The Redemption of a Rogue

by Jess Michaels

  “Please,” he said quietly.

  She blinked up at him at the please. He understood why. He wasn’t a man who asked for much. He claimed more often than pleaded.

  She nodded slowly. “Very well. An hour.”

  She extracted her hands from his and gathered up her basket of clippings as she headed back toward the house. At the bottom of the stairs, she stopped and looked back at him. Her face was lined with confusion, but he thought also little excitement, and he barely held back a smile.

  If things went well, she was going to enjoy this day a great deal. He hoped she would. He depended on it, despite the dangers that fact created. But in that moment nothing mattered aside from seeing her pleasure, and not just the physical kind this time.

  Imogen sat in the carriage across from Oscar, watching him closely. He seemed…nervous as they rode along toward whatever mystery destination he had in mind for her, and that was rare in itself. Still, he had his usual, serious expression on his face. The one that made his brow lower and his eyes dark and his mouth almost disappear in his beard.

  “Do you ever smile?”

  He tilted his head. “Do you mean am I capable of it? Physically?”

  She huffed out her breath at his teasing. “You must be capable. I’ve seen you almost do it a few times.”

  “Have you now?” he asked, and there was one of those hints again, just the slightest flutter at the corner of his lips.

  Which only drove her harder to make it happen fully. “I just wonder what could draw such an expression out. What if you…won a thousand pounds at cards?”

  “A thousand?” he repeated, and shook his head. “Such high stakes are not in my blood. I gamble only to make my club patrons feel unjudged, and never with that much. So it isn’t possible, thus I would not smile.”

  He was playing with her, and she lowered her eyelids in a glare. “If you found an adorable puppy in the park,” she suggested.

  “How adorable?” he asked, that serious expression never wavering from his face even as he toyed with her.

  “Like a tiny little bear,” she said, and leaned closer to him, batting her eyelashes to mimic some sweet little puppy. “With folded ears and eyes that gazed up at you and whispered, ‘Take me home, Mr. Fitzhugh.’”

  He swallowed and shook his head slowly. “If he was so adorable, surely he would belong to someone else. A child, perhaps. You wish me to take pleasure in depriving a child of his beloved pet, Mrs. Huxley? Very cruel.”

  She flopped back against the carriage seat with a laugh. “You are impossible. But I will discover something, I assure you.”

  “I look forward to the attempt,” he said, and pulled the curtain back once more. “We have arrived.”

  She leaned forward and looked through the glass. They were approaching a building, but the sign was obscured by the angle of the carriage before it turned and they pulled around the back, away from the busy street.

  “Oh, I feel you are doing this on purpose, to make me nervous,” she burst out.

  “That I would never do,” he said as the door opened and he stepped out.

  He turned back and extended a hand to help her. She looked down at him, into that face, so handsome even if the harder years this man had lived had given him gray in his beard, had made his expression always dark and dangerous. He looked so cold, and yet he wasn’t. Not in his heart.

  She shivered as she touched him, taking his hand and reveling in the electric spark that always flowed between them, even if she was wearing gloves.

  She stepped into the alley and managed to tear her attention away from him and toward the nondescript building instead. “Will you tell me now where you’ve brought me?”

  “Welcome to the Carlton Museum, Imogen,” he said, and he seemed to be watching her face for every nuance of her reaction to this news.

  She didn’t hold them back—she couldn’t have even if she wished to. She clapped her hands together. “Oh, Oscar! The Carlton Museum! I’ve always wanted to go here. I’ve heard the displays are beautiful.”

  “They are,” Oscar said as he guided her toward the stairs at the back entrance. “When the Levarian Museum collection was broken up and auctioned off ten years ago, Carlton bought up as much as he could. It is almost fully intact. He’s agreed to close up an hour early, and we are being given a private tour.”

  Imogen lifted a hand to her mouth and stared at him in wonder. Her husband had never encouraged her interest in the world and had scoffed at the idea of coming to this place while he still lived. Since his death, she hadn’t had the funds for even the modest admission fee Carlton charged to see the exhibits.

  “Oscar,” she breathed, reaching for him again. But before she could say or do more, the door at the top of the stairs opened and a smartly dressed man closer to Imogen’s age than Oscar’s stepped out.

  “Ah, Mr. Fitzhugh,” he said in friendly greeting. “I’m so pleased you have arrived. This must be Mrs. Henderson.”

  “Er, I’m—” Imogen began in confusion, but Oscar caught her stare and gave a slight shake of his head. Ah, so he had given a false name, probably to protect her. She really could learn from that. “Yes, Mrs. Henderson.”

  “I am Edward Carlton, madam, at your service.”

  Imogen extended a hand in stunned greeting. “Good afternoon, sir.”

  “Mr. Carlton is a member of my club,” Oscar said, answering one of the questions she had not been able to ask before they were interrupted.

  “And when the great Fitzhugh asks a boon, it is a rare enough thing that a man cannot refuse,” Carlton said with a laugh. “It looks to be a treat since he has brought such a lovely companion.”

  Imogen blushed at the compliment. This man was younger than she would have thought him to be. After all, everyone knew Carlton was a captain of industry, working alongside such respected gentlemen as Grayson Danford on canals and who knew what other kinds of things.

  “Thank you,” she said softly. “Both for the compliment and for the offer of a private viewing. I’m so excited to see the exhibit.”

  “Then let us not delay your pleasure even a moment more,” Carlton said, motioning them in. “Let me show you my collection.”

  He offered an arm, and Imogen looked back at Oscar. He was watching them, the usual unreadable expression on his face. And yet for a moment she thought she saw a flicker in his eyes. But then he motioned her as if to give her his blessing and followed her and Carlton into the museum.

  They had toured the museum for two hours. No, that wasn’t correct. Imogen and Carlton had toured the museum for two hours. Oscar had trailed after them, watching her rather than taking in much about the exhibits, regardless of his interest in nature.

  She was a pure pleasure to observe in this environment. Bright and excited, intelligent and engaged. She was more drawn in by each and every new exhibit than she had been by the last. It was enchanting. She was enchanting.

  Not that he was the only one to notice this. Edward Carlton seemed equally taken in by her, if his rapt expression and unwavering attention was any indication. The burning sensation of jealousy that rose up in Oscar’s chest every time the man took her elbow to direct her to a new exhibit was something he fought to control.

  He’d brought her here, after all. He’d wanted her to enjoy herself, and she was enjoying herself. Carlton was never untoward and his interest was understandable. It could even be…helpful to her. Carlton was rich and successful, exactly the kind of man who could be a powerful protector if Imogen wished to pursue that road.

  He could even be more if it came down to it.

  “…Fitzhugh?”

  Oscar blinked and found that as he stared at Imogen, Carlton had actually separated from her and come to his side.

  “Woolgathering, I apologize,” he choked out. “What is it?”

  Carlton glanced toward Imogen and back to him, and then cocked his head. “Of course. Woolgathering. I was only saying that I need to take care of one item of
business before we end our tour. May I leave you here in the bird room and come back for you in a moment?”

  “Of course,” Oscar said. “Imogen is so taken by the tableaus, I’m sure she’ll enjoy the extra moment here.”

  Carlton arched a brow but said nothing else, and simply bowed from the room. It was the first time Oscar had been alone with her since the carriage ride, and he moved toward her like a magnet to iron, drawn helplessly to her.

  “Oh Oscar, look at this beautiful bird,” she said, pointing to one of the main tableaus that filled the room. The birds were from all over the world and had been carefully preserved through highly skilled taxidermy and placed in detailed dioramas to add to their beauty and appeal.

  In the one she pointed to now, a red-faced crimsonwing if the signage was correct, from the African continent, was balanced delicately on a piece of foliage, its little face turned toward the observer in curiosity.

  “The red and green are startling,” she continued. “Almost like a holly bu—” She pivoted toward him, and he thought she would say more, but her eyes went wide and she cut herself off.

  “What is it?” he asked, taken aback by her expression of what seemed to be shock.

  “You…you are smiling,” she said, and she lifted her hands to his cheeks, her fingers caressing there gently.

  He blinked. He hadn’t realized he was smiling, but indeed he was. He felt the expression on his face as he looked down at her.

  “I told you I was capable,” he teased in an effort to reduce the power of this moment. But it didn’t work. It was undeniable what this meant—she saw it and he felt it.

  “You’re smiling at…at me?” she asked.

  He cleared his throat. He should step away from her, push off what was happening and pretend it meant nothing. But when her hands were on his cheeks and she was looking up at him in the same wonder she reserved for the natural beauty captured in this museum, it was impossible. She was undeniable, no matter how much he knew he should deny her and himself.

  “I suppose,” he admitted slowly. “That seeing your…your pleasure and enthusiasm at the exhibitions makes it impossible not to be drawn in.”

  Her expression softened slightly. “This was a wonderful surprise, Oscar. A perfect day, and I’ll never forget it, no matter how long I live.”

  Her fingers brushed against his jawline, and in that moment he felt the smile she was so enthralled with fall slightly. When she touched him, it was impossible not to shift into something far more driven, far more needy. She inspired that as much as anything else.

  He bent his head, and she lifted to him. They kissed in the middle of the exhibition hall in front of the staring birds, and it was like the first time. Her lips were soft beneath his, her fingers gripped against his shoulders as she made a soft sound in her throat that he knew all too well. He had lived to inspire that sound since he first took her to his bed. That raw expression of desire and pleasure.

  He traced her lips with his tongue and she opened to him, but he didn’t delve too deeply. He didn’t surrender to everything he wanted. They didn’t have time, this wasn’t the place. But he needed to taste her as much as he needed food or water, so he did so gently. Time and location blurred as he held her closer and lost himself in all she was and all she made him be.

  It was only the clearing of a throat at the door that made them part. Imogen ducked her head behind him as Carlton re-entered the room.

  “Pardon me,” he said with a slight smile toward Oscar.

  “Pardon us,” Oscar returned with a shrug for the other man.

  Imogen was blushing dark red as she finally allowed herself to meet their host’s gaze. He was kind enough to say nothing else about what he’d interrupted and instead said, “I hope you enjoyed my collection, Mrs. Henderson.”

  “I did,” she breathed. “Oh, it’s so entirely lovely and you were a wonderful guide. Thank you again for allowing us this private showing.”

  “Many come through these halls and just wander through the rooms and look but never see what is right in front of them. You, on the other hand, seemed to treasure these items as much as I do, myself,” Carlton said. “And so you are welcome back any time. You may even bring your grumpy friend, but only if he can promise me a discount on my club membership in return.”

  Oscar shook his head. “We’ll see.”

  Carlton laughed and motioned them to follow, leading them back to the same back entrance they had come in hours before. “I had your carriage brought ’round while I tended to my other errand. Good evening, Fitzhugh.” The men shook hands, and then Carlton reached out to take Imogen’s hand. He lifted it to his lips and kissed the top gently. “Mrs. Henderson.”

  She blushed again. “Good evening, Mr. Carlton. And thank you again.”

  He waited until Oscar had handed Imogen up into the carriage to wave and go back inside the building. Oscar let out a sigh as he followed her in and settled in across from her. As the carriage began to move, she clasped her hands in front of herself. “That truly was a treat. Thank you again.”

  “I was happy to do it. Sometimes being in my position has its benefits,” he said.

  “Because you know Mr. Carlton from your club.” When he nodded, she smiled. “He was very kind.”

  “He was very flirtatious,” Oscar corrected. “Surely you noted that.”

  She shifted slightly. “He didn’t make me uncomfortable, though.”

  “He’s a good man,” Oscar said, flexing his hands against his thighs and trying to keep his voice light. This was, after all, an opportunity to distance himself. One he should take to protect Imogen. To protect himself. That moment in the museum had been too close. “I would guess he might offer to protect you if you were interested once we manage this mess with the Cat’s Companion.”

  Her smile, which had still shone on her face, faltered at those words. “I…see. Did he tell you that?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  She rubbed her temples briefly. “Please tell me you didn’t act as my agent in some way and tell him I would wish for that kind of offer.”

  “Of course not,” Oscar said. “I am not your agent, for one. And I wouldn’t act as such unless you told me specifically to do so. I only pointed out the obvious so that you might see your situation is not as hopeless as you’ve thought. With the right introductions and connections—”

  She turned her head, her lips thinning. The good will he had renewed with her that afternoon seemed to have faded away entirely. “Well, thank you for that lesson,” she said softly. “I suppose I will have to consider it once we resolve my current dilemma.”

  He frowned. He’d brought up the subject, but now that she had agreed, even in theory, he couldn’t help but picture what that future would look like. Imogen as another man’s lover. Perhaps even as another man’s love.

  He shook off the unwanted feelings that accompanied the thought and instead changed the subject. “At any rate, it’s nearly time for supper.”

  “Back home?” she asked, and though she looked at him again, he felt the walls back up between them. There was regret that accompanied their return.

  “No,” he said. “We’ll be meeting with my mother, actually. She asked us to return to her, I believe she’s done some looking around for you.”

  Imogen’s annoyance left her face and she straightened up. “Then I look forward to seeing her. I’m sure you do, too. You must be ready to be rid of the burden I’ve put on you.”

  He hesitated, because what he wanted to do was reply instantly with a passionate no. But when she turned away again to look out into the fading light of sunset, he instead said nothing. And wished he was capable of saying more.

  Wished he were capable of anything more than what he could give.

  Chapter 16

  Imogen tried to keep her expression serene as Oscar led her down the hall and into a parlor at his mother’s home. He was so capable of divorcing himself from his emotions—she would do well to pr
actice the same response.

  Only it was so difficult. There were moments where she glimpsed something deeper in him. Like when he’d smiled at her at the museum and she’d thought she’d seen…

  Everything.

  She’d seen everything. But he’d pulled it back swiftly enough and he was always very clear that the future would not hold some connection between them. What they were sharing was purely sexual and absolutely limited to however long the investigation lasted. God’s teeth, he was already trying to find another lover for her. A protector, he’d said.

  She’d be a fool not to consider the suggestion. After all, Edward Carlton was intelligent, friendly and handsome. A few weeks ago, she would have jumped at the opportunity to become his mistress and get out of her terrible situation. Today?

  Well, today the idea that Oscar could push her in that direction without feeling anything about it stung.

  He released her as they entered the parlor, and walked over to the sideboard. “Drink?” he asked.

  “I could use one,” she mused, and watched as he poured her a splash of sherry. He didn’t even have to ask what she liked anymore. He knew. And he would take Scottish whisky, just as he did any time he had a drink before supper. But he sipped it, never overindulging. No, Oscar Fitzhugh did not do that. He was always in control.

  She frowned as she took the sherry and moved to the window to look out onto the busy street below. All these people buzzing from place to place, happy or not, but not trapped. Not in danger to be murdered if they so much as left the protection of four walls.

  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.”