Imogen shifted and her cheeks darkened. Oscar could feel her discomfort from across the room, and a wild and protective instinct rose up in him. Like he could just sweep her up and carry her away and never make her face this terrible thing ever again.
A patently foolish idea considering this room was full of people who might actually be able to leverage their connections to save her.
“I didn’t expect to be telling this story for an audience,” she whispered.
Lady Lovell squeezed her hand. “They’re friends. I promise that. They can all be trusted.”
Oscar shook his head and poured a splash of madeira into a glass. Imogen liked madeira in the afternoon if she had a drink. Sherry was for before supper. He knew that like he knew a dozen things about her. Like that she was stronger than she believed. Like that she was better than perhaps he deserved.
He moved to the settee and handed the wine over to Imogen. She lifted her gaze to him, and again their eyes held. He tried with all his might to pour all his support into her, tried to show her that he would not walk away, nor let anyone hurt her in this room or any other.
“You havenothingto be ashamed of,” he said softly. “And you owethemnothing. None of them were invited, so they can all get the fuck out of my club.”
Imogen swallowed as she glanced around at the gathering of strangers. His family…but strangers. “Can you truly help me?”
The Duke of Willowby stepped forward. “I think we can, Mrs. Huxley.Ifwe understand what is going on. But if you don’t wish to tell the story to an audience, we can step out. Only my wife would stay to record your statement if that would make you more comfortable.”
Oscar glanced at the duke again. It was a kind offer. One he hadn’t expected and yet appreciated.
“But she’ll repeat it to you all anyway,” Imogen said, letting out her breath in a shaky sigh. “She would have to in order for you to understand.” No one denied that, and Imogen glanced up at Oscar again. As if he somehow had the answers for her. How he wished he did. “It will be worth the humiliation,” she said at last.
He clenched his teeth at the absolute defeat in her stare. The pain that she would have to tell this horrible story yet again to an audience of outsiders. He wanted to touch her so very badly in that moment. But she had already mentioned humiliation. If he touched her, he wouldn’t be able to hide their connection. So he watched helplessly as Imogen took a gulp of wine and handed her glass back to him.
“I…I was in dire straits after my husband’s death,” she began. He listened as she told the story, the one he could have recited himself, he’d pondered it so often since she careened into him in that alleyway. Listened as her strength went on display for everyone in the room to see.
Speaking of the murder she’d been witness to was the only time her voice wavered. The only time she hesitated. He felt her pain, her guilt, her horror on behalf of that poor woman, her terror that she would end up the same way. Discarded like trash in the river.
He couldn’t help it then. He pressed a hand to her shoulder, fingers curling there for support as she continued.
“I stumbled into Oscar—Mr. Fitzhugh—and he has been hiding me ever since, trying to help me prove what I know. What I saw.WhoI saw. He saved my life,” she finished.
He caught his breath as she lifted her gaze to him. That gaze that had become so important to every part of his life, his day, any moment he was in. This woman had wound her way into his soul since he met her. There was no denying the importance of that as he stared down into her eyes. At least not to himself.
But he couldn’t let her see it. Certainly, he couldn’t let this roomful of people he didn’t trust be a part of it.
He released her reluctantly and backed a step away. “I didn’t do much. But this situation goes deep. Much deeper than one murder.”
Willowby nodded with a small glance toward his wife. “The War Department suspects as much. Between what we’ve gleaned and what help we’ve had from Mr. Barber and Mr. Huntington’s sources, I think we’re close to uncovering the mastermind behind this…ring of blackguards.”
Oscar tensed. Uncovering. That meant they didn’t know about Roddenbury and his involvement.
Imogen seemed to have the same idea as she sent him a look and got to her feet. “If I could help I would—”
Before she could finish the sentence, there was an explosion of glass from the huge window behind them, followed by a series of shots that ricocheted around the room.
Oscar didn’t think, he didn’t plan—he just dove over the back of the settee and prayed he could protect Imogen. Because Imogen was all that mattered.
Chapter 20
Imogen screamed, but it was cut off as Oscar’s heavy weight hit her, knocking the air from her lungs and dragging her to the floor. He covered her, his arms around her as they had been around her so many times in the past few weeks.
After what felt like a lifetime, the explosive shooting stopped and the room fell eerily silent.
Oscar rolled away so he no longer fully covered her body, but he said nothing as he smoothed his hands over her. Under any other circumstances, the touch would have been erotic, but right now he just looked terrified.
“Were you hit?” he whispered, and she wasn’t even certain that he was asking her as much as asking the universe. “Please tell me you weren’t hit.”
“I-I don’t think so,” she said, and caught his arms. “Oscar.” He tried to shake her off and continued looking for any injury. “Oscar!” she repeated, this time sharper. “I’m not hit.”
