His gaze settled on hers, holding there, unyielding. “Become a courtesan?” he said to finish her question.
She nodded slowly. “It’s not my business, I know. It’s not my place.”
“I dragged you to her lair and left you alone with her to be certainly scarred for life by her directness. I think you’re owed a question or two. She would answer them as easily as I could. She doesn’t consider her past a secret or her life a shame.”
“Then how did it happen?” she asked.
“The beginning of her life wasn’t that different from that of many girls. She was raised in a good family. They hadn’t wealth, but they had some prospects. They were respected. It was assumed she would marry a merchant or a farmer or even a squire, if she was lucky.”
His voice was steady and firm. It would have sounded strong to most who heard his words. But she heard something different. She heard the hint of pain there, under the steadiness. The telltale waver that said his mother was right. This man had broken pieces. He hid them well, as well as anyone she’d ever met.
But he was broken. And somehow that made her feel a little better. He was successful and strong and powerful. He’d become all those things even with the cracks. The pain. The loss. The breaks.
Which meant she could do the same. Perhaps they could do the same together.
But no. That was asking for the thing he’d already vowed he couldn’t give her. He had asked to be her lover, nothing more. She had agreed to those terms.
“What changed her circumstance?” she asked, returning her mind to the subject of his mother.
“Well, that is all thanks to the great Duke of Roseford,” he declared with a bitter tone. His hands gripped against his thighs, and she could feel the tension come off of him in a great wave. “It is, I suppose, thanks tome.”
Chapter 13
There was nothing in the world Oscar wished for more than to be able to tell this story without hearing the crack in his voice. It was why he always avoided speaking about it. About the past. About his father. About his family, outside of his mother.
And yet this bewitching woman sat across from him and asked, justaskedhim…and he found himself telling the story nonetheless.
“He met her at an assembly he attended with a friend. Normally it was only attended by country folk. A baronet was enough to get their hearts to flutter, and here came this duke. One who had not yet cemented his terrible reputation, so he was welcomed.”
“How old was she?” she asked softly.
“Eighteen, perhaps? Nineteen? She was out in Society, seeking a husband. And she wasbeautiful.”
“She still is,” Imogen said with a slight smile.
He shook his head. “She is. She turns heads wherever she goes. But when she was nineteen? She has a portrait of herself from right before she met my father, and there was no way a man like him would have been able to resist her. And in doing so, he condemned her to a much different life.”
“Obviously, I only know your mother from a brief encounter today, after a long life of experiences. So it’s hard for me to picture her being taken in. She seems so certain of herself.”
“She probably always was a little of that. But she was young. He had not yet married, so I’m sure he convinced her that she would be his bride. And so…she capitulated. She gave in after a short courtship. He had his prize. And he used her, giving no care to her future or her hopes or dreams. And then she found herself with child.”
“You,” she said, reaching out to cover his knee with her hand.
When she did it, he realized he’d been bouncing his leg up and down. He stared at her fingers, pale against the dark fabric of his trousers. Just the faint pressure of them, and he felt this strange sense of calm.
Enough that he could suck in a great breath and say, “Yes. Me. She begged him to do as he’d said and marry her so that she wouldn’t be ruined. And he laughed at her.”
Imogen flinched slightly and her fingers tightened against his knee, this time comforting, not just calming. “Poor Joanna.”
“Indeed. He told her he would protect her if she chose to continue the affair, but that he would never marry someone with so little worth as she had. She turned to her family, but they were enraged with her for trading away the only thing of value they believed she possessed. She was thrown out on the street. And so, became my father’s mistress.”
“There must have been repercussions,” Imogen said. “She had been of a good family and his seduction seems to have been somewhat public.”
“Oh, there were. His reputation as one of the worst men in Society was born through his actions with her. And yet he was still a duke, wasn’t he? Rich as Croesus and nearly as powerful as the king. He was untouchable. He used that to his every advantage. Meanwhile, she was labeled as fallen and had to leave behind everything and everyone she’d ever loved to move to a house in London and birth herself a son with a man she had begun to despise.”
“But it is clear she doesn’t despiseyou,” she said. “Her love for you, her pride in you and your achievements, it shines all over her face. You cannot blame yourself for the circumstances of your birth. None of us are responsible for those.”
“Perhaps not. But I sometimes wonder what she would have been able to do, what she would have been able to become with all her resourcefulness, if she hadn’t had a bastard child to label her a harlot in the eyes of those who had power.” He shook his head.
