His lips pursed. She was saying his worst fears out loud. That he would be rendered impotent thanks to a cruel man with a title high enough to give him immunity against any crime. That any influence and power Oscar had built for himself, against all odds, would not be enough. Not for her. And in this moment, she was all that mattered.
“That is not acceptable,” he said. “And so I do not accept it. I swear to you under these stars, by the light of this moon, that I will do everything in my power, I will bring all I’ve built to bear and I will find a way out of this that doesn’t involve you being taken from—” He broke off and shook his head. “That doesn’t involve you losing it all. I swear it, Imogen.”
Her lips parted, as if the passion of his words had surprised her. Still, she nodded absently. Then she let out another great sigh. “I do not think I’ll be a very good companion anymore tonight.”
“Neither will I. Will and my mother will understand, I think, if we depart early.” He stepped away from her only far enough to tuck her hand into the crook of his elbow. She flexed her fingers there, and he felt the pressure of her grip in every bit of his body and soul. “Come, we’ll say our farewells and I’ll take you home.”
“Home,” she repeated as he drew her inside. But she didn’t argue, not with the suggestion and not with the label. Even though he should have clarified, he didn’t do that either. He just kept her close and prayed he could fulfill the promise he had made to her.
For both their sakes.
Chapter 17
Imogen opened her eyes and looked around. She was in Oscar’s room, which was not an uncommon place for her to wake. The more uncommon element was that he was still abed beside her, despite the light coming in around the corners of the curtains, which told her it was late in the day.
They had not made love the night before. He hadn’t suggested it, she hadn’t the energy to do so, but he’d still taken her to his bed, helped her undress and held her. Held her all night, soothing her when the nightmares raged.
She rolled over now to face him and found he was watching her through a hooded gaze. Her entire body twitched with desire, despite the terrible circumstances. She ignored it and reached up to trace the angle of his jaw. His whiskers tickled her palm, and she smiled at the sensation. “Good morning.”
His lips were tight as he nodded. “I would ask you if you slept well, but I know the answer, I fear.”
“My nightmares troubled you,” she said with a shake of her head. “I’m sorry. I should sleep in my own room rather than keep you up all night.”
He lifted his fingers to her lips and pressed there gently. “It isn’t about my quality of sleep, Imogen. It never was. I rarely sleep more than a few hours any night, whether you are here in my home or not.”
“Why?” she asked, tilting her head at the thought.
He shrugged. “My mind is too busy, I suppose. Or maybe I don’t like my dreams, either.”
“What do you dream about?” she whispered.
He eased onto his back and hauled her tighter against his side. As he stared up at the ceiling above them, she remained quiet, hoping whatever space she gave him might encourage him to let her in just a little.
She needed that.
“My father,” he said at last. “I often dream of the last Duke of Roseford. I dream of the day he left. I dream of looking in the mirror and seeing his face.”
Her brow wrinkled. “Your father’s reputation is still spoken about in hushed whispers in the circles that matter. And there is nothing I’ve seen in you that has ever reminded me of the rumors about him.”
He shrugged, but despite that, it was evident this topic meant far more to him than he was allowing her to see. “Perhaps. I’ve worked hard not to be anything like him. But the blood breaks through, I fear, from time to time.” He let out a long sigh. “Whenever I hear those whispers, the ones you talk about, I cringe. Whenever some fop comes up to me in my club and starts in on how much he looked up to the last Duke of Roseford and his never-ending quest for pleasure, my stomach turns.”
She traced her fingers along his chest. “I wonder how your brother feels. The one who holds the title now.”
“Robert?” Oscar said slowly, as if saying the name was difficult. “He was like him. So much like him. And then he…wasn’t anymore. Just like that, like some kind of lightning bolt hit and changed him.”
“Love, they say,” she whispered, thinking of the rumors that had run wild a few years ago when the new Duke of Roseford wooed and wed his duchess. Imogen had waxed romantic about it one day, and Huxley had made some sharp comment about love not existing. Just another reminder that she couldn’t have what she wanted.
Now she looked up at the man who held her, and wanted…
No, she wouldn’t let herself think that. She wouldn’t let herself crave the lightning bolt he described. Those sorts of things only existed for a few lucky souls, and Oscar was nothing but clear to her about his boundaries.
She snuggled a little closer and his arms tightened around her. He was warm and solid and whole, that was what mattered right now. He was here and he would protect her, if nothing else.
“Did you enjoy your day out?” he asked. “Despite the end?”
She lifted her head. “I did,” she said. “It’s a funny thing. In my heart, I am not the kind of woman who craves parties every night or to have a dozen friends. I’ve always preferred a quiet night in reading a book to bustling about constantly. But being here, not being able to leave for my own safety, it has made me realize how much the choice of staying in or going out means. That moment when I realize I can’t just stroll over to the park or call on a friend…it hits me. So I very much appreciated you allowing me that moment of normalcy yesterday.”
“I’m glad,” he said, and there was that flutter of a smile around the edges of his mouth again. “It was a pleasure watching you. I know I’ve been hard on you about staying in or not contacting your friend. So I was happy to have the connections required to allow us a private showing of Carlton’s collection.”
