She had her hands extended and caught both of his, looking him up and down before she pecked first one cheek and then the other. “Not getting enough sleep, are you?”
He shifted under the regard that had always been able to catch him out. He’d been able to hide from anyone but her over the years. Yet another reason not to bring Imogen to Mama. At minimum she was going to know they were lovers without even looking too hard.
“It’s not for entirely unpleasant reasons,” he said with a chuckle.
She arched a brow as she motioned him toward the settee. She took a place there and patted the cushion next to hers. “I’m glad to hear it. I know you have some guilt about poor Louisa, but that wasn’t your fault and I’ve hated to think of you drowning yourself in work and never just a little bit of fun or pleasure.”
“Fun and pleasure,” he said with a sigh. “You likely have enough for both of us.”
She rolled her eyes indelicately and gave his hand a playful slap. “You just missed Will.”
Oscar wrinkled his brow. “I hadn’t realized he was calling on you today.”
He knew all about their friendship, of course. He’d been very happy when they maintained it, as Will was his favorite protector and their own relationship meant so much to him.
“Was I supposed to keep you apprised of my schedule, love?” she teased.
He laughed at her quip. It was impossible not to. His mother had always been the one to make the best of things and never seemed to dwell overly long on the worst parts of her life.
“I don’t think I want to know your schedule,” he said with a wink. “I’m just glad you could fit me into it.”
“Yes.” Her lighthearted demeanor shifted a fraction and he saw the hint of worry she so rarely displayed. “Normally you just come without being so formal. I was a little surprised to hear from you yesterday. And you said something about introducing me to someone, yet you’re alone.”
He settled back in the settee. “My companion is here. I just asked her to wait on the terrace a moment so I could see you first.”
“Her,” his mother repeated. “The one keeping you up nights, I assume?”
He nodded, for again, there was no use at all in trying to hide the truth from her. “She happens to be the same, yes,” he said carefully. “But that isn’t why I’m bringing her to you.”
For a moment, his mother actually looked disappointed, but swiftly wiped the reaction away. “Then why?”
“She’s in a bit of trouble,” he said. “And I thought you might be able to help.”
His mother pushed to her feet. “You and your broken wings, Oscar. I adore you for caring, but I do worry that this obsession with acting a savior harms you. There must be balance in the world, my dear. One man cannot cure all the ills. Certainly he cannot save all the courtesans.”
He pressed his lips together hard. This was an argument they’d had more than once and it wasn’t one he wished to repeat at present, not when Imogen was waiting to join them.
“You can write me a letter then, with all your arguments, so I can read it over and over rather than forcing you to waste your breath,” he said, flashing her a brief smile so the words would be teasing, not harsh.
“Would reading them help you take them in, I wonder?” she mused, and then let out a sigh of resignation. “What kind of trouble is this young woman in?”
“The kind that had her witnessing the aftereffects of a murder at a brothel last week,” he said softly.
That got the response he had hoped for. His mother’s eyes widened slightly and her hands clenched before her. “I see,” she said softy. “Real trouble.”
“Real trouble,” he repeated.
“Well, let’s see her then,” she said, rising to ring the bell.
She spoke to her longtime servant, Teeter, when he arrived, and then returned to Oscar. As she looked at him, her expression was closed off. Her courtesan expression, Oscar had always called it. He hated when she used it on him, because it meant she was not allowing him to see her thoughts, but was absolutely making an attempt to read his.
“Don’t pull that face,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist and squeezing gently. “I’m very well.”
“Hmmm,” she murmured, noncommittal.
But he couldn’t argue further, because Teeter stepped back into the room and said, “Mrs. Huxley.”
Oscar stepped away from his mother and caught his breath as Imogen entered the room. She was wearing yet another of Louisa’s old gowns. He really needed to get her new ones, because these were a fraction too tight. Not that he didn’t appreciate how they accentuated her curves. The color suited her, an olive-green silk that made her amber eyes jump out even from across the room. Her hair was pulled back, of course, which made him want to cross to her and thread his fingers through it. Take it down and make her messy. Make that nervous expression that was on her face clear away.
He hadn’t yet told her who the contact they were meeting was, so he could see her surprise that he was standing so close to his mother. Perhaps a hint of jealousy as she looked from the strange woman she’d not yet met and back to him with question in her eyes.
“Oh, she’s lovely,” his mother murmured at his side, and then she crossed the room toward Imogen, her hand extended in greeting. “Mrs. Huxley, is it? I’m Joanna. Fitzhugh’s mother.”
Imogen gaped as the beautiful older woman grasped her hand and shook it firmly. She was stunning with her blast of beautifully styled gray hair and her bright green eyes. Her nose was like Oscar’s, her mouth was similar too, except that she was actually smiling.
“I-I am pleased to meet you,” Imogen said, and felt her cheeks heating.
“He didn’t tell you he was bringing you to see me, did he?” Joanna pivoted away and shook her finger toward Oscar. “Naughty boy.”
“I told her we were meeting a contact,” Oscar said, looking past his mother toward her. Imogen could see his curiosity when he stared at her. He wondered what she thought of the perfumed cloud of a person standing before her.
“I suppose I am that,” his mother laughed.
“Mrs. Fitzhugh—” Imogen began.
Her laughter grew louder at that, and she stepped forward and slid her arm through Imogen’s. “Never married, my dear, and I insist you call me Joanna. Fitzhugh is correct that I could be a valuable contact into your…situation. After all, I’ve been a courtesan for decades.”
Imogen’s eyes went wide. Oscar had said he was a bastard son of the Duke of Roseford the night before, but that man was well known for taking his pleasure all over England. He’d never mentioned the origins of his mother.
“She’s retired,” Oscar said softly.
Joanna smiled at her and shook her head as she whispered conspiratorially, “I let him believe what he wants to believe.”
Oscar let out a low sigh, but when Imogen glanced at him, his eyes were crinkled with humor. Not that she could blame him. This woman, his mother, seemed the kind who could draw mirth from anyone. She was a hurricane and she just swept others up in her wake.
“My head is spinning,” Imogen admitted. “I have no idea what to say.”
“Come and sit,” Joanna suggested, and drew her to the settee by the fire. She all but shoved her into a position and crossed to the sideboard where she poured them all tea. When she returned, she glared at Oscar before she handed Imogen a cup. “Sit down, my boy. Next to the dear girl.”
He shot Imogen a glance but did as he’d been told. The settee was so narrow, his legs were forced to bump Imogen’s, and she froze when they did. When he even so much as brushed her, she was so aware of him. In his mother’s house! On his mother’s lounge!
Joanna returned with two more cups of tea, handed one over to Oscar and then settled into a chair that faced the settee. She sipped her tea and stared at them. “You do look well together,” she mused. “I definitely see the attraction, Fitzhugh.”
“Mama,” he growled, and shot Imogen anothe
r apologetic look.
Imogen supposed she should have been embarrassed by this unfiltered woman’s observations. After all, it was clear she knew Imogen was taking to her son’s bed. And that she was tangled up in the worst of situations. And yet she didn’t feel judged because of either of those things.
Joanna Fitzhugh was impossible not to like. Direct as she chose to be, she also had the strangest ability to make someone feel…comfortable. It had probably served her very well as a courtesan.
“How did you two meet?” Joanna said.
Imogen looked toward Oscar helplessly. She certainly didn’t want to take the lead explaining that loaded subject lest she reveal something to his mother that he wanted to keep secret.
Luckily, he took the initiative. “I was sitting outside the Cat’s Companion,” he began.
Joanna’s expression fluttered and her green gaze slipped down. The bright mask fell and true concern made her look more like a mother for just a moment. “Oh, Oscar. You didn’t say which brothel.”
He ignored the interjection. “And Mrs. Huxley burst out of the doors and into my arms.”
Joanna flicked her gaze to Imogen and nodded slowly. “Ah, so you were trying to escape that terrible place. I see now why he might have come to me as a contact. Something happened to you there?”
Imogen shifted. “I…I didn’t know how to go about finding a protector,” she explained. “And I have fallen so far it is my only hope.”
Joanna’s expression softened even further. “I understand.”
And it was clear she did, even without a bit of further explanation. When their eyes met, Imogen felt the bond between them. Of desperation turned to action. Of reaching for a slender reed of hope and trying to accept how it would change every moment of the rest of one’s life.
“But the Cat’s Companion is not a place to find a protector,” Joanna said gently. “My dear, that is a hole of desperation and danger. A place for nightly pleasures, if you can dare call them that. Not for a permanent arrangement that offers safety and even satisfaction.”
Imogen’s breath left her lungs in a shaky sigh. “I recognize that now, of course. But I was so desperate and so innocent. I had no idea how to pursue a proper arrangement when my late husband’s family was threatening me at every turn.”
“Ah,” Joanna said. “I see. From a good family then…a very good family. Their insistence at keeping their young women uneducated in the ways of the world is a danger to them in the end. I’m very sorry for your plight, Mrs. Huxley.”
“Imogen, please,” she said. “If you are kind enough to offer me such ease, I cannot stand not to do the same.”
“Imogen,” Joanna repeated, and cast a glance toward Oscar. “A very pretty name.”
“What do you know about the Cat’s Companion, Mama?” Oscar asked softly.
Imogen looked at him and found he had leaned back in the settee. He was the image of casual calm, but she could see the flicker of interest in his dark stare. The tension in his jaw and in the way his hand flexed against the settee back. The dangerous edge to him that was so…alluring.
“Aside from the more personal?” Joanna asked, and arched a brow at her son. “It is a terrible place. Where women go to disappear, at least sometimes.”
Imogen caught her breath. “Like…like Louisa. And like that other woman I saw.”
Joanna tilted her head. “He told you about Louisa?”
Oscar pushed to his feet and set his half-drunk tea down with a clatter on the side table. He paced to the fireplace and leaned a hand on the mantel. “Imogen saw a woman’s body, Mama. Murdered, we think, by the Earl of Roddenbury. Only she was discovered in her attempt to escape.”
“Roddenbury.” The color drained from Joanna’s face in an instant, and she leaned across to take Imogen’s hands. “So you are in very great danger.”
“And your son has been too kind in trying to assist me. But what can be done? If Society doesn’t care about women who make their way on their backs—” She clapped a hand to her mouth as Oscar pivoted to face her. “I didn’t mean to offend, Joanna.”
Joanna shook her head. “You didn’t. It is true that to be a woman in general means our lives are valued less by Society. When the woman spreads her legs to earn her way in the world, many think we are utterly disposable. It’s why those in my profession have to look out for each other.”
“It’s lucky if you have people helping you,” Imogen said, wishing her voice didn’t waver. “When so few care.”
“It is also lucky that not everyone even in the ton sees it that way. There has been talk for a few months about the Cat’s Companion and those who perform whatever wicked acts there. I know of a pair in the War Department who are investigating the issue.”
“Spies?” Oscar said. “The government has taken an interest?”
“Those who would do harm to women, sell them off against their will, kill them as Imogen has been witness to…do you not think they might be involved in other crimes more interesting to the Crown?”
Oscar’s cheek twitched. “Of course they only care about that. But in the end, if it shuts down their house of horrors, if it stops the danger Imogen is in, I don’t really care about their motives.”
Joanna gave Imogen a half-smile. Almost conspiratorial again. As if they both knew that wasn’t true. Oscar did care very much. Justice, it seemed, was important to him. And not just for those he knew. Imogen could see now he was frustrated by what ladies such as his mother endured. He must have seen a great deal in his younger life. Enough to make him a defender of those who needed one.
“And I’ve heard your new brother-in-law’s partner has also taken on a related case,” Joanna said. “He has that investigation firm, you know.”
“Selina’s husband?” Oscar asked, his tone suddenly tense. Imogen saw the flicker of interest in his eyes. He had not mentioned his siblings with any specificity before, though it was rumored they were legion, thanks to his father’s ways.
“The very one. Derrick Huntington, I believe his name is. His partner’s name is Barber.”
Oscar’s jaw set, and Imogen fought the urge to cross to him and question him further. He was close-lipped about his past, his family, anything personal at all. She wasn’t likely going to change that by asking him about anything directly in front of his mother.
“I could reach out to them both.”
He stepped toward her. “Mama, is that wise? We don’t know any of these men well enough to trust their intentions. I don’t want to bring Imogen’s safety into question, or your own.”
“No, I suppose you wouldn’t.” Joanna got up and moved to him, doing what Imogen couldn’t let herself do. “What if I spoke to the spies, though? I don’t have to bring up Imogen or anything about her. Just let me feel them out, since I’ve already heard some murmurings about them. Given my past, given my reputation, I’m certain they’d like to hear what the network of courtesans knows.”
Oscar seemed to consider it. “Take Will with you. To be safe.”
“I shall,” she said softly.
“Would you like me to speak to him about it?” Oscar asked.
She shook her head. “No. I can manage that perfectly well on my own. But what about the other interested parties?”
“No,” Oscar said, firmly and loudly. “I don’t want any of my siblings near me. Leave them to their own devices.”
He stepped away and went to the sideboard. Instead of getting more tea, he retrieved a bottle from the table and splashed a hearty dash of liquor into a glass. As he downed it, Imogen noted the white-knuckled grip he kept on the bottle.
All of this was very upsetting to him. She didn’t fully understand why, but she wished so desperately that she could…help him in some way. Erase it somehow.
“When you do speak to them,” Imogen said, “please tell them that the woman who seems to be in charge of things over at the brothel is named Maggie Monroe. She was with the Earl of Roddenbury and the body.”
“Is that everything then?” Oscar asked. “Is there anything else either of you can think of?”
“Nothing comes to mind,” Joanna said, and then she smiled at Imogen. “I would like to speak to this one by myself for a moment, though.”
Imogen’s eyes widened, but as Oscar stepped forward to argue, she shook her head at him. “I would be pleased to speak to your mother alone. She’s been so kind as to help me, I have nothing else to hide.”
Oscar glanced at her for a long moment, and then he sighed. He moved toward the door, but as he reached it, he turned back. “Be nice, Mama.”
And then he was gone, his parting parlay leaving Imogen a little bit unsure of what she was about to face. Only she wanted this woman to like her. Not just because she was so charming, but also because of Oscar. And that was a dangerous desire, indeed.
Chapter 12
Oscar hadn’t shut the door when he departed, so Imogen watched Joanna cross to the door and did so herself with a shake of her head. “Of course he wouldn’t give us privacy,” she said with a laugh. “As if he didn’t know that I would take it. Silly boy.”
Imogen couldn’t help but smile. “It is difficult for me to think of your son as either silly or a boy.”
Joanna speared her with a glance, even as she returned the smile. “Yes, he’s very serious, isn’t he? Very dark and dangerous. I’m sure it suits him well in the world. Woman always like danger.”
Imogen set her teacup to the side and smoothed her skirts with both hands. “I was more relieved by the fact that he was safe. He has been exceedingly decent to me, Joanna. He is a very good man.”
Her expression softened as she took her place across from Imogen again. “He is. I’m proud of him and what he has built himself up to be. He never allowed the past to hold him back. He always fought for more. His success is a great joy to me. Although I do worry about him.”
The Redemption of a Rogue Page 10