The Redemption of a Rogue, стр. 48

Oscar glanced at them together and shook his head. That was a topic for another day. Right now he had to focus on Imogen. Imogen was all that mattered to him.

“Well, follow her,” his mother said. “It’s all you want to do, I can see it.”

He nodded and looked at the door where Imogen had departed. “I am.”

But he didn’t move. He just stood there because he felt utterly toothless. Completely ineffective. He wanted to save this woman. To protect her in every way. But aside from offering her shelter, what else could he do?

His mother got up and came to his side. She touched his arm, and he looked at her.

“Oscar,” she said, using his first name as she so rarely did. Only Imogen did it regularly. Hearing it from someone else’s lips jolted him.

“What can I do, Mama?” he asked. “What can I possibly do? We all know that men with titles will always win. I’ve watched them do it all my life.”

“And yet you’ve never stepped down from a fight,” she said softly. “Because of that, those men haven’t always won. You’ve climbed over top of their barriers and made a life for yourself that your father would have denied you, tried to deny you. Sometimes we only win by inches, love. But inches add up over time. Don’t lose hope. Grab onto it with both hands and then go out to that woman and offer it to her as a lifeline. She needs it. She needs you.”

He looked down at her and felt the truth of that. It was a heavy weight on his shoulders, but one he wished to carry. For Imogen he would carry the world.

He nodded and said nothing else, but departed the room and moved down the hall. He had a feeling she had gone out onto the terrace to get some air. After all the time he’d observed her in his home, he knew she often went outside to clear her head. It was why she spent so much time tidying his hopeless garden.

He went to the parlor where he could access the terrace and stepped outside. There she was, haloed by moonlight, staring up at the stars. He stared because he couldn’t help himself. She was so lovely standing there. If he hadn’t known her, he would have said she was a beautiful woman enjoying the night and nothing else.

But he did know her. So he saw her rolled shoulders, the tremble of her hand at her side, the way her breath was slightly labored as he came closer. Her pain seemed to come off of her in waves, her fear a companion standing at her shoulder.

“Imogen,” he said.

She pivoted, and there were tracks of tears on her face as she stared at him. She was silent for what felt like a lifetime, and then she stepped forward into his arms. He held her as she leaned against him, supporting her weight, if he could do nothing else. He smoothed her hair gently, over and over, memorizing the silky texture as it grazed his palm.

At last she looked up at him. “It’s all ruined, it’s all over.”

“No,” he whispered, but he knew it was quite possibly a lie he told to make them both feel better in this impossible position.

She knew it too. She shook her head slowly. “I’ll never be able to go back to how things were, will I?” He hesitated, and the silence answered her question just as it had in the parlor a few moments before. She rested her forehead on his shoulder and gripped his jacket tighter.

“We’ll find a way,” he promised.

She laughed, but there was no humor to the sound, only pain. “What way? How do I exist if this man and his…minions can destroy me with impunity? Do I change my name? Do I leave London? Do I leave the country entirely?”

“No!” he snapped, too quick, but the suggestion had hit him so hard in the chest he almost couldn’t breathe with the thought of it. “No,” he repeated, this time more gently as he held her tighter. “We’ll work it out, I swear it to you, Imogen.”

She lifted her face again, and her amber eyes sought his in the moonlight. She sighed. “You can’t swear it, Oscar, because you can’t work it out. You can’t fix this.”

His lips pursed. She was saying his worst fears out loud. That he would be rendered impotent thanks to a cruel man with a title high enough to give him immunity against any crime. That any influence and power Oscar had built for himself, against all odds, would not be enough. Not for her. And in this moment, she was all that mattered.

“That is not acceptable,” he said. “And so I do not accept it. I swear to you under these stars, by the light of this moon, that I will do everything in my power, I will bring all I’ve built to bear and I will find a way out of this that doesn’t involve you being taken from—” He broke off and shook his head. “That doesn’t involve you losing it all. I swear it, Imogen.”

Her lips parted, as if the passion of his words had surprised her. Still, she nodded absently. Then she let out another great sigh. “I do not think I’ll be a very good companion anymore tonight.”

“Neither will I. Will and my mother will understand, I think, if we depart early.” He stepped away from her only far enough to tuck her hand into the crook of his elbow. She flexed her fingers there, and he felt the pressure of her grip in every bit of his body and soul. “Come, we’ll say our farewells and I’ll take you home.”

“Home,” she repeated as he drew her inside. But she didn’t argue, not with the suggestion and not with the label. Even though he should have clarified, he didn’t do that either. He just kept her close and prayed