The Redemption of a Rogue, стр. 6
Of course Fitzhugh lived alone, so far as she could tell. She certainly could see no sign of a wife or children because there were no portraits hung to advertise them. No sounds of childish giggling or soft feminine whispers from behind chamber doors. She trailed down the stairs, marking the neatness of the house. There obviously were servants in his employ, even if they seemed invisible at present.
The butler was at the bottom of the stairs, and as she reached the bottom, he turned from whatever it was he was doing and inclined his head toward her. “Good morning, Mrs. Huxley. Was your chamber comfortable?”
Heat filled her cheeks at the fact that this man knew her name. What he must think of her after last night? How far she had fallen in such a short time.
“It was very comfortable, thank you,” she said. “But I’m at a disadvantage. What is your name?”
“Donovan, madam,” he said with another of those formal inclines of his head. “And I am at your service as long as you are a guest in this house.”
She forced a smile. It was a kindness for him to act as though she were merely a houseguest. And one that would surely be gone before noon. “Thank you.”
“Mr. Fitzhugh is waiting for you in the breakfast room. It is the third door on the left up the hall,” he said, motioning to a long corridor behind the staircase.
She thanked him again and went on her way. Unlike upstairs, where the doors to the chambers were closed, they were open down here. She couldn’t help but peek into each one as she passed. Curtains were thrown open in them all, flooding the chambers with light for the servants who were quietly cleaning and organizing.
It was a pretty place, indeed. Fine but understated. It certainly didn’t reveal much about the man who owned it, though. Oscar Fitzhugh. She shivered as she thought of him, handsome and impressive and more than a little intimidating. She had no idea what to think of him. Perhaps that was his intention.
She reached the breakfast room and paused in the entryway. He was seated at the head of a small rectangular table, head bent into paperwork and an untouched plate of food at his right hand. He didn’t appear to have noticed her yet, so she took that moment to look at him.
He really was a very handsome man. Even more so today than she had recalled. There was a little bit of a wave to his hair, even though it no longer looked like fingers had wended their way through it. His brow was furrowed in concentration and he had a hard, stern look on his face. She had no idea his age. It was hard to place, despite his salt-and-pepper beard and hair. Older than her own thirty-two years, she thought, but not fatherly. Oh no. Definitely not that.
“How did you sleep?”
His question jolted her out of her wicked thoughts, and she jumped in surprise as he glanced up at her, speared her with that dark and unassailable gaze. She clenched a hand against her chest and came into the room. “I…well, thank you.”
He arched a brow as he rose to his feet. “Well. I don’t think so. You had nightmares.”
She worried her lip. “I hope I didn’t disturb your sleep, Mr. Fitzhugh.”
There was a flicker of something that came into his eyes. Eyes that flitted over her briefly. “Not at all. Even if you had, what right would I have to complain? I all but forced you here, didn’t I?”
She smiled at the statement, a little teasing, she thought, though he still looked very serious, indeed. “You seemed to have the right motives at heart.”
“Perish that thought,” he muttered.
She shifted. “Are my servants well?”
“Yes,” he said softly. “I had a man on your house within half an hour of your arriving here. He reports all is well there.” He motioned to the chair beside his. “Sit, won’t you? I wasn’t sure if you had favorites, so I had my cook make up a small spread. May I get you a plate?”
Until that moment when Imogen looked at the sideboard, laden with delicious-looking food, she hadn’t been hungry. But now the smells and sights assaulted her senses, and she nearly went weak in the knees. “Please.”
She sat, watching him pick through the selection and load up a plate. He set it in front of her and retook his place. She had every intention of trying to speak with him politely, but her hands had begun to shake with hunger. She dove into the food as she tried to remember the last time she’d done so. The previous morning, perhaps? Or was it even before that? Money was so tight, she tried to keep her expenses, even food, to a minimum. And when she’d known she was returning to the Cat’s Companion, she hadn’t been able to muster an appetite.
Now, though, she shoveled food into her mouth. It was delicious, every bite. She had no idea how long she did so, but when she glanced up, she found Fitzhugh staring at her, those dark eyes glittering. She set her fork down and dabbed her mouth with a napkin as she shook her head. “I-I’m sorry. I’m being very rude.”
“I don’t think so,” he said softly. “I asked you to eat and you are. Please continue. Can you talk while you do so?”
She nodded. “Yes. If I stop heaping everything in my mouth at once, I can talk.”
There was a twitch at the corner of his lip, almost like he was suppressing a smile. “Can you tell me in as much detail as you can what exactly happened last night?”
“I feel this is unfair to you, Mr. Fitzhugh,” she said. “I’ve involved you in my troubles enough