The Redemption of a Rogue

by Jess Michaels

  “Did it carry on then?” she asked. “That bond, insofar as it existed?”

  “No,” he said as he pulled the curtain back and looked out the window. “He married when I was six and had his Robert when I was seven. He told me there was no use for me now that he had his true heir. He never returned.”

  Her face twisted in anguish. On his behalf, though it didn’t feel the same as pity. “Oscar, that is so cruel. I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged. “I learned to live with it. As did the rest of his illegitimate brood.”

  “And do you know them? I’ve heard…” She hesitated and blushed. “I’ve heard there are a great many.”

  “No,” he said. “I don’t see them. We aren’t family, we just share blood. I have no interest in making their acquaintance.”

  “But Oscar—” she began.

  He held up a hand to cut her off. “I think I’ve slit my chest open enough for you today. I don’t want to discuss it further.”

  He had built a wall between them with that statement. He had meant to do it, though he hated to see the flicker of pain that crossed her face when he did so. Things were already getting complicated, even after just a few days. He had been trying to make sure that didn’t happen.

  He’d have to work harder at it.

  Except she didn’t seem willing to let him. She met his gaze, and the filtered light from the carriage hit her face, a halo around her like some kind of…angel.

  She smiled at him. Playful again, beautiful. Putting him even further at ease without any effort. “Then what do you want?” she asked.

  He stared at her. Was that innuendo purposeful? The tool she used to keep him from pulling away completely?

  Did it matter? When he looked at her, so beautiful and so close, he could scent the honey sweetness of her even from across the carriage. He wanted to taste it. Let it flow through him until the emotions that had been stirred today were dulled by pleasure and release.

  He pushed across the scant distance between them, caging her in with a hand on either side of her head on the seatback. Her pupils dilated, but she held firm, not turning away, not drawing back. She met his gaze with a strong one of her own.

  “You, Imogen,” he said as he tilted his head and brought his mouth toward hers. “I want you.”

  He captured her lips then, hard and forceful. Almost daring her to withdraw or say no. To erect her own wall so he wouldn’t have to feel quite so terrible about his own. Only she didn’t. Instead she slid her hands along his chest, over his shoulders, and wrapped her arms around his neck to draw him even closer.

  She was soft to all his hardness, open to his closed, welcoming to his prickly desire to keep the world out. He knew what could happen if he allowed too many people in.

  Her acceptance made him waver, and for a moment, the kiss softened. But no, he couldn’t do that. She was lovely and filled him with desire, but that was all he could ever allow himself with her. He couldn’t let her make him forget.

  The carriage was beginning to slow by then, turning into the drive for his home, and he pulled away, back to the seat across from her. They stared at each other, panting breaths matching, and he hardened his gaze purposefully. “We’re going to my bed, Imogen. Unless you no longer want that.”

  She arched a brow, and for a moment it felt like she was the one with all the experience and he was a green boy again. Like she could see through him.

  “I’ve made it very clear that what you want is what I want, Oscar,” she said. “I’m not the one who keeps questioning it.”

  The carriage came to a halt and the door was opened by one of his footmen. She didn’t hesitate, but slipped past him from the vehicle and out onto the drive. He stared as she walked away, up the stairs and to the door where Donovan was waiting.

  As she reached him, she turned back and smiled at Oscar. “Are you coming, then? Or are you just going to stare all day?”

  She didn’t wait for his answer, but went inside with a smile for his butler. He clambered out after her and bounded up the stairs. And he was at her heels when he realized that she had just called out “jump” and he had responded by asking “how high?”

  And even though he couldn’t stop himself as they entered his room, he realized that he was in a very dangerous position now. He would have to act carefully if he didn’t want to hurt himself…or her…in the process.

  Broken. Broken. Broken.

  That word kept swirling around and around in Imogen’s head as she walked away from Oscar, across the wide expanse of his chamber, toward the big bed on the opposite side of the room. Joanna had said something about the damage her son kept hidden. In the carriage, Imogen had felt it. Seen it in all the little tics and tells Oscar would hate himself for revealing if he realized he had done so.

  Perhaps she should have been frightened off by seeing the soft underbelly of this man. Perhaps another woman wouldn’t have wanted that when she could have only strength and heat and drive. But Imogen only felt closer to him as a result. They were, in some ways, similar. Both had experienced loss. Both had been abandoned.

  And she wanted to offer him the same respite as he had for her.

  She heard him coming after her. His breath was harsh in the quiet room, his footfalls heavy. His arms came around her from behind, dragging her back against his chest as his mouth found the side of her throat, and he pushed her to bend over the bed.

  It was dizzying, his drive and passion. Intoxicating to feel how much this man who could have any woman wanted her. Needed her.

  His fingers jerked against the buttons along the back of her dress. He fumbled as he parted her gown and then clenched his hands against the chemise beneath. “Fuck.”

  The word was said so quietly, she wasn’t certain he realized he’d said it. But she’d heard it. She heard the feeling beneath it, too. He’d been vulnerable with her in the carriage, and now he desperately wanted to be hard again. To keep those walls up between them. Perhaps to even chase her away so she wouldn’t see anything more than she’d already seen.

  Only that wasn’t his choice. She could see his drive and what was behind it, and just…refused to let it separate them the way he was hoping. She could embrace this side of him, accept it as she accepted the others she’d seen. Give him what he needed without allowing him to deny her what she wanted, too.

  She softened beneath him, settling her head against the mattress, gripping the coverlet with both hands, lifting her backside in offering. If he needed to use her, at least they were both going to enjoy it.

  “Imogen,” he murmured, his voice sharp in the quiet. He pushed her skirt up, bunching it around her hips along with her chemise. Her backside was bared to him, and he cupped it with one hand, smoothing his fingers along the flesh.

  It was so easy for him to make her want. The warmth and weight of his fingers against her bottom, stroking her skin, and all the nerve endings in her body felt like they fired at once. She pushed back against him, seeking his heat, and expected him to grind forward to meet her.

  Instead he slapped her bare bottom with the flat of his palm. She jolted to attention and looked over her shoulder to stare at him in shock. He was watching her, reading her reaction as his hand returned to the place he’d slapped, and he stroked there again, gently.

  “Did you just spank me?” she asked, incredulous and intrigued all at once. The initial swat had surprised her, but now her flesh tingled all the more where he was touching her.

  “I did.” His voice was a low rumble. “There’s a line between pleasure and pain, Imogen. A little pain with the pleasure is…intoxicating. Even now…”

  He smoothed his fingers and glided them into the cleft between her cheeks, skimming down as she writhed until he found her sex. He gently probed there, ignoring her as she tried to force him to press himself inside.

  “Even now you’re wet. But if you don’t like it, I won’t do it.”

  She wrinkled her brow. This man could take what he wanted. She woul
d let him. She would very likely enjoy it. And yet as much control as he exerted, as much dark and dangerous energy as he exuded from every pore of his body…he still sought her consent. He still let her control the method in which he gained his pleasure.

  That was the real power. That was full control. And a thrill worked through her body at the idea she held anything close to that over this man.

  She licked her lips, and his pupils dilated to an impossible darkness. “Are you punishing me for anything in particular?”

  His mouth twitched, another hint of a smile that never went further. “You pushed up into me when I wasn’t ready to grind against you. I suppose that is reason enough to teach you how to behave. But mostly I slapped that delicious arse because you are irresistible. I like the way it sounds as my flesh meets yours. I like that little pinkness your flesh gets. The bite makes the lick a little more…soothing.”

  She shivered. “I like the lick, I’ve probably made that clear to you. I don’t mind the bite. But perhaps just…ease me into it?”

  “Of course. Maybe someday I’ll spank you raw so you’ll feel my handprint on your arse the next day and it will remind you of me fucking you until you were weak.” He leaned over her, curling his body around her, drawing her back and grinding against her from behind until her fingers tangled in the coverlet for purchase. “But for now, we’ll go slow.”

  He pulled away, leaving her cold where his warmth had been. He caught the back of her gown, tugging her to a standing position. Her skirt slipped back into place around her legs and she frowned. One slap was all she got after all that discussion?

  “Don’t make that sound,” he said as his hands slid into the gap he’d created when he unbuttoned her dress a moment ago.

  “What sound?” she asked, lolling her head back against his shoulder because his fingers were like magic against her skin.

  “That disappointed little grunt,” he said. “I’m going to make sure you are very satisfied, Imogen.”

  She laughed, but it faded as he tugged the dress down, baring her from the waist up. He cupped her breasts from behind as he flattened his still-clothed chest against her back. His thumbs strummed her nipples, he squeezed her breasts, a little roughly even, and she felt her knees starting to go weak as sensation rippled through her.

  “I believe you,” she gasped.

  He kissed the side of her neck, sucking hard enough to give that little flash of pain he’d been describing earlier, then licked gently to soothe. Her sex twitched, and she understood. And she wanted more as he ground against her, trapping her between the bed and his body, forcing her to be captive to his whims.

  He pulled the dress again, and nudging it down between them until it hit the floor at her feet. He pressed a hand to her back, pushing her into her original position, bent over for his pleasure. Now she braced, ready for the slap again.

  “You’re not going to know when it’s coming,” he promised, as if he could read her mind. “That’s part of the pleasure.”

  “For you,” she choked out as a laugh.

  He chuckled in response. “I know when it’s coming. Now…please behave, Imogen.”

  She found herself lifting up on her toes, seeking what he was resistant to giving. “I’m sure you’ll make me.”

  That did earn a slap, a little harder than the first one. Her bottom tingled for a moment and her fingers clenched at the sensation, especially when he cupped the place he’d struck, tracing the mark he’d surely left with his fingers.

  He reached between her legs with the opposite hand and pressed a finger to her clitoris, flicking the hood away and exposing the nerve. She bucked against his hand, squirming against the pressure as pleasure mounted between her legs. He increased that pressure in response, stroking her as she ground against him, rocking herself toward release. Just when she was right on the edge, ready to fall, he slapped her backside once more, and she jolted against him with a cry.

  The pleasure was so intense she almost pulled away from it, but he held her firm, continuing to play her like an instrument. And then she felt it, his thick cock at her entrance. She had been so lost in her release, she hadn’t even realized he’d freed himself from his trousers, and now he slid in inch by inch, her still-clenching pussy welcoming him.

  The sensation changed with his cock to grip on. She pushed back, taking him to the hilt and pulsing against him as she buried her cries against the mattress. She felt the tension in him, even though she couldn’t see him. Felt him trying to maintain control over himself, over her. But the more she keened and ground against him, the more his fingers tightened at her hip, clenched against her clitoris.

  He started to thrust with a harsh moan, and as he took, he slapped her backside. Over and over. Gently, but continuously, punctuating each swivel of his hips with the contact of his palm. She met his thrusts with wild ones of her own, never letting him fully control what was happening, and surrendering herself to every sensation overloading her mind.

  When the second orgasm hit her, fast on the heels of the first, she didn’t care if she screamed the house down. She bucked, squeezing so tightly she feared she’d hurt him, letting her fingers join his on her clitoris. His thrusts grew deeper and harder, the slap of skin on skin now his pelvis hitting her backside rather than his hand. Only when she collapsed against the edge of the bed did he withdraw and come against her back with a grunting sound of relief and pleasure.

  They leaned there together a while. She had no idea how long, still suspended in pleasure and release. Eventually, he pushed away from her and she rolled over to look at him. He was still fully dressed but for the fall front of his trousers, and she licked her lips at how lewd that felt. To be naked and covered in sweat and his release while he stood there looking almost pulled together. He had done this animal thing with her, but he still looked like a gentleman.

  Almost a gentleman.

  “Look at me like that and you might not like the results,” he growled.

  She reached up to catch his lapels and brought him closer, leaning over her, caging her in. “I think I proved I like the results just fine, Mr. Fitzhugh. Are you certain you’re not the one afraid of what will happen if I keep testing your control?”

  He didn’t respond. His nostrils flared and his expression hardened before he dropped his mouth to hers for a fast, punishing kiss. She surrendered to it, and to him as he pushed her further up on the bed and stepped away to strip out of his clothing.

  For the moment, at least, all the vulnerability he’d shown in the carriage was gone. She had allowed him to hide it back under this shield of passion and pleasure and command. It didn’t mean, however, that she had forgotten what she’d seen. Or that she didn’t know that the bond they had begun to forge on the ride from his mother’s wouldn’t eventually have consequences. It was plain it would for them both.

  Only she didn’t want to think about that now when he was offering her pleasure so they could both forget the past, both forget the pain…both forget anything but how perfectly their bodies moved together. The rest would come later.

  Chapter 14

  Imogen looked up from her coffee cup with a smile at the maid who had entered the room to take her plate. She had to resist the urge to stretch like a decadent cat. After all, she’d slept most of the morning away thanks to a very long and passionate night with Oscar.

  He’d been gone when she woke, though, and she hadn’t seen him yet today.

  “Do you know where Mr. Fitzhugh is?” she asked as she handed over the empty cup to join the rest of the breakfast dishes being cleared.

  “In his study, I believe, ma’am,” the girl said, and for a moment her gaze flitted over Imogen.

  She shifted beneath the look, subtle and gone almost immediately. Still, the stare was easily read. Her affair with the master of this house was common knowledge belowstairs, it seemed. Not a shock in such a small environment.

  The Imogen of a week ago would have blushed at the realization. She knew she w
ould have felt some shame at being seen as wanton or wild. But today she felt neither of those things. Oscar kept telling her that her desire and her pleasure and the things she wanted when he touched her were all natural. She was beginning to believe him.

  At any rate, she would end up someone’s mistress one way or another when this was all over. She had to start becoming comfortable with the judgment that certainly came with it. Her goal was to one day be as confident and untroubled as Joanna seemed to be.

  “Thank you,” she said with a smile as she got up and walked down the long hallways.

  She took her time as she strolled, for she was in no hurry to see him. She knew what awaited her, after all. Smoldering heat and unfettered need and a man who made her feel both exhilarated and…safe. How those two emotions existed together, she wasn’t entirely sure. It was a dichotomy, just as the man himself was.

  She reached his study door. It was closed, and she knocked gently. She heard him moving around, and then a curt, “Enter!”

  She smoothed her skirts and did so with a bright smile. Oscar was seated behind his desk, bent over some paperwork. He didn’t look up. “What is it?”

  “It’s me,” she said.

  He glanced toward her, his gaze washing over her as it always did. Then, to her surprise, he returned his attention to the items on his desk. “Yes, I know. Did you need something, Imogen?”

  She blinked at the cool and almost dismissive tone of his voice. After yesterday, both in the carriage and in his bed, she was certain things had shifted between them. Yet he offered her no connection today, not even the barest hint of one.

  She cleared her throat and forced herself to be as detached as he was. “I have been thinking about my situation and I know my staff must be concerned about me.”

  “They’ve been informed of your safety and I have paid their wages for the next month,” he said, again not looking up. “Your home has been closed up and your mail forwarded to a solicitor in my employ, and will thus be forwarded to me. Untraceable, or at least not easily so.”