“What she became has power in its own right. It would be impossible not to see it.”
That elicited a ghost of a smile to the corners of his lips. “Well, that is true, yes. She was always the kind to take her situation and make the best of it. She might have lost any love she felt for Roseford, but she very much hadn’t lost sight of what she could do for herself as his mistress. She negotiated a hefty allowance for herself, and one for me after I was born. She forced him to gift her the home she resides in today, free and clear of his influence, so he could not take it away. It set her up so that when their arrangement ended, a year after I was born, she could have far more choice in what she did next and with whom.”
Imogen smiled. “Very resourceful. And what did Roseford think of you? Were you his first child?”
“I was,” he said slowly, for this was the part of the story he had never said to any other person. The part even his mother couldn’t pry out of him. The part that affected so many of his choices and boundaries and relationships.
Perhaps she heard that in his tone. Perhaps she felt it in the tension that returned to his body, including the knee she was still touching so gently. Perhaps she just…understoodbecause that was who she was.
“You don’t owe me an explanation,” she said.
He shrugged, wishing his feelings were as nonchalant as the action. “I was his first child, his first son. So even though their relationship had ended, even though she had affiliations with other men, he came to see me on a somewhat regular basis. It was made clear to me, even at four years old, that I was not ever going to be acknowledged publicly. But privately he even allowed me to call him Father…except when he demanded I call him Your Grace.”
“Did it carry on then?” she asked. “That bond, insofar as it existed?”
“No,” he said as he pulled the curtain back and looked out the window. “He married when I was six and had his Robert when I was seven. He told me there was no use for me now that he had his true heir. He never returned.”
Her face twisted in anguish. On his behalf, though it didn’t feel the same as pity. “Oscar, that is so cruel. I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “I learned to live with it. As did the rest of his illegitimate brood.”
“And do you know them? I’ve heard…” She hesitated and blushed. “I’ve heard there are a great many.”
“No,” he said. “I don’t see them. We aren’t family, we just share blood. I have no interest in making their acquaintance.”
“But Oscar—” she began.
He held up a hand to cut her off. “I think I’ve slit my chest open enough for you today. I don’t want to discuss it further.”
He had built a wall between them with that statement. He had meant to do it, though he hated to see the flicker of pain that crossed her face when he did so. Things were already getting complicated, even after just a few days. He had been trying to make sure that didn’t happen.
He’d have to work harder at it.
Except she didn’t seem willing to let him. She met his gaze, and the filtered light from the carriage hit her face, a halo around her like some kind of…angel.
She smiled at him. Playful again, beautiful. Putting him even further at ease without any effort. “Then whatdoyou want?” she asked.
He stared at her. Was that innuendo purposeful? The tool she used to keep him from pulling away completely?
Did it matter? When he looked at her, so beautiful and so close, he could scent the honey sweetness of her even from across the carriage. He wanted to taste it. Let it flow through him until the emotions that had been stirred today were dulled by pleasure and release.
He pushed across the scant distance between them, caging her in with a hand on either side of her head on the seatback. Her pupils dilated, but she held firm, not turning away, not drawing back. She met his gaze with a strong one of her own.
“You, Imogen,” he said as he tilted his head and brought his mouth toward hers. “I want you.”
He captured her lips then, hard and forceful. Almost daring her to withdraw or say no. To erect her own wall so he wouldn’t have to feel quite so terrible about his own. Only she didn’t. Instead she slid her hands along his chest, over his shoulders, and wrapped her arms around his neck to draw him even closer.
She was soft to all his hardness, open to his closed, welcoming to his prickly desire to keep the world out. He knew what could happen if he allowed too many people in.
Her acceptance made him waver, and for a moment, the kiss softened. But no, he couldn’t do that. She was lovely and filled him with desire, but that was all he could ever allow himself with her. He couldn’t let her make him forget.
The carriage was beginning to slow by then, turning into the drive for his home, and he pulled away, back to the seat across from her. They stared at each other, panting breaths matching, and he hardened his gaze purposefully. “We’re going to my bed, Imogen. Unless you no longer want that.”
She arched a brow, and for a moment it felt like she was the one with all the experience and he was a green boy again. Like she could see through him.
“I’ve made it very clear that what you want is what I want, Oscar,” she said. “I’m not the one who keeps questioning it.”
The carriage came to a halt and the door was opened by one of his footmen. She didn’t hesitate, but slipped past him from the vehicle and out onto the drive. He stared as she walked away, up the stairs and to the door where Donovan was waiting.
