The Redemption of a Rogue

by Jess Michaels

  For both their sakes.

  Chapter 17

  Imogen opened her eyes and looked around. She was in Oscar’s room, which was not an uncommon place for her to wake. The more uncommon element was that he was still abed beside her, despite the light coming in around the corners of the curtains, which told her it was late in the day.

  They had not made love the night before. He hadn’t suggested it, she hadn’t the energy to do so, but he’d still taken her to his bed, helped her undress and held her. Held her all night, soothing her when the nightmares raged.

  She rolled over now to face him and found he was watching her through a hooded gaze. Her entire body twitched with desire, despite the terrible circumstances. She ignored it and reached up to trace the angle of his jaw. His whiskers tickled her palm, and she smiled at the sensation. “Good morning.”

  His lips were tight as he nodded. “I would ask you if you slept well, but I know the answer, I fear.”

  “My nightmares troubled you,” she said with a shake of her head. “I’m sorry. I should sleep in my own room rather than keep you up all night.”

  He lifted his fingers to her lips and pressed there gently. “It isn’t about my quality of sleep, Imogen. It never was. I rarely sleep more than a few hours any night, whether you are here in my home or not.”

  “Why?” she asked, tilting her head at the thought.

  He shrugged. “My mind is too busy, I suppose. Or maybe I don’t like my dreams, either.”

  “What do you dream about?” she whispered.

  He eased onto his back and hauled her tighter against his side. As he stared up at the ceiling above them, she remained quiet, hoping whatever space she gave him might encourage him to let her in just a little.

  She needed that.

  “My father,” he said at last. “I often dream of the last Duke of Roseford. I dream of the day he left. I dream of looking in the mirror and seeing his face.”

  Her brow wrinkled. “Your father’s reputation is still spoken about in hushed whispers in the circles that matter. And there is nothing I’ve seen in you that has ever reminded me of the rumors about him.”

  He shrugged, but despite that, it was evident this topic meant far more to him than he was allowing her to see. “Perhaps. I’ve worked hard not to be anything like him. But the blood breaks through, I fear, from time to time.” He let out a long sigh. “Whenever I hear those whispers, the ones you talk about, I cringe. Whenever some fop comes up to me in my club and starts in on how much he looked up to the last Duke of Roseford and his never-ending quest for pleasure, my stomach turns.”

  She traced her fingers along his chest. “I wonder how your brother feels. The one who holds the title now.”

  “Robert?” Oscar said slowly, as if saying the name was difficult. “He was like him. So much like him. And then he…wasn’t anymore. Just like that, like some kind of lightning bolt hit and changed him.”

  “Love, they say,” she whispered, thinking of the rumors that had run wild a few years ago when the new Duke of Roseford wooed and wed his duchess. Imogen had waxed romantic about it one day, and Huxley had made some sharp comment about love not existing. Just another reminder that she couldn’t have what she wanted.

  Now she looked up at the man who held her, and wanted…

  No, she wouldn’t let herself think that. She wouldn’t let herself crave the lightning bolt he described. Those sorts of things only existed for a few lucky souls, and Oscar was nothing but clear to her about his boundaries.

  She snuggled a little closer and his arms tightened around her. He was warm and solid and whole, that was what mattered right now. He was here and he would protect her, if nothing else.

  “Did you enjoy your day out?” he asked. “Despite the end?”

  She lifted her head. “I did,” she said. “It’s a funny thing. In my heart, I am not the kind of woman who craves parties every night or to have a dozen friends. I’ve always preferred a quiet night in reading a book to bustling about constantly. But being here, not being able to leave for my own safety, it has made me realize how much the choice of staying in or going out means. That moment when I realize I can’t just stroll over to the park or call on a friend…it hits me. So I very much appreciated you allowing me that moment of normalcy yesterday.”

  “I’m glad,” he said, and there was that flutter of a smile around the edges of his mouth again. “It was a pleasure watching you. I know I’ve been hard on you about staying in or not contacting your friend. So I was happy to have the connections required to allow us a private showing of Carlton’s collection.”

  She worried her lip as he continued. He didn’t know that she had thwarted his order and reached out to Aurora. Here he was going on about offering her a respite and being apologetic about his stiff rules, and she was lying to him.

  She didn’t want to do that. Especially since he would find out soon enough. Aurora had said in her letter when she meant to be back in London, so Imogen had asked her to meet as soon as she returned. Just a few days now, for she knew Aurora would do everything in her power to make that meeting. Oscar would have to know about those plans at some point.

  She cleared her throat as she sat up and stared down at him. The moment she moved, his gaze narrowed and his mouth tightened. “Imogen…” he said.

  She worried her lip. “Can you read me so well?”

  “I can see your expression filled with concern and guilt, so yes, I suppose I can.” He folded his arms, and all it succeeded in doing was making his chest ripple, which did not help her concentrate on what she had to do next.

  She shifted and forced a smile. “I might have a small something to feel guilty about. But I’m about to tell you what I’ve done, so that’s something, isn’t it? Confession of a wrong deed is a very important step in rectifying—”

  “Imogen,” he interrupted. “What did you do exactly?”

  “You told me not to reach out to Aurora,” she said softly. “But I…did.”

  “What?” he burst out, throwing the covers back and padding, utterly naked and deliciously distracting, away from her. He pivoted as he caught his dressing gown and threw it over his shoulders. “When? How?”

  She explained to him how she had smuggled her letter out, and its contents. His jaw tightened with every word she spoke. “What were you thinking? You know how dangerous your current situation is. What if that boy was working for Roddenbury?”

  “The eight-year-old child who uses the space behind your home as a way to cut through to the opposite street?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Children go to work at far younger than that, my dear.”

  “If that were true, it would mean Roddenbury would already guess I was staying at your home, wouldn’t it? To send his child spies in the hopes I might slip one a letter and the last coin to my name? In that case, we would already be dead, I assume.”

  She shivered, and his body tensed. “I suppose,” he conceded through what sounded like clenched teeth.

  “I was careful, Oscar,” she assured him. “I made my handwriting on the outside of the letter look different. I left no indication of where I was in the address or in the letter, itself. I simply asked Aurora to meet with me on Friday and told her I would give more direction when the time was closer. I need to see her. Especially if it might be the last time. I need to see her and show her that I’m fine. I need to…”

  She bent her head. He moved forward, his expression softening. “You want to say goodbye.”

  “If I must,” she choked out. “And I think I have to consider that might be true. I need to come to peace with that.”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face, and she could see his frustration, though it no longer seemed to be directed at her. He nodded. “I do understand. And while I wish you had been more up front with me, allowed me to help you, I cannot fault you for your desire to see someone you love. So we have a few days until this meeting, then?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I aske
d her to write to me when she returns to London on Thursday night, knowing it would be forwarded here and I would give her a location for the meeting on Friday. I’ll let you choose it for highest safety and…” She trailed off and felt heat come to her cheeks.

  “And?” he encouraged.

  “I’d like you to meet Aurora,” she said. “She is my dearest friend and you are—” She cut herself off. “I’d like you to meet her.”

  “I will,” he said after what felt like the longest hesitation in the history of hesitation. “I would very much like to meet her.”

  “Good,” she said, and meant it. She had so few people in her life that she cared for. She wanted them to know each other and like each other. She wanted to see Aurora’s reaction to this man and all his command and kindness and passion.

  “Imogen,” he said, and took a long step toward her. “I know the conversation with my mother and Will last night was upsetting to you. I know this all feels…hopeless. But we will work it out.”

  She smiled, but in her heart it was hard to believe him. She knew, after all, that there were some things that could not be resolved. A murderous man who could destroy with immunity seemed like one of them.

  If he sensed her hesitation, he said nothing further on the topic. Instead he drew in a long breath. “I have something I need to do today. Will you be all right by yourself? Should I have my mother visit and keep you company?”

  “No,” she said. “As much as I would enjoy her, I think I’d like to be by myself. I have a great deal to think about.”

  He held his stare on hers for a moment, then nodded. “Very well. I’ll step into my dressing room to ready myself, but I’ll come back to say goodbye before I go.”

  She forced a smile as he moved into the adjoining room and closed the door behind himself, but his words rang in her ears. Say goodbye. In the end, that was what they had to do. They had to find a way to say goodbye.

  And she feared that moment was coming far more rapidly than she was ready to face.

  Oscar smirked as he looked around the smoky gentleman’s club near Charing Cross. The place was fine, but Oscar’s club was finer. He took some small pleasure in that as he took in all the details, from the livery of the servants to the placement of the chairs and tables throughout the hall.

  But celebrating the comparative quality of his business to this one wasn’t why he’d come here, so he pushed those thoughts aside and drew a deep breath as he looked around.

  This was a gaming area of the club, but in the afternoon it was mostly quiet. Two tables with two pairs of men playing. He moved farther into the room, noting when the gentlemen’s eyes came up. Some seemed to recognize him and registered surprise that he would be here.

  He ignored it as he moved toward the table all the way in the furthest corner of the chamber. He didn’t recognize the man facing him, but the one with his back to Oscar raised his interest. After all, his quarry was supposedly in this room, and since he saw him nowhere else, this had to be him.

  He stepped up and cleared his throat. The gentleman turned his face upward, and Oscar’s entire body stiffened, as much as he tried to maintain calm on his face.

  Roddenbury.

  “Good afternoon,” he said as coolly as he could manage. “I see you’re playing vingt-et-un. Do you have space for another?”

  The man who had been playing against the earl seemed to sag with defeat and he looked at Roddenbury with pleading. “You can’t bring in another. You need to give me the chance to win back what I’ve lose.”

  Roddenbury sneered in plain disgust. “You couldn’t win against a child. Go home, Evans. If you didn’t want to lost what you gambled, you wouldn’t have played with what mattered.”

  Oscar straightened, for this wager seemed to involve far more than the pile of blunt in front of Roddenbury. The man, Evans, bent his head and got up. He looked at Oscar and his expression was so hangdog and pitiful that Oscar turned away.

  “Better luck to you, sir,” Evans said as he trudged off.

  Roddenbury snickered as he gathered up the cards and motioned to the seat across from him. “I hope you have the blunt to truly wager.”

  Oscar sat and reached into his jacket pocket to withdraw the blunt he’d brought for just this purpose. A large amount of it. A thousand pounds in notes. He couldn’t help but think of Imogen and her teasing him about winning just this amount as he placed it on the table. Perhaps he’d picked the sum on purpose. For her. All of this was for her.

  “Excellent, a real game with high stakes,” Roddenbury said, his eyes shining with greed as he sized Oscar up.

  Oscar refrained from pointing out the stakes were higher than Roddenbury realized, and held out a hand for the cards. Roddenbury handed them over, and Oscar began to shuffle as he looked over the earl. He was a young man, perhaps a handful of years younger than Oscar, himself. He had dark hair and brown eyes that held a hint of the cruelty this man was capable of.

  Oscar supposed some might call him handsome. He was certain many a lady had cooed over Roddenbury, hoping to gain his favor…only to realize she had made a terrible mistake the moment they were alone. This was the man who had chased Imogen, who threatened her life and their…her future. What Oscar wanted to do was come across the table and strangle the life out of him.

  Roddenbury arched a brow. “Deal or leave, sir. I don’t have all day.”

  Oscar dealt out the first hand and they settled into the game, each trying to get the titular vignt-et-un or as close to it as possible. The skill was knowing when to take a card or when to wait. Oscar had to fight his careful nature to risk the blunt he’d brought and maintain Roddenbury’s interest.

  They’d played for a quarter of an hour before the earl tilted his head and snagged Oscar’s gaze. “I know you.”

  “And I know you, my lord,” Oscar retorted. “I suppose we are both infamous men.”

  Roddenbury chuckled. “For very different reasons, I think. My title gives me some of my notoriety.”

  “And how you use it,” Oscar offered.

  Roddenbury’s eyebrows lifted. “That too. As for you, I suppose you have two things that make you someone Society talks about, Mr. Fitzhugh.”

  Oscar inclined his head to acknowledge the recognition. “And what are those?”

  Roddenbury dealt the next hand before he answered, “Your club. And the fact that you are one of the Roseford Bastards.”

  Oscar flexed his hands against the table before he flipped the cards in front of him. “Most don’t have the audacity to bring up that subject with me.”

  “Well, I suppose I do so because I admire your late father,” Roddenbury said, and tapped his fingers on the wood to indicate he would draw another to try to make his quinze closer to a vignt-et-un.

  “Of course you did,” Oscar said, and saw the opportunity this man’s poisoned words created. He leaned closer and smiled as Roddenbury went over the limit. He pushed his money forward with disgust and glared as Oscar said, “I’ve heard rumor you might have some of the same interests as the late duke.”

  “Women, you mean,” Roddenbury chuckled. “Don’t we all?”

  “A good many men are enthralled by the charms of ladies, of course,” Oscar said as he tried, once again, not to think of Imogen back at home. Maybe still in his bed. Waiting for him to find a way to save her. He shook the distraction away. He’d come here with a purpose in mind. He had to focus in order to fulfill it.

  “But I’ve heard it goes further than that,” he continued. He drew a deep breath and met the other man’s gaze. “I’ve heard you have women…available. Or can make them so.”

  Chapter 18

  Oscar watched for any tiny indication of Roddenbury’s feelings on the question, but the earl was a good card player. He didn’t respond for a moment, though his gaze remained heavy on Oscar as he pushed the deck over for him to deal. Oscar shuffled as the tension between them ratcheted up. Roddenbury didn’t know what to think of him and he wasn’t incline
d to trust. In some ways, that was smart. Wicked men did wicked things, but most would draw the line at kidnap, murder and forced imprisonment of women. The earl would be a fool not to look for traps at every turn.

  “Are you looking for women, Fitzhugh?” he asked, his tone suddenly heavier, darker.

  Oscar cleared his throat. “I’d like my club to be more…competitive with some of the hells. Perhaps some willing women would make that happen.”

  Roddenbury snorted out a chuckle. “How about less than willing? Though they do tend to come to heel given enough time and incentive.”

  Oscar swallowed past the bile gathering in his throat. He wanted to hit this man so badly he could almost feel the crunch of his cheek beneath his fist.

  “You look angry, Mr. Fitzhugh. Do you not approve of my methods?” Roddenbury leaned forward. “Or is it more personal?”

  Oscar thought of Louisa. He thought of Imogen. “I suppose everything is personal in the end, my lord.”

  “Deal the next hand, Mr. Fitzhugh. And why don’t we raise the stakes?” He pushed his money to the center of the table. All of it. “All in.”

  “No matter the hand?” Oscar said.

  “Life isn’t worth anything without risk,” Roddenbury said with a thin smile.

  Oscar shoved his own money in and dealt the cards. Roddenbury motioned to him and Oscar flipped his cards. Two kings. He arched a brow at Roddenbury and waited as the other man flipped his own cards one at a time. A queen. And as he picked up the other card and looked at it before he showed it to Oscar, the earl smiled.

  Oscar’s heart sank. He turned the card and revealed an ace.

  “I believe that’s the game.”

  “That was good luck,” Oscar mused as he watched his money get pulled away by his companion.

  “Or something like it,” Roddenbury said with a chuckle as he cleared the table and got up to walk away.

  Oscar gripped his hands against the tabletop. So Roddenbury had cheated. And giving that fact away through inference was some odd way to show his dominance, that he was unbeatable. That he was unstoppable.