The Redemption of a Rogue, стр. 39
At any rate, she would end up someone’s mistress one way or another when this was all over. She had to start becoming comfortable with the judgment that certainly came with it. Her goal was to one day be as confident and untroubled as Joanna seemed to be.
“Thank you,” she said with a smile as she got up and walked down the long hallways.
She took her time as she strolled, for she was in no hurry to see him. She knew what awaited her, after all. Smoldering heat and unfettered need and a man who made her feel both exhilarated and…safe. How those two emotions existed together, she wasn’t entirely sure. It was a dichotomy, just as the man himself was.
She reached his study door. It was closed, and she knocked gently. She heard him moving around, and then a curt, “Enter!”
She smoothed her skirts and did so with a bright smile. Oscar was seated behind his desk, bent over some paperwork. He didn’t look up. “What is it?”
“It’s me,” she said.
He glanced toward her, his gaze washing over her as it always did. Then, to her surprise, he returned his attention to the items on his desk. “Yes, I know. Did you need something, Imogen?”
She blinked at the cool and almost dismissive tone of his voice. After yesterday, both in the carriage and in his bed, she was certain things had shifted between them. Yet he offered her no connection today, not even the barest hint of one.
She cleared her throat and forced herself to be as detached as he was. “I have been thinking about my situation and I know my staff must be concerned about me.”
“They’ve been informed of your safety and I have paid their wages for the next month,” he said, again not looking up. “Your home has been closed up and your mail forwarded to a solicitor in my employ, and will thus be forwarded to me. Untraceable, or at least not easily so.”
“Why wasn’t I told of this?” she asked, stepping farther into the room. “I would have wanted to pass a message of my own to my people. And I would like to see my correspondence.”
He arched a brow as he looked at her again. “Expecting invitations, are we?”
She pursed her lips at his dismissive tone. “You know that isn’t my concern. I may not have many people who care for me in my life, but I do have Aurora. She must be sick with worry. Normally we correspond at least twice weekly, and she hasn’t heard from me!”
He let out a long sigh and got up. He crossed to his sideboard and opened the top drawer. “These were forwarded today.”
He held them out and she took them, flipping through the slim number of items that had come in her time missing. That there were so few made how alone she was in the world a stark thing, indeed.
“Did you plan to tell me these had come?” she asked. She found three letters from Aurora in the stack and clutched them to her breast as she discarded the rest: an old invitation to a tea and a letter from her former brother-in-law that could only be rude and foreboding.
“Of course,” he said, his tone beleaguered as he retook his place at his desk. “Apparently you think me a controlling ogre and you might not be wrong in that assessment. But you were still abed when I received your mail this morning. I did not think any of it was pressing enough to have you roused, given how little you slept last night.”
“That was your fault,” she pointed out as her cheeks grew hot.
“It was my pleasure, I assure you,” he said. “And the additional fact is that you cannot write back to Lady Lovell or any of the others, even if you wished to do so.”
She shook her head. “What are you talking about, Oscar? Why can’t I write back?”
He fisted his hands on the desktop and looked up at her slowly. “Because those who would wish you dead are likely watching any friend or family member who might receive a message from you. If they intercepted a letter from you, they might use it to track your whereabouts.”
That made her stomach drop in her chest, but Imogen managed to keep her countenance clear. “So the only option is to allow my friend, my dearest friend, to believe me possibly dead?”
He pushed to his feet and she saw how carefully he was controlling his reaction. His gaze was bright with frustration and concern, even though his hands didn’t waver. His voice was even and calm. “Is the better alternative for you to actually be dead?” he asked. “Just another body in the courtyard for Maggie and Roddenbury and God knows who else to dispose of in the river?”
She flinched, but he didn’t stop. “Is that what you want for yourself? Because if suicide is your goal, I won’t allow it. I…can’t.”
He turned away at that last word and paced to the window. For what felt like a very long time, they were both silent. At last, she let out her breath. “Oscar—”
He held up a hand. “I do understand your concerns,” he said softly. “I will try to find a way to communicate your safety to Lady Lovell that will not endanger either of you. But for now, you cannot write to her. You will not.”
“I think you are confused,” she gasped as she shoved her letters into her pelisse pocket and crossed the room to him. “You might bend me to your will in your bed, but outside of that room, you cannot control me.”
“I’m not trying to control you,” he snapped as he caught her hand. “I’m trying to save your life.”
She pulled away from him and took a long step back. “It’s