He stared at her, unblinking for what felt like a lifetime. Then he shook his head. “This was sex, Imogen. Don’t confuse it or we both risk…we risk something I’m not willing to risk.”
He didn’t wait for her response, he just stepped out of the room, completely naked, and shut the door behind himself, leaving her alone with the realization that this man already loved her.
And that he might never allow himself to nurture that, or her. That broke her more than almost anything else she’d faced in the last lonely year of her life.
She threw a pillow at the door with a grunt and then flopped back on the bed, letting her arm come over her eyes. She’d hoped that after today, she might have some answers about what to do next.
But there were only more questions than ever.
Oscar was on his third drink when there was a knock at the small chamber’s door. He glanced up at it, his heart jumping almost out of his chest.
“Imogen?” he said as he moved to the door, but when he opened it, only the butler for the safe house stood there.
“I apologize for the interruption, sir, but you have a visitor.”
“A visitor?” Oscar said, blinking at the man as he tried to clear his foggy head. “Who would know we’re here?”
“There is no danger, I assure you,” the butler said. “She comes with a password from the Duke of Willowby, himself, or she would not have been allowed in. I only didn’t know if you’d like to see someone in your current…er…” He glanced down, and Oscar tightened his dressing gown at his waist. “Your current state.”
“Who is it?” he asked.
“Miss Joanna Fitzhugh,” he said.
“My mother,” Oscar said, and shook his head. “And have you also knocked on Mrs. Huxley’s door?” He winced at that thought. He wasn’t sure he had the strength to face Imogen after what he’d said and done.
“The maid who assisted her earlier said that she was asleep, so I didn’t think it wise. But I can rouse her if you’d like,” the butler said.
“No. Let her sleep. She’s earned that,” Oscar said softly. “And yes, I’ll see my mother. Give me a moment and I’ll meet her downstairs.”
“Very good.” The butler bowed away and left him.
Oscar sighed. He had been in hiding for all of a handful of hours, but of course his mother would find him straight away. Through Will, no doubt, since he would have come in contact with the Duke of Willowby when he arrived to survey the damage to the club, as he had been called to do.
And now Oscar would have to face her, with all her ability to read him. With all her pointed questions and looks. While he was slightly drunk, no less, and reeling from how he had treated Imogen after they made love.
He opened the drawers in the room and found a few items there that would fit him. As he dressed himself, slowly thanks to his drunken state and his injured arm, he thought about Imogen.
Of course he hadn’t stopped thinking about her the entire time he’d been drinking to make himself do just that. When he’d recognized that he loved her, it had been the most terrifying moment of his life. Oh, he’d been in danger before, both during the time he’d been watching her and before. But that was physical threat. Loving her? That was a threat to his very core.
That was a threat to his heart and his mind and his soul.
And what had he done? Followed his instinct, of course, and tried to fuck his way out of those feelings. Tried to put up walls to her and to his own heart. Tried to make himself forget that he loved her, which meant he was vulnerable to every single thing in this world that could rip her away from him.
And Imogen, in her strength and her warmth and her sunshine, which changed his whole world…had defied him. Forcing him to sink into her instead of pull away. Forcing him to love her more, even if he’d told her that he couldn’t or wouldn’t.
Seeing the hurt in her stare when he said those words, knowing she was right when she called him a coward…he would never forget that moment until he took his dying breath.
He tucked his shirt into his trousers and sighed. He couldn’t think about any of that when he faced Joanna. He had to wipe it all away, challenging as that had somehow become.
He made his way back to the parlor where the Duchess of Willowby had tended his wound earlier in the night, and drew a long breath before he entered. His mother was standing at the sideboard, a drink in hand as she glared at the door, awaiting his arrival.
The moment he entered, she set her glass aside and crossed to him. Her arms came around him and she hugged him tightly. “My love.”
“I’m fine, Mama,” he said. Lied. He lied. “I assume Will was the one who told you what happened.”
“Yes. And he knew I would insist on coming to see you, so he got the information and password from this duke.” She laughed, but it was a raw sound. “The trouble you get yourself in, son.”
“I’m trying to get myself out,” he said as he paced away. “And her.”
He felt his mother watching him as he moved to the fireplace and stared into the dancing flames. “Are you drunk?” she asked, her tone incredulous.
He pivoted back to her and shrugged, wincing when he tweaked his injury. “I am,” he admitted.
Her face pinched, and she crossed to him and touched his arm, feeling the bandage beneath gently. “I don’t think I’ve seen you drunk in ten years. Is it to numb the pain?”
He almost laughed. Numb the pain? Oh yes, it was for that. But not the physical pain. “It will heal,” he said.
“Will it now?” she asked, and he realized she wasn’t talking about his arm either.
He pulled away. “I’m fine.”
She was quiet for a moment before she said, “And what about Imogen?”
“She wasn’t hurt—” He cut himself off, because that wasn’t true. “She wasn’t shot this afternoon,” he said. “She’s resting in her chamber.”
He could almost hear her voice right now. Saying he was a coward. The word rang in his ears, and he shook his head. He turned back to his mother and stared at her. She looked worried, of course. But she also looked…peaceful somehow. Calm.
“Has Will taken on the role as your protector again?” he asked.
She snorted out a surprised laugh. “That is a change of subject.”
“If you get to grill me on my life, I suppose I feel I am owed the chance to do the same,” he said. “And perhaps the drink has loosened my tongue a little. Is he?”
“Who told you that?” she asked.
He ran a hand through his hair. “Imogen said something about the connection she saw. And then it was all I could see when you two were together.”
“He’s not my protector,” Joanna said softly.
He bent his head, a little bit of disappointment rushing through him. The time when Will had been Joanna’s protector was one of the happiest of Oscar’s life. He trusted the man, as he had never trusted anyone else she’d let into her bed.
“He—” The way her voice wavered when she cut herself off made Oscar glance back up at her. She worried her lip a little. “He’s the love of my life, Oscar.”
He swallowed. His mother so rarely called him by his given name. That made her declaration feel all the more…serious. “I see,” he said, and sank down into the closest chair because his wobbly legs felt even less certain.
She took the chair opposite him and grasped one of his hands between her own. “Do you know why we ended it all those years ago?”
He shook his head.
“Because I was afraid of my feelings,” she admitted, and in that moment all the walls Joanna expertly erected were gone. She was entirely vulnerable and more beautiful than ever. “When I started to see myself fall, I thought of…I thought of your father.”
He flinched. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” She squeezed his hand gently. “I’m not sorry about my experiences, including that one. But the younger me was still afraid. I didn’t trust myself, so I couldn
’t trust Will, even when I knew he was decent, caring. Even when he told me he loved me.”
His mouth dropped open. “He told you that?”
“The last night we were together,” she said, and shook her head. “And I refused him…quite flippantly, even though in my heart I felt anything but. It broke us apart. And yet somehow that lovely man still wanted to call me a friend.” She laughed. “And so we were. But in the last year that’s changed. Shifted. Bloomed back into something more like it once was. When he told me he loved me this time, I knew what it was like to have that and lose it. I knew the cost. So I took the chance. He wants to marry me, Oscar.”
The joy that declaration brought made Oscar smile. It felt so rusty to make the expression, though far less so after weeks with Imogen bringing light to his once-dark existence. “I’m glad, Mama. I’m happy for you and for Will. If you need my blessing, you have it.”
“I’ll take it.” She gave a long sigh. “But I look at you, my love, and I see…me.”
“It’s not the same,” he insisted, though he felt the lie as clearly as she could see it.
“Yes, it is,” she said, her tone brooking no refusal. “I’m afraid you are on your way to losing love twice.”
He blinked. “Twice,” he repeated. “Are you…are you talking about Louisa?” She nodded, and he got up on those shaky legs, pulling his hand from hers. “I was not in love with Louisa.”
“Weren’t you?” she asked. “Or was it that your feelings terrified you? Did you not trust yourself because of your father? Because of other men who traipsed through your life thanks to my profession?”
“Mama—”
She ignored the interruption. “Did you push her away because you feared losing yourself? Losing the control you have always wielded as a shield? And now you’re doing it all over again with Imogen. It will be worse this time.”
“Why?” he asked, drawn in by all those questions that he secretly knew the answer to. That he despised her for asking, and yet…
“Because I’ve seen you two together. I see how you are with Imogen. I see what she makes you.”
“What does she make me?” His voice trembled.
“Whole,” she said softly.
He dropped his chin and squeezed his eyes shut, but blocking his mother from his line of vision didn’t block how true that one word felt as it tore through him as surely as the bullet had earlier in the day.
“Perhaps,” he admitted without even meaning to say that word out loud.
“That you can say perhaps gives me hope,” she said. She got up and moved to him to place a kiss on his cheek. “I adore you, you know.”
“I know you do, just as I adore you,” he grumbled.
“Then listen to me.” She smiled at him. “Put away the bottle tonight and don’t hide from what is in your heart. Think about what you want, what you really want, and what you might lose if you aren’t careful. If you don’t stop running from a past that you can’t change.” She moved toward the door, and there she stopped. “Oh, and be careful.”
He nodded. “I will,” he said, and they both knew he was agreeing to more than just her last admonishment.
“Goodnight, love. Send word when you can, and know that Will and I are protecting your interests until this is over.”
She slipped away as he called out, “Goodnight.”
And when she was gone, when he was alone in the big parlor, he moved to the fire and stood there, mesmerized once again by the flames. The very thoughts his mother had encouraged him to pursue rose up in him, overtaking him. The same thoughts he’d been avoiding since he first met Imogen.
Since before he met her.
It was going to be a long night.
Chapter 23
Imogen entered the breakfast room the next morning and expected she would be alone. It was early, after all. She’d hoped too early for Oscar, since she had heard from the maid assigned to her by the Willowbys that he hadn’t slept much last night.
And yet there he was at the head of the table. He pushed to his feet as she entered, and she caught her breath. He was entirely pulled together. Dressed impeccably, not a hair out of place, his beard neatly trimmed. His brow furrowed and his dark gaze held on her as she walked to the place at his right. If he hadn’t slept last night, it did nothing to reduce the command he had of this room or any other.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice rough.
She nodded as politely as she could while she took her seat. “Good morning, Oscar.”
He sat back down and she let her gaze flit over him again. He was wearing a coat, waistcoat and shirt she hadn’t seen before. Certainly not the ones that had been torn and made bloody by the carnage yesterday. “They had clothing brought for you, as well, it seems.”
He glanced at himself. “There were items in the wardrobe in my room. These fit. I might nick the waistcoat, if I’m honest.”
She smiled at the way he puffed up his chest so she could see the intricate brocading in the fabric better. “It does suit you. Do you need your wound cleaned?”
He shook his head. “No. I asked the valet this morning and he obliged.”
“Ah.”
She glanced up at the footman who had brought her a plate laden with food. It was good he had interrupted when he did. She hated to show Oscar her disappointment in his response. It was foolish, after all. Having the valet do the duty was a perfectly reasonable idea. Only she felt a little jealous. According to Diana, Imogen had been meant to help him. It seemed he was finding any way he could not to allow it.
The chasm that had opened between them after they made love seemed to be widening with every passing moment. Their time together was almost over, and it felt like Oscar was preparing himself…preparing her…for when it would be at its close.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
She glanced down at herself. The gowns the Duchess of Willowby had sent over fit Imogen perfectly. Better than Louisa’s old dresses. This one was a gray-blue with a lace overlay that cascaded across the skirt.
Honestly, she was pleased to be out of Louisa’s hand-me-downs. They were always a reminder that Oscar found a way to put up walls, to escape furthering his connection. He’d done it to his previous lover. He was doing it now to her.
“Thank you.”
An awkward silence fell over them for a moment as he stared at her. Then he opened his mouth. “Imogen…I wanted to talk to you about…about last night.” He stopped and shook his head. “No. It’s about more than last night. It’s about so many nights since I met you.”
“Oh?” she whispered, her hands shaking as she set her fork down and looked at him. He looked truly troubled, and her heart leapt. “What is it?”
He ran a hand through his hair and was about to speak again when the butler appeared in the doorway. “I’m sorry to disturb your breakfast, Mr. Fitzhugh, Mrs. Huxley, but the Duke and Duchess of Willowby are here.”
Imogen’s eyes went wide as she looked at Oscar. “They said they wouldn’t call until this afternoon. Something must have happened.”
He pursed his lips at the interruption, but tossed his napkin aside. “I suppose we should find out what.”
He offered her an arm, and she got up and took it. Even with so much unsaid and undone between them, having him at her side as they went across the hall to the parlor was a comfort. Perhaps she shouldn’t have allowed it to be when she knew he wanted to separate them, but it still was.
She loved him. His demand that she stop, his reminder that he couldn’t or wouldn’t return the emotion, wasn’t enough to change her heart.
In the parlor, the Duke and Duchess of Willowby were standing by the window. Along with them were Derrick Huntington and his partner, Edward Barber. After the pleasantries were exchanged, Oscar tilted his head. “I’m shocked Selina didn’t join you. And the rest of my family. I honestly expected the great Duke of Roseford to descend upon my head himself.”
Imogen heard the strain in his voice
and clung to his arm a little tighter. If he offered her strength, she wanted to do the same if she could.
Willowby pursed his lips. Imogen knew he was friends with Oscar’s estranged brother. It was clear he didn’t like the attitude Oscar held toward him. “I know he would like to come, but I asked that the family limit their involvement in this. There are already a great many high emotions as it is. They can only serve to confuse matters and endanger all of us.”
“I practically had to tie Selina down to get her to obey that order, if it helps,” Huntington said with a shake of his head. Oscar released Imogen as he said it and took a step away, his shoulders tightening with every word. “She’s off doing some research to fill her anxious mind.”
“We expected you later in the day,” Imogen said, changing the subject for Oscar’s sake as much as her own. “Not that I’m complaining, but has something happened?”
“Not exactly,” Diana said as she came forward. “We weren’t clear on how much research Mr. Barber here had put in on the Earl of Roddenbury already until I told everyone the connection. So it was much easier to compile our resources and come to you as soon as possible.”
Barber nodded. “You see, I was brought into the realm of this case when the granddaughter of a Russian nobleman, visiting friends here, was kidnapped. It was a delicate matter and not one those involved wanted to be made public. In that way I discovered the potential involvement of Roddenbury in the selection and trade of these young women.”
“I see,” Imogen said with a shiver, and leaned into Oscar’s hand when he placed it on the small of her back gently.
“In the past few weeks,” Barber continued, “Roddenbury has been putting out feelers, looking for a specific young lady. He wants it known he only wishes to talk to her, that she won’t be in any danger.”
Imogen’s lips parted. “Me.”
“Yes,” Willowby said. “You see, when the Duchess of Roseford reached out on Aurora’s behalf to look for her friend—you, Mrs. Huxley—we knew it had to be connected to this case and the disappearance and deaths of several young women. When we linked our information with Mr. Barber’s…well, it became clear Roddenbury has been looking for you.”
The Redemption of a Rogue Page 21
