The Redemption of a Rogue, стр. 30
“I don’t think I want to know your schedule,” he said with a wink. “I’m just glad you could fit me into it.”
“Yes.” Her lighthearted demeanor shifted a fraction and he saw the hint of worry she so rarely displayed. “Normally you just come without being so formal. I was a little surprised to hear from you yesterday. And you said something about introducing me to someone, yet you’re alone.”
He settled back in the settee. “My companion is here. I just asked her to wait on the terrace a moment so I could see you first.”
“Her,” his mother repeated. “The one keeping you up nights, I assume?”
He nodded, for again, there was no use at all in trying to hide the truth from her. “She happens to be the same, yes,” he said carefully. “But that isn’t why I’m bringing her to you.”
For a moment, his mother actually looked disappointed, but swiftly wiped the reaction away. “Then why?”
“She’s in a bit of trouble,” he said. “And I thought you might be able to help.”
His mother pushed to her feet. “You and your broken wings, Oscar. I adore you for caring, but I do worry that this obsession with acting a savior harms you. There must be balance in the world, my dear. One man cannot cure all the ills. Certainly he cannot save all the courtesans.”
He pressed his lips together hard. This was an argument they’d had more than once and it wasn’t one he wished to repeat at present, not when Imogen was waiting to join them.
“You can write me a letter then, with all your arguments, so I can read it over and over rather than forcing you to waste your breath,” he said, flashing her a brief smile so the words would be teasing, not harsh.
“Would reading them help you take them in, I wonder?” she mused, and then let out a sigh of resignation. “What kind of trouble is this young woman in?”
“The kind that had her witnessing the aftereffects of a murder at a brothel last week,” he said softly.
That got the response he had hoped for. His mother’s eyes widened slightly and her hands clenched before her. “I see,” she said softy. “Real trouble.”
“Real trouble,” he repeated.
“Well, let’s see her then,” she said, rising to ring the bell.
She spoke to her longtime servant, Teeter, when he arrived, and then returned to Oscar. As she looked at him, her expression was closed off. Her courtesan expression, Oscar had always called it. He hated when she used it on him, because it meant she was not allowing him to see her thoughts, but was absolutely making an attempt to read his.
“Don’t pull that face,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist and squeezing gently. “I’m very well.”
“Hmmm,” she murmured, noncommittal.
But he couldn’t argue further, because Teeter stepped back into the room and said, “Mrs. Huxley.”
Oscar stepped away from his mother and caught his breath as Imogen entered the room. She was wearing yet another of Louisa’s old gowns. He really needed to get her new ones, because these were a fraction too tight. Not that he didn’t appreciate how they accentuated her curves. The color suited her, an olive-green silk that made her amber eyes jump out even from across the room. Her hair was pulled back, of course, which made him want to cross to her and thread his fingers through it. Take it down and make her messy. Make that nervous expression that was on her face clear away.
He hadn’t yet told her who the contact they were meeting was, so he could see her surprise that he was standing so close to his mother. Perhaps a hint of jealousy as she looked from the strange woman she’d not yet met and back to him with question in her eyes.
“Oh, she’s lovely,” his mother murmured at his side, and then she crossed the room toward Imogen, her hand extended in greeting. “Mrs. Huxley, is it? I’m Joanna. Fitzhugh’s mother.”
Imogen gaped as the beautiful older woman grasped her hand and shook it firmly. She was stunning with her blast of beautifully styled gray hair and her bright green eyes. Her nose was like Oscar’s, her mouth was similar too, except that she was actually smiling.
“I-I am pleased to meet you,” Imogen said, and felt her cheeks heating.
“He didn’t tell you he was bringing you to see me, did he?” Joanna pivoted away and shook her finger toward Oscar. “Naughty boy.”
“I told her we were meeting a contact,” Oscar said, looking past his mother toward her. Imogen could see his curiosity when he stared at her. He wondered what she thought of the perfumed cloud of a person standing before her.
“I suppose I am that,” his mother laughed.
“Mrs. Fitzhugh—” Imogen began.
Her laughter grew louder at that, and she stepped forward and slid her arm through Imogen’s. “Never married, my dear, and I insist you call me Joanna. Fitzhugh is correct that I could be a valuable contact into your…situation. After all, I’ve been a courtesan for decades.”
Imogen’s eyes went wide. Oscar had said he was a bastard son of the Duke of Roseford the night before, but that man was well known for taking his pleasure all over England. He’d never mentioned the origins of his mother.
“She’s retired,” Oscar said softly.
Joanna smiled at her and shook her head as she whispered conspiratorially, “I let him believe what he wants to believe.”
Oscar let out a low sigh, but when Imogen glanced at him, his eyes were crinkled with humor. Not that she could blame him. This woman, his mother, seemed the kind who could draw mirth from anyone. She was a hurricane and she just swept others up in her wake.
“My head is spinning,” Imogen admitted. “I have no idea what to say.”
“Come and sit,” Joanna suggested, and drew her