When the Rogue Returns Read Free Page A

that a local jeweler named Angus Gordon was leaving Paris to return to his native Scotland. His French wife had died, and he wanted to go home.
    But what intrigued her was that the fellow had built his reputation by creating exquisite imitation jewelry.
    She muttered an oath, something she was doing more and more lately. If her sister and brother-in-law hadn’t been so impatient, the three of them might have built a similar business in Amsterdam.
    No, that would never have satisfied them. Gerhart was already hinting that Isa should make more imitations to sell as real. So they could buy an even better house in an even better part of Paris, with better chances for social advancement.
    She suspected that he just wanted more money to wager on wrestling bouts. He thought he could always win since he’d been a wrestler briefly himself, before he’d injured his knee. And the very thought of committing fraud repeatedly in order to provide Gerhart more money for gambling chilled her blood.
    Jacoba wandered in, thumbing absently through a stack of mail. She looked different now, with her hair short and fringed about her face to change her appearance. Gerhart wore a beard now for the same reason.
    Swiftly turning over the newspaper, Isa asked, “Anything for me?”
    At the quiver in her voice, her sister’s head came up. “It’s just bills.” She walked up to the table. “My dear, I hate to see you like this. Don’t you enjoy being able to buy what you want and go to the theater whenever you wish?”
    “That was always your dream, not mine.” Isa’s hands shook now, too. “I just wanted Victor.”
    Something like guilt flashed over Jacoba’s face before her expression hardened. “Well, it’s clear he’s notcoming. He took the earrings and left, the wretch, and there’s nothing we can do about it. We don’t even have a way to find him.”
    The truth of that statement struck Isa hard. “We wouldn’t have to find him if you and Gerhart hadn’t gone to him behind my back. He was probably so disillusioned to learn that his beloved wife was no better than a counterfeiter that he—”
    “Has it occurred to you that perhaps he married ‘his beloved wife’ in the first place because of her post at the jeweler’s?” Jacoba snapped.
    Isa blanched. No, that hadn’t occurred to her. But it should have.
    With an oath, Jacoba hurried to sit beside her and take her hand. “I’m sorry, sister, I shouldn’t have said that.”
    Misery choked her. Jacoba was merely voicing fears that Isa hadn’t wanted to admit to herself. It was time she faced the truth. After all, it had never made sense to her that a fine, stalwart fellow like Victor would consider her worthy to be his wife. She wasn’t tall and elegant and blond like Jacoba. She wasn’t a good cook, which every man wanted, and she liked to spend her hours poring over design books and experimenting with smelly chemicals.
    “Do you really think he married me because of . . . my post?” Isa managed.
    “Of course. The jeweler constantly sang your praises. So if Victor married you , he knew he could stay on longer. The jeweler would have found something for him to do, if only to keep you there.”
    Isa’s heart broke. She hadn’t thought of it in that way,but it made sense. Had she always been the mouse to him, someone to shoo off once he got what he wanted? Had she really only been a convenient means to an end?
    How could she not have seen that?
    But she knew how. She’d been so enamored of his sweet kisses, so caught up in the idea of healing his pain from the war that she hadn’t seen the real him. All it had taken was those diamond earrings dangled in front of him, and he’d sold his soul to the devil.
    And thrown away their marriage in the process.
    “I’m sorry to be so blunt,” Jacoba said softly, “but I thought you would have figured it out by now.” She tightened her grip on Isa’s hand. “You deserve better than Victor Cale.”
    Isa stared at