And now Oscar would have to face her, with all her ability to read him. With all her pointed questions and looks. While he was slightly drunk, no less, and reeling from how he had treated Imogen after they made love.
He opened the drawers in the room and found a few items there that would fit him. As he dressed himself, slowly thanks to his drunken state and his injured arm, he thought about Imogen.
Of course he hadn’t stopped thinking about her the entire time he’d been drinking to make himself do just that. When he’d recognized that he loved her, it had been the most terrifying moment of his life. Oh, he’d been in danger before, both during the time he’d been watching her and before. But that was physical threat. Loving her? That was a threat to his very core.
That was a threat to his heart and his mind and his soul.
And what had he done? Followed his instinct, of course, and tried to fuck his way out of those feelings. Tried to put up walls to her and to his own heart. Tried to make himself forget that he loved her, which meant he was vulnerable to every single thing in this world that could rip her away from him.
And Imogen, in her strength and her warmth and her sunshine, which changed his whole world…had defied him. Forcing him to sink into her instead of pull away. Forcing him to love her more, even if he’d told her that he couldn’t or wouldn’t.
Seeing the hurt in her stare when he said those words, knowing she was right when she called him a coward…he would never forget that moment until he took his dying breath.
He tucked his shirt into his trousers and sighed. He couldn’t think about any of that when he faced Joanna. He had to wipe it all away, challenging as that had somehow become.
He made his way back to the parlor where the Duchess of Willowby had tended his wound earlier in the night, and drew a long breath before he entered. His mother was standing at the sideboard, a drink in hand as she glared at the door, awaiting his arrival.
The moment he entered, she set her glass aside and crossed to him. Her arms came around him and she hugged him tightly. “My love.”
“I’m fine, Mama,” he said. Lied. He lied. “I assume Will was the one who told you what happened.”
“Yes. And he knew I would insist on coming to see you, so he got the information and password from this duke.” She laughed, but it was a raw sound. “The trouble you get yourself in, son.”
“I’m trying to get myself out,” he said as he paced away. “And her.”
He felt his mother watching him as he moved to the fireplace and stared into the dancing flames. “Are youdrunk?” she asked, her tone incredulous.
He pivoted back to her and shrugged, wincing when he tweaked his injury. “I am,” he admitted.
Her face pinched, and she crossed to him and touched his arm, feeling the bandage beneath gently. “I don’t think I’ve seen you drunk in ten years. Is it to numb the pain?”
He almost laughed. Numb the pain? Oh yes, it was for that. But not the physical pain. “It will heal,” he said.
“Will it now?” she asked, and he realized she wasn’t talking about his arm either.
He pulled away. “I’m fine.”
She was quiet for a moment before she said, “And what about Imogen?”
“She wasn’t hurt—” He cut himself off, because that wasn’t true. “She wasn’t shot this afternoon,” he said. “She’s resting in her chamber.”
He could almost hear her voice right now. Saying he was a coward. The word rang in his ears, and he shook his head. He turned back to his mother and stared at her. She looked worried, of course. But she also looked…peaceful somehow. Calm.
“Has Will taken on the role as your protector again?” he asked.
She snorted out a surprised laugh. “Thatis a change of subject.”
“If you get to grill me on my life, I suppose I feel I am owed the chance to do the same,” he said. “And perhaps the drink has loosened my tongue a little. Is he?”
“Who told you that?” she asked.
He ran a hand through his hair. “Imogen said something about the connection she saw. And then it was all I could see when you two were together.”
“He’s not my protector,” Joanna said softly.
He bent his head, a little bit of disappointment rushing through him. The time when Will had been Joanna’s protector was one of the happiest of Oscar’s life. He trusted the man, as he had never trusted anyone else she’d let into her bed.
“He—” The way her voice wavered when she cut herself off made Oscar glance back up at her. She worried her lip a little. “He’s the love of my life, Oscar.”
