She felt those four walls closing in even now.
“Good evening!”
She pivoted back to watch Joanna step into the room. She was beautiful, of course, but Imogen found herself caught off guard by it again. It was as if she somehow forgot it or softened it in her mind, and then she saw Joanna and her loveliness rushed back.
Joanna kissed her son’s cheek and then crossed to her, arms open in greeting. “My dear. Oh, you look lovely. That blue suits you.”
Imogen glanced down at the gown she wore. Very pretty, yes. And still the left-behind dress of a dead woman who haunted Oscar. Drove his every decision, including the one never to let Imogen near. She almost hated the pretty outfit.
“And this is our dear friend, Will White,” Joanna said as she parted from Imogen. She’d been so distracted, she hadn’t noticed another man come into the room behind Joanna. He was tall, though not quite so tall as Oscar, who he was standing beside at the sideboard. He was very handsome, with gray hair, a defined jawline and bright blue eyes that flitted over Imogen before darting to Joanna. He smiled slightly at her and their connection became palpable, if only briefly.
“Will is my partner in the club,” Oscar explained as Mr. White crossed to Imogen and shook her hand in greeting.
“A pleasure.”
“And he was once my protector,” Joanna added, never one to shy away from awkward subjects. “And he remains my dearest and truest friend.”
“Very nice to meet you,” Imogen said.
He shrugged. “The two of them have never been the kind to mince words. Any friend of Joanna or Fitzhugh is a friend of mine. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance after hearing so much about you.”
Imogen blinked toward Oscar. “So much about me?”
“I mentioned you to Will after our first meeting,” Oscar explained softly. “And I would assume he also heard about you from my mother.” He glanced at Mr. White again. “You did go with her to Donville Masquerade and wherever else she was seeking her contacts?”
Mr. White opened his mouth to answer, but Joanna held up a hand. “There is plenty of time to discuss that after supper. By the way our poor Imogen is gripping her drink like a lifeline, I can see she would rather have a break from such dark topics. Am I wrong?”
Imogen stared at her white knuckles. She hadn’t even realized how tightly she clung to her drink. Leave it to Joanna, master of finding all the answers, to see it.
She glanced toward Oscar. She was still so…turned upside down by everything that had happened between them at the museum and since. To now be asked to focus on news about her desperate future did feel like too much.
“A respite might be nice,” Imogen admitted softly. “It’s been a long day.” Oscar flinched slightly, so she rushed to continue, “To be able to pretend things are normal for a while would be good. To pretend that this is just a supper amongst…amongst friends.”
“Then it will be that,” Joanna assured her as she slipped an arm through hers. “You will have the very best meal tonight, dear girl. My cook has made roasted pheasant in Will’s favorite presentation. We all bend over backward to please him whenever he comes around, so it should be delightful.”
Joanna led her from the room, and Imogen couldn’t be sorry she’d done so. It allowed her not to look at Oscar. Not that she couldn’t feel his stare on her. Not that she couldn’t feel the weight of the future already pressing down. The one that would answer life versus death…and the one that would ultimately take her from his side, one way or another.
* * *
Joanna had not been wrong: the pheasant was perfect. As was the company. When Imogen mentioned Carlton’s Museum, Will White had become animated about his love of the natural history exhibits. The bright conversation that followed had allowed Imogen exactly what she’d said she wanted.
For an hour, she felt normal. Like this supper was just with friends. And with a man she…well, she could say she cared for Oscar, couldn’t she? That wasn’t breaking the rules between them. A person could care for a friend. Or for a man who had saved that same person. Caring was a positive thing, not a negative.
She only wished she were more certain of that. One thing she was certain of, however, was that Joanna Fitzhugh and Will White were far more than friends. She caught them looking at each other across the table. There was a lightness when they said each other’s names. And the palpable connection that moved between them was something she recognized. Something she felt when she glanced at Oscar and thought about all the wicked things he could do if they were alone.
Even now, as the foursome moved down the hall back to the parlor after supper, she couldn’t help but notice how Joanna rested her hand on White’s inner elbow. How her fingers clenched gently as he leaned down to say something private to her.
“Imogen?”
She jerked her head toward Oscar. He walked beside her, but didn’t hold her arm or offer his. “Hmmm?”
“You looked a little lost,” he said. “Are you well?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “I was just thinking how well they look together. And how happy they seem to make each other.”
Oscar glanced ahead to where his mother and White were entering the parlor. His brow wrinkled, as if he hadn’t noticed their closeness before. He shook his head toward Imogen. “My mother was very lucky to keep him as a friend after their affiliation.”
She stopped and lowered her voice. “But they are more than friends now.”
He stared at her, looked toward the parlor and then stared back at her again. “No, you’re mistaken. My mother is a flirt with every handsome man. It’s part of her charm, her nature. Will is a friend to her, nothing more.”
Imogen tilted her head. She saw a kind of desperation in his eyes before he covered it. “Do you not wish them to be together?”
He blinked. “N-no. Of course not. Will is the best of men. He treated me like his own though I was not. When they ended their relationship, it was heartbreaking to me as a nine-year-old. But he continued to treat me well even after it ended. And her. Still, if they were together again, I would know. I would see.”
There was that hint of desperation again, this time in his voice. He covered it by running a hand through his hair. “Come, they’re waiting.”
He walked toward the parlor, forcing her to hop to it to keep up. They came into the room together to find Joanna pouring the port as Will held the glasses. They were laughing together. Oscar stopped at her side and stared, then shook his head and walked away. As if that could stop what she’d suggested.
“It was a fine meal, Mama,” he said, taking the port Will offered him. “But we’ve put off the inevitable long enough. We must talk about your contacts.”
Joanna glanced toward Imogen, and there was concern on her face. Imogen’s knees almost went weak at the sight of it. She’d not had anyone care for her except for Aurora in so long. And her friend had her own troubles, so Imogen sometimes kept her fears and worries secret.
“I suppose we cannot pretend away the inevitable forever,” Joanna said with a sigh. She crossed to Imogen and took her hand, guiding her to the settee and motioning her to sit. As Imogen did, her heart leapt. There was something so…troubled on Joanna’s face.
“What…what is it?” Imogen asked. “Why do you look at me that way?”
Joanna caught both her hands and held tight, never breaking eye contact with her. “Will and I went to Donville Masquerade two nights ago and met with Marcus Rivers.”
Imogen swallowed hard. “I-I’ve heard of it,” she admitted with a quick glance toward Oscar.
He held her gaze evenly, and heat flooded her cheeks with a blush she couldn’t control as she thought of the palpable sexuality the underground club created, even when people just spoke of it. It was known as a den of sin on every level, but was considered a safe haven for those who came there. When her husband’s family had made it clear she would be banished if she made an attempt at such a conspicuous place, she
’d been lost.
She wished she could have gone there, sought her protector there instead of making the terrible mistake of going so much lower and endangering herself. But then again, she wouldn’t have met Oscar if she hadn’t, so…it was hard to regret everything that had come out of that terrible position.
“Rivers and his new bride are both decent. He’s always run his club by a very strict set of rules. Because of this, he’s a wonderful resource for knowing who is indecent. I explained your situation—”
Imogen pushed to her feet. “Oh no!” she gasped.
Oscar jolted as if he would move toward her, but Joanna held up a hand to stave his advance. “I didn’t use names,” she promised Imogen as she caught her hand and drew her back down. “I simply explained the basics of the situation. He was troubled. He’s heard rumblings of…”
She trailed off, and this time Oscar did step closer. “What? What could be so terrible that even you would hesitate?”
“Women of my position, women in worse positions, they are always in danger. Men have power, and if a person is judged important, then they can get away with anything.”
“Even murder,” Imogen breathed, her mind spiraling her back to that dead body. That poor woman, snuffed out so cruelly and treated like refuse. Who was she? Did someone look for her? Miss her? Or had her life been like her death…lonely. Empty.
She shivered at the thought and the grief she felt for that woman.
“Yes. I suppose all women walking this earth are somewhat aware of that fact. We walk on guard at all times.” Joanna shifted. “But this is…different. Rivers says that there are rumors of more than just a random killing here and there. They are…forcing women into the trade.”
Imogen drew back. “What?”
“Yes.” Joanna shook her head. “Even kidnapping some of them. Which is why the War Department has become involved. When I mentioned Roddenbury, all the color went out of Rivers’ face. The earl is at the heart of this, it seems. Profiting off the trade of these women both here and on the continent. Apparently he’s been doing so for years, using the power and protection of his title.”
“Why has no one stopped him?” Oscar asked.
Joanna glanced up at him, and her expression softened. “You know why, love. You know why more than most.”
Oscar’s cheek twitched, and Imogen bent her head. Roddenbury was titled. He could get away with anything if he managed it correctly, just as Oscar’s father had done for years.
“Bloody hell,” Oscar growled, and paced off to the fire to stare into the flames. His hands flexed at his sides, his rage barely contained.
Joanna sighed. “In truth, he has been stopped in some ways. The courtesan network, it’s been whispering about him for years. The rumors and warnings about his cruelty and danger are probably why he’s sunk lower, down to women with far fewer resources. Places where he believes he can buy his way out if he gets in trouble.”
Pressure spread through Imogen’s chest and her hands shook as she slowly stood. “But…but these agents of the crown…” she whispered.
“They do seem serious about the pursuit,” Joanna said gently. “But…”
“But what?” Imogen asked, her voice barely carrying.
“It seems one of the agents is titled, as well. It’s rumored a duke,” Will White said, and his gaze cast away from Imogen, as if he couldn’t bear to see her face when he gave that news.
Oscar pivoted away from the fire, and his face was dark with anger and frustration but also…fear. Seeing that fear flicker over his face in that moment nearly dropped Imogen to her knees.
“So they’ll protect each other,” he snapped. “As they always fucking do.”
Imogen stared at him and his words sank in. She had always been on the outer edges of that world. The daughter of a second son, the wife of a third. Far enough to not reap the greatest benefits of title. Close enough to see the damage. To see how those men with title had been allowed to harm others, to lie, to cheat, to get away with anything they wished and have it covered up.
Of course that was what would happen here.
“But…” She was almost unable to form words when her throat was closing up at such a rapid pace. “Is there any way to address this? To make it right again for those women? For…for me?”
The entire room was staring at her. But no one responded, and their hesitation gave the response their voices wouldn’t.
She nodded. She couldn’t stop nodding, like her head was on a hinge, and backed toward the door. “I-I need a moment,” she gasped out, and then ran from the room.
Only it was hopeless. There was nowhere to run to. And the future she’d had the tiniest hopes for seemed to vanish before her eyes, leaving only destruction and terror in its wake.
* * *
Oscar had carefully crafted his life so that he no longer had to feel helpless as he had as a boy. But as he watched Imogen stumble from the room, all color gone from her cheeks, her eyes filled with tears and her hands shaking, all those powerless feelings had flooded back.
“God’s teeth, that poor woman,” Will muttered, and crossed to the settee to place a hand on Joanna’s shoulder.
Oscar glanced at them together and shook his head. That was a topic for another day. Right now he had to focus on Imogen. Imogen was all that mattered to him.
“Well, follow her,” his mother said. “It’s all you want to do, I can see it.”
He nodded and looked at the door where Imogen had departed. “I am.”
But he didn’t move. He just stood there because he felt utterly toothless. Completely ineffective. He wanted to save this woman. To protect her in every way. But aside from offering her shelter, what else could he do?
His mother got up and came to his side. She touched his arm, and he looked at her.
“Oscar,” she said, using his first name as she so rarely did. Only Imogen did it regularly. Hearing it from someone else’s lips jolted him.
“What can I do, Mama?” he asked. “What can I possibly do? We all know that men with titles will always win. I’ve watched them do it all my life.”
“And yet you’ve never stepped down from a fight,” she said softly. “Because of that, those men haven’t always won. You’ve climbed over top of their barriers and made a life for yourself that your father would have denied you, tried to deny you. Sometimes we only win by inches, love. But inches add up over time. Don’t lose hope. Grab onto it with both hands and then go out to that woman and offer it to her as a lifeline. She needs it. She needs you.”
He looked down at her and felt the truth of that. It was a heavy weight on his shoulders, but one he wished to carry. For Imogen he would carry the world.
He nodded and said nothing else, but departed the room and moved down the hall. He had a feeling she had gone out onto the terrace to get some air. After all the time he’d observed her in his home, he knew she often went outside to clear her head. It was why she spent so much time tidying his hopeless garden.
He went to the parlor where he could access the terrace and stepped outside. There she was, haloed by moonlight, staring up at the stars. He stared because he couldn’t help himself. She was so lovely standing there. If he hadn’t known her, he would have said she was a beautiful woman enjoying the night and nothing else.
But he did know her. So he saw her rolled shoulders, the tremble of her hand at her side, the way her breath was slightly labored as he came closer. Her pain seemed to come off of her in waves, her fear a companion standing at her shoulder.
“Imogen,” he said.
She pivoted, and there were tracks of tears on her face as she stared at him. She was silent for what felt like a lifetime, and then she stepped forward into his arms. He held her as she leaned against him, supporting her weight, if he could do nothing else. He smoothed her hair gently, over and over, memorizing the silky texture as it grazed his palm.
At last she looked up at him. “It’s all ruined, it’s all over.”
“No,” he whispered, but he knew it was quite possibly a lie he told to make them both feel better in this impossible position.
She knew it too. She shook her head slowly. “I’ll never be able to go back to how things were, will I?” He hesitated, and the silence answered her question just as it had in the parlor a few moments before. She rested her forehead on his shoulder and gripped his jacket tighter.
“We’ll find a way,” he promised.
She laughed, but there was no humor to the sound, only pain. “What way? How do I exist if this man and his…minions can destroy me with impunity? Do I change my name? Do I leave London? Do I leave the country entirely?”
“No!” he snapped, too quick, but the suggestion had hit him so hard in the chest he almost couldn’t breathe with the thought of it. “No,” he repeated, this time more gently as he held her tighter. “We’ll work it out, I swear it to you, Imogen.”
She lifted her face again, and her amber eyes sought his in the moonlight. She sighed. “You can’t swear it, Oscar, because you can’t work it out. You can’t fix this.”
His lips pursed. She was saying his worst fears out loud. That he would be rendered impotent thanks to a cruel man with a title high enough to give him immunity against any crime. That any influence and power Oscar had built for himself, against all odds, would not be enough. Not for her. And in this moment, she was all that mattered.
“That is not acceptable,” he said. “And so I do not accept it. I swear to you under these stars, by the light of this moon, that I will do everything in my power, I will bring all I’ve built to bear and I will find a way out of this that doesn’t involve you being taken from—” He broke off and shook his head. “That doesn’t involve you losing it all. I swear it, Imogen.”
Her lips parted, as if the passion of his words had surprised her. Still, she nodded absently. Then she let out another great sigh. “I do not think I’ll be a very good companion anymore tonight.”
The Redemption of a Rogue: The Duke’s By-Blows Book 4 Page 15