The Redemption of a Rogue: The Duke’s By-Blows Book 4

by Michaels, Jess

  Will shifted slightly, but then his gaze refocused. “If it isn’t the club or your family, then what is it?”

  Oscar sighed. Will knew a great deal about his life. He’d always been a dependable confidante, and since what Oscar was doing might very well impact their shared business, he felt he owed it to him to be honest.

  “I went back to the Cat’s Companion two nights ago,” he said.

  The reaction was swift and emotional. Will pushed out of his chair and slammed both palms on the desk. “Oscar!”

  Oscar flinched. Will only called him by his first name when he was in trouble. Rather like a child, actually, but he supposed old habits died hard.

  “You don’t need to give me the whole set-down,” he said, holding up a hand. “I know your feelings on the matter.”

  “You know but you clearly don’t care,” Will said. “Louisa has been gone for months, Fitzhugh. She’s been dead for months. Our sources are very clear on that, even if the details are fuzzy. What purpose can you have in going there except self-torture?”

  “I want the truth,” Oscar said through clenched teeth. “I want justice.”

  Will’s expression softened. “You saw things as a boy that made you protective of women in your mother’s position. I wish you hadn’t. But you know, having grown up as you did, that sometimes there isn’t justice available for women labeled fallen. It’s incredibly unfair. But it is the way it is. Fight for laws to change it.”

  Oscar clenched his jaw and stared at his fist clenching in and out on the desktop. He was trying to keep his tone neutral as he said, “You may or may not be right. I’m not going to argue the facts with you. We’ve already done that so many times that I could probably tell you your arguments verbatim and you mine. I wouldn’t have mentioned it to you at all except…”

  He trailed off. Telling Will about most things was easy. But there was something about telling him about her, about Imogen, that felt much harder.

  “Except?” Will encouraged, his tone gentle now.

  “A woman ran out of the brothel and into my arms,” Oscar admitted. “She’d witnessed a dead body, overheard that the Earl of Roddenbury had killed the poor girl. She was seen and had to run. And I’m…I’m protecting her now.”

  “Protecting?” Will breathed.

  “Not a protector. Not like that.” Oscar hesitated, for he’d certainly touched her as a protector would. Kissing her and touching all that lovely, silky softness was most definitely in the realm of lover.

  As was his pulsating desire to do it again and again and again.

  “True protection,” Will said, oblivious to Oscar’s thoughts.

  “They want her dead, too,” Oscar said softly, trying to push back the pure rage that accompanied that statement. “I’ve decided to take on her plight. Try to find a way to bring these bastards to justice at last.”

  Will flopped back in his chair and stared at Oscar for a long moment. At last he let out his breath in a long whistle. “The Earl of Roddenbury. Could that be true?”

  “She seems certain.”

  “If he is involved—do you really think anyone will give a damn?” Will asked. “You know how that world works. They’ll protect their own, justice be damned.”

  “I fear that may be the case,” Oscar admitted.

  “Then the best thing you can do for this girl is to help her make herself a new identity and get her out of London.”

  He flinched at the idea of that. Destroying her life to protect it. He didn’t want it to come to that. “Perhaps they might believe her if I could find the right evidence. Or find the right person to tell,” Oscar insisted. “She’s a lady, Will. Or she…she was. She’s the widow of Warren Huxley. He was a member here. Died last year.”

  Both Will’s eyebrows went up. “I admit I don’t have the kind of memory you do, where you can remember the details of a person with just one meeting. But I have some faint recognition of the name. How did she fall so far?”

  Oscar flinched. “Bad husband. Bad family. The usual ways a lady falls.” He frowned. “I know the guard is useless and that Society chooses what and who it deems important. It always has.”

  Will cocked his head. “You disdain them, but you make your money at their feet.”

  Oscar shrugged. “We often disdain what gives us advantage, I suppose. I never claimed to be better than anyone else in that regard.”

  “What do you need from me?”

  He met Will’s eyes. “You would help me even though you disapprove of this obsession.” He shook his head before his friend could speak. “Of course you would. I admit I’ll be…distracted by this for a while.”

  “I can be present here,” Will assured him. “Would you like me to look at the records of members like Roddenbury and Huxley?”

  “Yes, that would be helpful,” Oscar said. “I doubt there will be anything there to assist, but more information is always good. I’ll be making discreet inquiries, myself. So if you come upon any helpful connections I can seek out, I’ll take those, as well.”

  “And what about this young woman, Mrs. Huxley?”

  Oscar licked his lips without meaning to do so. There went his mind again, back to the weight of her leg across his own, to the way her back arched as he slid his fingers into her wet heat. To the shuddering pull of her body as she came against him. To the taste of her, sweet and salty as he lewdly licked her away and watched her tremble in response.

  “I don’t want to confuse things, like with Louisa,” he said, his voice too rough.

  “So you’re interested in her, then?” Will asked gently.

  Not gently enough. Oscar glared at him. “Don’t go matchmaker on me,” he warned.

  “I wouldn’t dare,” Will said with a chuckle. “You’re a bad catch, aren’t you?”

  He teased, for Oscar had said that many a time. Today it hit him in the chest and he nodded slowly. “I always have been. I’m going to gather a few things here, contacts and the like, and speak to Goodworth before I go. But I’ll check in with you in a few days. Call on me or write if you find something in the interim.”

  “Of course,” Will stood and extended a hand. They shook, and Oscar grabbed a few items from his desk before he headed for the door. As he reached it, Will called out, “Oh…and you should speak to your mother, you know.”

  Oscar pivoted back. Will was looking at him down his nose, a bit of judgment in his stare. “You were right when you said I’ve seen her more recently than you have.”

  Oscar rolled his eyes. “I know, I know. I’ll call on her. Goodbye.”

  “Goodbye.” Will’s laughter rang in Oscar’s ears as he walked away.

  Chapter 8

  If Imogen had been confused when Oscar left her at the breakfast table, three days later she was absolutely flummoxed. The man had been almost invisible since their last passionate encounter in her bed.

  Oh, she occasionally saw him as he slipped from the house, off to do some vague business, as the servants called it. Once he had passed her down a hallway before bed. She’d thought he might say something then. His dark eyes had tracked her as he said her name. But nothing. He had gone to his chamber and that was that. Certainly, he hadn’t eaten with her. He hadn’t spoken to her beyond a cursory ‘good day’. He hadn’t come back into her room to soothe her if she had nightmares.

  It was almost as if he were hiding from her. This man who was so controlled, so commanding of any space he entered…hiding from her.

  And what could she do about it? She couldn’t go home. It was far too dangerous. She couldn’t exactly receive callers here to pass the time or distract her from the odd dance she and Oscar had begun and that he had abandoned so abruptly.

  Instead, she spent her time exploring the house and garden. Reading the man’s books and examining any notes he’d made in the margins to try to determine who he was at heart. Asking questions of his servants, who were always incredibly kind, but also intensely close-lipped about the man who paid their wages
.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Huxley.”

  She started and turned from the fire where she’d been pondering her situation to find the butler, Donovan, standing in the doorway. “Good evening.”

  “I trust your supper was to your satisfaction,” he said, as kind as always.

  “Yes,” she said with a smile to reassure him. “Mrs. Lesley is a fine cook and I’ve enjoyed all her wonderful food since my arrival. Tonight’s pheasant was perfection. Please make sure you tell her.”

  “I shall, and I know she will be pleased to hear it. She enjoys cooking for a guest,” Donovan said. He shifted as if uncomfortable. “Do you have anything else you require? There’s a nice brandy there on the sideboard if you’d like a drink.”

  She pursed her lips. “No, thank you. Do you know if Mr. Fitzhugh will be joining me this evening?”

  She blushed as she asked the question. One that revealed far too much. Donovan didn’t react, though. Too well trained, she supposed, though she wondered what in the world the servants said about her below stairs.

  “I’m afraid not,” he said gently.

  She folded her arms as frustration rose up in her chest. Dratted man. She fought to maintain at least an image of control as she asked, “Do you know why?”

  “Why?” Donovan repeated, as if he didn’t understand the question. She wasn’t certain if he was being purposefully obtuse or if he truly wasn’t accustomed to anyone questioning Oscar.

  She pursed her lips. “Yes, why. I saw him arrive before supper and I don’t believe he’s left the house since then. Does he take his food in his chamber or his study to avoid me? Has he expressed displeasure in having me here, intruding upon his life?”

  The butler’s gaze flitted away a fraction, and that was her answer. So she wasn’t imagining things. Oscar was avoiding her. And it shouldn’t have mattered. After all, she hardly knew the man. Their wildly inappropriate night in her bed aside, she had no attachment to him. He was helping her and that was all there was to it.

  No, it shouldn’t have bothered her, but she was bothered nonetheless. But that wasn’t the poor butler’s fault. He certainly didn’t have the answers she required, not truly. Only Oscar himself could speak to his own mind.

  “Thank you, Donovan,” she said through gritted teeth. “You have been very patient and I don’t need anything else.”

  He looked as troubled as he did relieved to be let off the hook in answering her. Still, he didn’t press the issue and bowed away, leaving her alone. For a moment, she went back to staring the fire, clenching and unclenching her fists at her sides as she thought about Oscar creeping around his own house, trying to make certain she didn’t see him.

  It was ridiculous. If his mind or heart had changed when it came to housing her, she needed to know. She needed to make some other arrangement, whatever that might be.

  She needed to understand if she’d done something to offend him. And the best way to handle all of that was head on.

  She pivoted on her heel and strode from the room, down the hall and to his study door. It was closed, but she could see light dancing beneath it, which meant the fire was high and likely the lamps were lit. He was in there. Alone. And this was the perfect opportunity.

  She lifted a trembling hand, girded all her strength, and knocked. There was a beat of hesitation, and then Oscar’s voice came from the other side. “Enter.”

  She did so and took in a deep breath as she did so. This was one of the few rooms kept locked during the day, one of the few rooms she hadn’t yet seen in her exploration of the house.

  It was wonderful. Large and warm, with dark wood paneling, a fine expensive, wallpaper and a huge fireplace. Its mantel rose all the way to the top of the ceiling and was lined with stones. A dark and sophisticated room which fit the man sitting at the cherry wood desk, quill in hand, still focused on the papers before him.

  “And she’s fine, then?” he asked.

  She blinked. He hadn’t even looked up at her. He thought she was Donovan, and now the reason for the butler’s concern for her was more obvious. Oscar had sent him to check on her.

  “She’s standing right here,” she said softly. “Ask her yourself, or are you too cowardly for it?”

  He jerked his gaze up and his knuckles whitened around the quill. He slowly rose as he set the writing instrument away. “Good evening, Imogen.”

  “Excellent,” she said, pushing the door shut behind her and folding her arms. “You recall my name.”

  He arched a brow at her cheek, and for a moment she lost her breath. It was very irritating that he could spear her in place with just one look. With just one stern frown. It made her forget herself and in this situation that was not what she needed to do.

  “So you are angry with me,” he said, his tone not revealing his reaction to that observation.

  “No.” She shifted her weight. “Yes.”

  “Very confusing. Is it no or yes?”

  “Yes!” she snapped. “I am angry. Or at least…irritated. Or maybe it’s confused?” He was staring at her now like she wasn’t making sense, and she supposed she wasn’t. Drat and damn the man for being so disquieting. She drew a breath and started again. “I appreciate all you’re doing for me. I assume you have been working on my…my situation.”

  A shadow crossed his expression, troubled and dark. “I have,” he said softly.

  “And that means a great deal. I’m not trying to be ungrateful.”

  “But…” he encouraged her.

  “But I have hardly seen you in three days,” she gasped out. “Not one shared meal, not one conversation. I’m going mad in these halls, Mr. Fitzhugh, and I have no idea where I stand with you. Are you annoyed with me? Do you regret helping me?”

  “No.” It was one word, eased out slowly and with no other explanation.

  She threw up her hands. “It’s because of what happened between us, isn’t it?”

  The words left her mouth and she clapped a hand over her lips, but it was too late now. She had been imprudent in her irritation. Said the thing she’d promised herself she wouldn’t. Brought up the moments that had been haunting her for three long nights.

  He was stock still for what felt like an eternity. Then he slowly came around the desk and eased toward her a few steps. His gaze never left hers, and she was frozen by the force of that look and the powerfully attractive man behind it.

  She’d never known anyone with such command.

  “You want to talk about that night,” he said.

  “No.” She said it as an instinct. “Yes. No.”

  “Confused again?” he teased, though it was gentle.

  “If I am, it’s because you make me so,” she said.

  He blinked and actually looked chagrined. He bent his head. “I have been avoiding you, you’re not mistaken in that assessment.”

  “Did I do something…wrong?” she asked, and found herself moving a small step closer. Now they were no more than an arm’s length apart, and it took all her will power not to reach out and brush the tips of her fingers along the hard angle of his jaw.

  “No,” he said. “I did. I shouldn’t have come into your room that night. I certainly shouldn’t have kissed you. I shouldn’t have spread your legs and made you come. I shouldn’t keep thinking about all those things. You are here for refuge, not for…not for all the things I want to do to you. So I’m avoiding you because if I don’t, it will go far further than what happened the other night.”

  Her lips parted. She’d been picturing a hundred reasons for his distance, but never this. Never that he wanted her that same way she wanted him. Never that he was fighting that or that he was losing the battle.

  She licked her suddenly parched lips and reached out. They both watched her seeking fingers extend toward him, and when she brushed against his hand, they let out a sigh in unison. She heard the ragged desire in his breath, saw it in his eyes, felt it in the way he leaned toward her. He was a coiled spring, wound so tightly that h
e could pop at any moment.

  She trembled at the thought.

  “I don’t want you to avoid me,” she whispered.

  “I’m fire, Imogen,” he said, and caught her seeking fingers. He threaded them between his own, unthreaded them, repeated the action. Such a simple touch, someone might even label it as innocent. But the reaction it caused was anything but. She felt like she was melting under the very heat he contained.

  “I don’t mind being burned,” she whispered. “It’s impossible not to want to risk it when you’re standing there, staring at me like you want to eat me.”

  His pupils dilated. “Eat you,” he murmured. “Now there is a wonderful idea.”

  He caught her waist and drew her against him. Her air left her lungs, but it didn’t matter. Not when his mouth came down against hers. She didn’t need air or water or food, just this. Just him and the way he pushed her back toward the desk. He was forceful, rough, and she had no choice but to simply fall into the current of his desire and let it sweep her away.

  He caught her hips, dragging away from her mouth and watching her as he lifted her onto the desk. “You want this?” he rasped, his breath short, his voice dark and deep and dangerous.

  Perhaps she should have hesitated. Perhaps she should have refused. But she didn’t. “Yes.”

  He asked nothing more, but caught her chin and held her firm as he kissed her yet again. She lifted against him, clinging to the lapels of his jacket as he reached behind her and pushed the items on the desk away. He lowered her back on the hard surface, his mouth dragging to her throat. He sucked hard there, and she dug her fingers into his hair with a gasp, holding him steady against her flesh.

  But he didn’t stay for long. He dragged his mouth lower, over her still-clothed breast, her stomach, her hip. He hooked his hands behind her knees and tugged her to the edge of the desk. She leaned up on her elbows, staring at him. He held her stare with even certainty and she trembled from head to toe.

  There was something infinitely wicked in those dark eyes that normally were so unreadable. Her sex twitched at the sight of it, her legs shook. She couldn’t look away as he dragged a chair closer and took a seat. When he opened her legs and pushed up her skirt, she was bared to him. Right there at eye level.