When the Rogue Returns Read Free

his previous life. For all you know, he may have done this kind of thing before. Consider all those languages he speaks—has he ever even said how he knows so many?”
    She swallowed. She’d never asked. He just seemed worldly, a man who’d learned things far beyond her ken, even though he was only two years older. “He was a soldier in the Prussian army,” she pointed out.
    “That explains his knowledge of German. But how does he know English? Or French? Surely not just from being a soldier. I daresay he did a few things during the war that required special . . . skills.”
    Since she’d often wondered about his reticence, she could hardly ignore that possibility.
    “Besides,” Jacoba went on, “soldiers are practical sorts. And since you never mentioned our plan to him, how do you know he wouldn’t have embraced it?”
    The words cut her right through. She didn’t. She had only her instincts to go on, which said that Victor would never steal. But could she be sure? Or did she just believe it because she’d placed him so high in her esteem?
    Worse yet, some facts were irrefutable. Jacoba and Gerhart couldn’t have breached the strongbox without Victor. And a glance at the clock showed it was already 8 A.M. He would have been here long before now if he were coming.
    That was the part that hurt.
    “He didn’t even say goodbye,” Isa whispered.
    Jacoba chucked her under the chin. “Why should he, silly girl? He’ll see you in a few weeks. This is just temporary. He had to get as far away as he could before the time he’d be expected at the shop.” She bent her head to touch Isa’s. “And we have to as well, so come along now. Victor packed your bags, and we have to hurry to the dock.”
    Her heart faltered. “Can’t I go back to the apartment?”
    “We’ve no time, I’m afraid. The packet boat for Calais leaves very soon. We’ll barely make it as it is, and the next one doesn’t leave for hours.” Jacoba squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry—I gave Victor the address of the hotel where we mean to stay in Paris, and I daresay there will be a letter waiting for us the moment we arrive. Or one will come shortly afterward.”
    Isa hesitated, but what choice did she have? She could never go back to the shop now. Even if the imitations were never discovered, she would know they were there, and that would plague her until she told the truth.
    Besides, she couldn’t risk implicating Victor. Or her family. She was furious that they’d taken the matter out of her hands, but now it was done, and she didn’t want to see them go to prison—or worse yet, be hanged!
    She could end up in prison or hanged herself, just for making the parure. The thought sent a chill to her soul.
    “All right?” her sister pressed.
    She nodded. But as they raced about, preparing to go, she vowed that this would be the last time she let them bully her into doing something so despicable.
    And once her husband arrived in Paris, she would find out what kind of man she had really married.
    ♦  ♦  ♦
    F OUR MONTHS LATER , Victor still hadn’t come or even sent word. And now she had his child growing in her belly. Dear heaven, what was she going to do?
    Feeling particularly blue, she sat in the parlor of their very fine Paris town house and waited for the mail. She wasn’t sure why she bothered. Clearly something awful had happened to Victor. It was easier to believe that than to think he might just have abandoned her.
    A ray of afternoon sun flashed through the barely parted silk curtains, glinting off Jacoba’s new gilded ormolu clock, dancing across Gerhart’s recently acquired Persian rug, and bursting into sparkles in the cut-crystal bowl near her hand. But she could find no joy in all the costly newness.
    With a sigh, she picked up that week’s issue of the Gazette de France and flipped through it. An article caught her attention. Her French wasn’t the best yet, but she could still decipher a bit of gossip