The Redemption of a Rogue, стр. 43

“Like a tiny little bear,” she said, and leaned closer to him, batting her eyelashes to mimic some sweet little puppy. “With folded ears and eyes that gazed up at you and whispered, ‘Take me home, Mr. Fitzhugh.’”

He swallowed and shook his head slowly. “If he was so adorable, surely he would belong to someone else. A child, perhaps. You wish me to take pleasure in depriving a child of his beloved pet, Mrs. Huxley? Very cruel.”

She flopped back against the carriage seat with a laugh. “You are impossible. But I will discover something, I assure you.”

“I look forward to the attempt,” he said, and pulled the curtain back once more. “We have arrived.”

She leaned forward and looked through the glass. They were approaching a building, but the sign was obscured by the angle of the carriage before it turned and they pulled around the back, away from the busy street.

“Oh, I feel you are doing this on purpose, to make me nervous,” she burst out.

“That I would never do,” he said as the door opened and he stepped out.

He turned back and extended a hand to help her. She looked down at him, into that face, so handsome even if the harder years this man had lived had given him gray in his beard, had made his expression always dark and dangerous. He looked so cold, and yet he wasn’t. Not in his heart.

She shivered as she touched him, taking his hand and reveling in the electric spark that always flowed between them, even if she was wearing gloves.

She stepped into the alley and managed to tear her attention away from him and toward the nondescript building instead. “Will you tell me now where you’ve brought me?”

“Welcome to the Carlton Museum, Imogen,” he said, and he seemed to be watching her face for every nuance of her reaction to this news.

She didn’t hold them back—she couldn’t have even if she wished to. She clapped her hands together. “Oh, Oscar! The Carlton Museum! I’ve always wanted to go here. I’ve heard the displays are beautiful.”

“They are,” Oscar said as he guided her toward the stairs at the back entrance. “When the Levarian Museum collection was broken up and auctioned off ten years ago, Carlton bought up as much as he could. It is almost fully intact. He’s agreed to close up an hour early, and we are being given a private tour.”

Imogen lifted a hand to her mouth and stared at him in wonder. Her husband had never encouraged her interest in the world and had scoffed at the idea of coming to this place while he still lived. Since his death, she hadn’t had the funds for even the modest admission fee Carlton charged to see the exhibits.

“Oscar,” she breathed, reaching for him again. But before she could say or do more, the door at the top of the stairs opened and a smartly dressed man closer to Imogen’s age than Oscar’s stepped out.

“Ah, Mr. Fitzhugh,” he said in friendly greeting. “I’m so pleased you have arrived. This must be Mrs. Henderson.”

“Er, I’m—” Imogen began in confusion, but Oscar caught her stare and gave a slight shake of his head. Ah, so he had given a false name, probably to protect her. She really could learn from that. “Yes, Mrs. Henderson.”

“I am Edward Carlton, madam, at your service.”

Imogen extended a hand in stunned greeting. “Good afternoon, sir.”

“Mr. Carlton is a member of my club,” Oscar said, answering one of the questions she had not been able to ask before they were interrupted.

“And when the great Fitzhugh asks a boon, it is a rare enough thing that a man cannot refuse,” Carlton said with a laugh. “It looks to be a treat since he has brought such a lovely companion.”

Imogen blushed at the compliment. This man was younger than she would have thought him to be. After all, everyone knew Carlton was a captain of industry, working alongside such respected gentlemen as Grayson Danford on canals and who knew what other kinds of things.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “Both for the compliment and for the offer of a private viewing. I’m so excited to see the exhibit.”

“Then let us not delay your pleasure even a moment more,” Carlton said, motioning them in. “Let me show you my collection.”

He offered an arm, and Imogen looked back at Oscar. He was watching them, the usual unreadable expression on his face. And yet for a moment she thought she saw a flicker in his eyes. But then he motioned her as if to give her his blessing and followed her and Carlton into the museum.

They had toured the museum for two hours. No, that wasn’t correct. Imogen and Carlton had toured the museum for two hours. Oscar had trailed after them, watching her rather than taking in much about the exhibits, regardless of his interest in nature.

She was a pure pleasure to observe in this environment. Bright and excited, intelligent and engaged. She was more drawn in by each and every new exhibit than she had been by the last. It was enchanting. She was enchanting.

Not that he was the only one to notice this. Edward Carlton seemed equally taken in by her, if his rapt expression and unwavering attention was any indication. The burning sensation of jealousy that rose up in Oscar’s chest every time the man took her elbow to direct her to a new exhibit was something he fought to control.

He’d brought her here, after all. He’d wanted her to enjoy herself, and she was enjoying herself. Carlton was never untoward and his interest was understandable. It could even be…helpful to her. Carlton was rich and successful, exactly the kind of man who could be a powerful protector if Imogen wished to pursue that road.

He could even be more if it came down to it.

“…Fitzhugh?”

Oscar blinked and found that as he stared at Imogen, Carlton had actually separated from her and come to his side.

“Woolgathering, I