph, who watched the exchange most avidly, she said, “I wish to consult with you and your companions, yes.”
Just then Mr. Shaw returned. “Ah, there you are, Mr. Bonnaud. Is Mr. Manton with you?”
“He’s tying up some loose ends, but he said he’d be along shortly.”
Mr. Shaw nodded to her. “This lady claims to have an appointment with the . . . er . . . Duke’s Men.”
She watched Mr. Bonnaud warily, preparing herself for anything. So when he had the audacity to wink at her, it took her off guard—and sent a little thrill along her spine that was too annoying for words.
“She does indeed,” he said, eyes agleam. “A rather long-standing one. Don’t worry, Shaw—I can see you’re impatient to be off to rehearsal. I’ll take care of her ladyship.”
“Thank you, sir,” Mr. Shaw said, then rushed out the door.
Mr. Bonnaud gestured to the stairs. “Shall we adjourn to the office?”
Ralph jumped up, and Zoe said hastily, “Wait down here for me, Ralph.”
“But my lady—”
She handed him her hat and cloak. “I’ve already met Mr. Bonnaud and his fellow investigators, and I promise they can be trusted.”
Or some of them could, though it looked for now as if she was stuck with the one she wasn’t sure about. Not that it mattered. She was desperate enough to settle for Mr. Bonnaud.
Lifting her skirts, she headed for the stairs, feeling the man fall into step behind her. Only when they were past the landing and well out of sight and earshot of Ralph did she say in a low voice, “I prefer to wait until the head of the Duke’s Men is also present before proceeding.”
“Do you?” he drawled. “Then let me give you a piece of advice. If you want to get on Dom’s good side, stop calling us ‘The Duke’s Men.’ He hates when people refer to the business he built
himself as if it were an extension of His Grace’s empire.”
How odd. “One would think he’d relish his connection to a duke.”
Mr. Bonnaud snorted. “Not everyone is as enamored of your sort as you might think, my lady.”
The contempt in his voice irritated her, especially given her reasons for being here. “Is that why you tried to shoot me the last time we met?” It still rankled that he’d not only managed to rattle her but had kept rattling her even after it became clear he was no threat.
“I didn’t try to shoot you,” he said. “I only threatened to shoot you.”
“Three times. And the first time, you waved your pistol in my face.”
“It wasn’t loaded.”
She paused on the stairs to glare down at him. “So you deliberately put me in fear for my life?”
He smirked at her. “Served you right. You shouldn’t have been galloping after men who were reputedly in pursuit of a thief.”
The heat rising in her cheeks made her scowl. She had nothing to be embarrassed about, curse it! “I had good reason for that.”
He took another step up, putting him far too close. “Do tell.”
Staring into his eyes was only marginally less alarming than staring down the barrel of his pistol had been months ago. And good heavens, he was tall. Even standing two steps below her, he met her gaze easily.
It did something rather startling to her insides.
She tipped up her chin. “I’m not saying anything until your brother is here. Just in case you threaten to shoot me again.”
Amusement leapt in his gaze. “I only do that when you’re interfering in matters beyond your concern.”
“You don’t understand. I had to—”
“Quiet,” he ordered, cocking his head to one side.
Just as she was about to protest his arrogance, she heard sounds of conversation below.
“Dom is here.” Mr. Bonnaud nodded toward the top of the stairs. “So unless you want him to think we were dallying in the staircase, I suggest we continue up.”
When the Rogue Returns Page 28