“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 Iinsistyou 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 another 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.
