The Redemption of a Rogue

by Jess Michaels

“A mother’s prerogative, I suppose,” Imogen said.

  “Do you know much about Louisa?” Joanna asked.

  Imogen tensed. This must be why Joanna wished for privacy. “I-I’m not sure it would be right to talk about her. She’s obviously a difficult subject for Oscar—Fitzhugh.”

  Joanna laughed. “I know you’re bedding him, my dear. You don’t have to stand on formality with me. I do admit it’s interesting that he allows you to call him by his first name. No one does that, even me, as I’m sure you noticed.”

  “I did.” Imogen blushed, but managed to clear her throat and continue. “As for Louisa, I think he wouldn’t like me talking to you about her.”

  “But you’re curious about her, aren’t you?” Joanna pressed. “He mentioned her to you. Mentioned that she was lost at the same place you nearly were. That means something, you know. He doesn’t talk about her to just anyone.”

  The meaning of those words sank into Imogen, and a rainbow of different reactions immediately formed. Part of her was warmed by the fact he had trusted her, even with the tiniest of facts, about something he usually didn’t share. But part of her was…jealous. She could admit that to herself, even if she wouldn’t to anyone else.

  Knowing that he cared so much for that other woman that he couldn’t bear to speak about her made Imogen jealous.

  “He told me he was her protector,” Imogen said softly. “And that she wanted…more. She wanted him to love her and when he couldn’t, she left. He feels guilty for what happened after, as if changing his heart would have made things different.”

  “He said that?” Joanna breathed.

  Imogen shook her head with a blush. “No. I can just see it.”

  Joanna held her stare for what felt like a lifetime. Then she nodded slowly. “He holds Louisa up on a pedestal, I suppose because she disappeared…she died…in such a terrible fashion. But she wasn’t perfect. And if he feels guilt, that is a shame, because he was never dishonest with her.”

  “Nor has he been with me,” Imogen said. “He’s been very direct and upfront with me about what he can and cannot provide.”

  “And is that enough for you?” Joanna asked. “Especially considering where you come from. What expectations you must have had for your life before.”

  Imogen wrinkled her brow. “How much did Oscar tell you about me?”

  “Very little,” Joanna assured her. “He is close-lipped with even his dear Mama. But if you plan on becoming a courtesan in the future, you will soon learn that divining the truth of those around you is part of the vocation. Would you like to hear my observations, and you can tell me if they’re true?”

  Imogen wasn’t certain she did want that, but she found herself nodding nonetheless.

  “You mentioned a husband. I would say dead a little more than a year. You no longer wear his ring, not on any finger and not on a necklace, at least that I can see. So there was perhaps no love lost, or at least there was disappointment in him.”

  Imogen’s eyes went wide. “Yes,” she choked out.

  “You mentioned his family, their ability to control how you set out in the world to find a protector. And you said you were innocent. That makes me think you came from a family of wealth, privilege. But you are a missus rather than a Lady in your address. So a second or third son. Married off to the same.”

  “Yes,” Imogen said, lifting a hand to her lips.

  “You are afraid of changing your life by entering into the trade, likely because your family taught you that to fall is the worst thing that can happen to a woman,” Joanna continued. “But I think you are a bit titillated by it too. The idea of pleasure, of freedom to pursue and receive it, is appealing to you.”

  Now Imogen pushed to her feet, cheeks flaming with heat. “I-I—”

  “Too far,” Joanna said softly. “My apologies.”

  “I’m simply not…not accustomed to such frank discussion,” Imogen gasped out, pacing to the fireplace and wishing she could make her hands stop shaking. “I suppose I must become so if I truly wish to enter the world you have described.”

  “Eventually,” Joanna said, her voice gentle. She got up and tilted her head, watching Imogen so closely that it felt like she was caged in by the stare. That was certainly where Oscar had learned the technique. “And what about my son?”

  Imogen could hardly breathe. “What—what about him? He saved me and he continues to do so. I don’t know why.”

  “Don’t you?” Joanna said with a chuckle as her gaze flitted pointedly over Imogen’s face. “But no. I think it’s more than just your pretty face. There are a dozen pretty faces who could keep him company and have kept him company over the years. They never made him…” She trailed off and didn’t finish that sentence Imogen suddenly wanted to hear. “I like you, Imogen. I read people, as you can see, because it keeps me safe. And I like you. But I can see you have a bit of a broken wing and that has been the kind of thing my son has always gravitated to.”

  Imogen straightened. “You fear I’m taking advantage?”

  “Not exactly. I just hope that you will be able to see that he, too, isn’t whole. He hides it very well. Perhaps together you could fill the hurt in each other. Help each other mend.” Joanna held her gaze for a long moment, and Imogen realized she wasn’t breathing. But at last Joanna blinked. “Don’t mind me.”

  She stepped away, and Imogen sucked a breath into her suddenly burning lungs. Joanna paced back to the sideboard and touched Oscar’s abandoned glass before she turned back and gave Imogen another of those dazzling smiles. All her worry was gone in that moment, wiped away and replaced by what felt like genuine kindness and brightness.

  Another trick this woman had likely learned through the years of work. Please the companion. Make them comfortable in whatever way fit them best. Adjust to their needs so easily that they never saw the transition.

  It was a skill that required a great deal of work, Imogen would wager. And she respected her companion for developing it.

  “I am happy to help you,” Joanna said. “Now, if you don’t mind sending Fitzhugh in on your way out, I’ll say my goodbyes to him and see you later after I’ve had a chance to make my own inquiries.”

  Imogen blinked. She was being dismissed, gently but firmly. Like a queen might do, actually. She barely kept herself from curtseying as she said, “I will. It was a pleasure meeting you, Joanna.”

  “And you. I mean it.” Joanna’s smile was real as Imogen nodded and exited the room into the hall.

  Oscar was leaning against the opposite wall, and he straightened up as she stepped out. She blinked up at him, almost too discombobulated to find words. He shook his head at her expression. “Every time,” he muttered.

  “She—she wants to say goodbye to you,” she said.

  He snorted out a humorless laugh. “I assumed as much. Will you go to the foyer and ask that our carriage be brought?”

  She nodded and tried not to stagger as she moved off toward the foyer. Her brain was spinning, not just with how easily Joanna had read her, but of the glimpses she’d gotten of the future she might live if she continued down the path she was on.

  But also she thought of Oscar. Of the kind of man he had become after years of exposure to that life. And Joanna’s statement that he, too, was broken under that hard façade.

  It made her want to…help him. And that seemed a very dangerous desire, indeed.

  “Were you truly compelled to stun the poor woman?” Oscar said as he reentered the parlor. “What did you say?”

  He found his mother standing at the window, staring down into the street with a far-off expression. She pivoted toward him with one of her courtesan smiles, the ones that never reached her eyes. “Nothing, my love, I swear to you.”

  He edged closer. “And what do you think of her?”

  She arched a brow. “You care, Fitzhugh?”

  They looked out the window together. Imogen was standing on the drive with his mother’s servant, talking to him as
they awaited the carriage. She looked more on firm ground, at least. No longer so startled as she had been when she left the parlor.

  “Of course I care, Mama. I value your opinion and I always have, even if I don’t always take your advice.”

  “I think she is the first lover you have ever formally introduced to me.”

  He wrinkled his brow. Was that true? No, that couldn’t be true. “You met Louisa. You met several of the women in my past.”

  “Because we ended up at the same opera or party,” she corrected. “That isn’t the same as bringing her to my home as you did today.”

  “Because she needs your help,” he said, but that answer didn’t ring entirely true. There was meaning to allowing Imogen into this corner of his life that had always been so private.

  He wasn’t certain he liked the meaning. The meaning felt too powerful.

  “I suppose the more important question is: what do you think of her?” his mother pressed.

  “She’s…unexpected,” he admitted, for it seemed the least revealing thing he could say about her.

  His mother laughed. “Very good! Unexpected is one of the best qualities in a relationship.” She leaned in and bussed his cheek, but when she stepped away, she caught his hand rather than letting him go, and clung a little too tightly. “Please be careful, darling. These people your Imogen has involved herself with…they are the darkest part of my world. It is dangerous, even for you.”

  “And for you,” he said, squeezing her hand gently.

  “Then we’ll both be careful,” she said. “I’ll keep you informed about what I find. You do the same.”

  He kissed her cheek in return and then left her, heading out into the sunshine of the afternoon and the woman who was waiting for him in his carriage.

  He only wished he could forget his questions about her, about them…about himself. But they lingered in the back of his mind, and he feared he had opened a box with Imogen that he could not close again.

  Imogen looked across the carriage at Oscar as the driver turned them onto the main street and set the horses on their merry way back across Town to Oscar’s home. In the shadows of the vehicle, his expression was unreadable. All she knew was that he was watching her. Intently. As always.

  “I like her,” she whispered.

  His lips fluttered then, that little hint of a smile, and she could have sworn she saw relief pass over his expression before he pushed it away. It seemed he’d learned that ability at his mother’s knee, as well. “I’m glad. She is wonderful. Not normal, but wonderful.”

  She heard the true affection in his tone. It warmed her. She had never been so close to her own family, nor felt affection between her husband and his parents or siblings. She saw glimpses of it with Aurora and her brother and mother. But even her friend kept secrets from those she loved, and that opened a gap between them.

  “How did she—?” she began, and then cut herself off just as swiftly.

  His gaze settled on hers, holding there, unyielding. “Become a courtesan?” he said to finish her question.

  She nodded slowly. “It’s not my business, I know. It’s not my place.”

  “I dragged you to her lair and left you alone with her to be certainly scarred for life by her directness. I think you’re owed a question or two. She would answer them as easily as I could. She doesn’t consider her past a secret or her life a shame.”

  “Then how did it happen?” she asked.

  “The beginning of her life wasn’t that different from that of many girls. She was raised in a good family. They hadn’t wealth, but they had some prospects. They were respected. It was assumed she would marry a merchant or a farmer or even a squire, if she was lucky.”

  His voice was steady and firm. It would have sounded strong to most who heard his words. But she heard something different. She heard the hint of pain there, under the steadiness. The telltale waver that said his mother was right. This man had broken pieces. He hid them well, as well as anyone she’d ever met.

  But he was broken. And somehow that made her feel a little better. He was successful and strong and powerful. He’d become all those things even with the cracks. The pain. The loss. The breaks.

  Which meant she could do the same. Perhaps they could do the same together.

  But no. That was asking for the thing he’d already vowed he couldn’t give her. He had asked to be her lover, nothing more. She had agreed to those terms.

  “What changed her circumstance?” she asked, returning her mind to the subject of his mother.

  “Well, that is all thanks to the great Duke of Roseford,” he declared with a bitter tone. His hands gripped against his thighs, and she could feel the tension come off of him in a great wave. “It is, I suppose, thanks to me.”

  Chapter 13

  There was nothing in the world Oscar wished for more than to be able to tell this story without hearing the crack in his voice. It was why he always avoided speaking about it. About the past. About his father. About his family, outside of his mother.

  And yet this bewitching woman sat across from him and asked, just asked him…and he found himself telling the story nonetheless.

  “He met her at an assembly he attended with a friend. Normally it was only attended by country folk. A baronet was enough to get their hearts to flutter, and here came this duke. One who had not yet cemented his terrible reputation, so he was welcomed.”

  “How old was she?” she asked softly.

  “Eighteen, perhaps? Nineteen? She was out in Society, seeking a husband. And she was beautiful.”

  “She still is,” Imogen said with a slight smile.

  He shook his head. “She is. She turns heads wherever she goes. But when she was nineteen? She has a portrait of herself from right before she met my father, and there was no way a man like him would have been able to resist her. And in doing so, he condemned her to a much different life.”

  “Obviously, I only know your mother from a brief encounter today, after a long life of experiences. So it’s hard for me to picture her being taken in. She seems so certain of herself.”

  “She probably always was a little of that. But she was young. He had not yet married, so I’m sure he convinced her that she would be his bride. And so…she capitulated. She gave in after a short courtship. He had his prize. And he used her, giving no care to her future or her hopes or dreams. And then she found herself with child.”

  “You,” she said, reaching out to cover his knee with her hand.

  When she did it, he realized he’d been bouncing his leg up and down. He stared at her fingers, pale against the dark fabric of his trousers. Just the faint pressure of them, and he felt this strange sense of calm.

  Enough that he could suck in a great breath and say, “Yes. Me. She begged him to do as he’d said and marry her so that she wouldn’t be ruined. And he laughed at her.”

  Imogen flinched slightly and her fingers tightened against his knee, this time comforting, not just calming. “Poor Joanna.”

  “Indeed. He told her he would protect her if she chose to continue the affair, but that he would never marry someone with so little worth as she had. She turned to her family, but they were enraged with her for trading away the only thing of value they believed she possessed. She was thrown out on the street. And so, became my father’s mistress.”

  “There must have been repercussions,” Imogen said. “She had been of a good family and his seduction seems to have been somewhat public.”

  “Oh, there were. His reputation as one of the worst men in Society was born through his actions with her. And yet he was still a duke, wasn’t he? Rich as Croesus and nearly as powerful as the king. He was untouchable. He used that to his every advantage. Meanwhile, she was labeled as fallen and had to leave behind everything and everyone she’d ever loved to move to a house in London and birth herself a son with a man she had begun to despise.”

  “But it is clear she doesn’t despise you,” she said. “Her love for you,
her pride in you and your achievements, it shines all over her face. You cannot blame yourself for the circumstances of your birth. None of us are responsible for those.”

  “Perhaps not. But I sometimes wonder what she would have been able to do, what she would have been able to become with all her resourcefulness, if she hadn’t had a bastard child to label her a harlot in the eyes of those who had power.” He shook his head.

  “What she became has power in its own right. It would be impossible not to see it.”

  That elicited a ghost of a smile to the corners of his lips. “Well, that is true, yes. She was always the kind to take her situation and make the best of it. She might have lost any love she felt for Roseford, but she very much hadn’t lost sight of what she could do for herself as his mistress. She negotiated a hefty allowance for herself, and one for me after I was born. She forced him to gift her the home she resides in today, free and clear of his influence, so he could not take it away. It set her up so that when their arrangement ended, a year after I was born, she could have far more choice in what she did next and with whom.”

  Imogen smiled. “Very resourceful. And what did Roseford think of you? Were you his first child?”

  “I was,” he said slowly, for this was the part of the story he had never said to any other person. The part even his mother couldn’t pry out of him. The part that affected so many of his choices and boundaries and relationships.

  Perhaps she heard that in his tone. Perhaps she felt it in the tension that returned to his body, including the knee she was still touching so gently. Perhaps she just…understood because that was who she was.

  “You don’t owe me an explanation,” she said.

  He shrugged, wishing his feelings were as nonchalant as the action. “I was his first child, his first son. So even though their relationship had ended, even though she had affiliations with other men, he came to see me on a somewhat regular basis. It was made clear to me, even at four years old, that I was not ever going to be acknowledged publicly. But privately he even allowed me to call him Father…except when he demanded I call him Your Grace.”