Saving Persephone (The Haberdashers Book 4) (25 page)

“Mr. Amsted will take over the daily duties as president. He will, of course, be able to contact me as needed.”

Imogen looked more upset than Robert would have expected. “Mr. Amsted! That’s ridiculous.”

“Ach, now Imogen,” her father admonished.

“I’ve no other choice, Imogen,” he mother said firmly. “Unless you have another suggestion? Unless you’ve changed your mind?” 

Imogen looked stricken. This, perhaps, was his opportunity. While casually cutting his sausages, and with a tone that belied any recognition of the tension in the room, he asked, “Is Amsted already president then?”

To Robert’s surprise, both Imogen and her mother answered at the same time. “Of course not!”

So the family business was a topic of contention. And Imogen had been expected to take over the running of it. How interesting. His investigations hadn’t turned over that particular fact. “It’s hard to find a good man to run things, especially at some distance. I’ve had that issue myself at times.”

Lady Grant’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do for the Home Office?”

“Whatever was required, of course.”

“And what was required?”

How much to reveal? He couldn’t compromise the security of the Empire. But was it possible that he could make himself seem a viable, perhaps preferable, option compared to this Mr. Amsted? It was worth pursuing. “I coordinated intelligence operations across Europe for the past four years. Prior to that, I focused on issues in the interior. We don’t want to see our revolts go the way of France.”

“Or America, I daresay.”

He smiled. “I daresay.”

Robert asked questions about the shipping industry, and as Lady Grant warmed to the topic she was quite forthcoming. He wasn’t sure if this line of inquiry would play out, but considered it one of his more promising hands.

* * *

Imogen cornered Robert in the library. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He looked at the book in his hand. “Considering rereading the history of the Peloponnesian wars?”

“You think you can convince my mother to turn over her company to you? Are you insane or deluded?”

“What makes you think that?”

There he stood, his expression nearly blank but pleasant, as though he still thought she couldn’t see right through him. She crossed her arms. “When the topic of Jackson Shipping came up you might as well have wiggled in your seat like a pleased puppy. Is this when I should ask
you
if the only reason you pursued a relationship with me was because of the golden hook of my family’s company?” She sensed his mind working quickly to choose his answer, but as he opened his mouth to reply she cut him off. “You needn’t attempt to justify yourself. Unlike you, I don’t have to dwell in a sense of paranoia. I actually
know
what people’s intentions are.”

Waving a hand at him dismissively, she sat on one of the long, low couches in the center of the room. He sat across from her, the book still in his hands.

“What do you want me to say, Imogen?”

“You make no
sense
, Robert. How can you accuse me of espionage and kidnapping your sister, then the next month pursue me as though we were sweethearts? Don’t tell me that you love me, either, because I know that you don’t.”

His gaze was unwavering, and the silence grew heavy. She felt something akin to regret lurking under his calm. “I don’t think I’m capable of it, not the way you mean.”

“Of course you are, just not with me.”

She could tell that she had sparked his stubborn streak. “Can you not accept that a man’s dedication is as good as, perhaps better than his love?” 

“Is that what you are? Dedicated?”

“I would choose you. It’s not something I would ever compromise.”

“Be still my heart!” She stood. “Perhaps you should avail yourself to some of the poetry while you’re here.”

* * *

Robert watched Imogen walk out of the library. He wasn’t going to read any bloody poetry. Even Quince hadn’t cited poetry when speaking about love. Gideon seemed quite happily married, and the closest thing to poetry in that man’s heart were the bawdy rhymes sung in low taverns after too many ales.

But the battle lines were clearly drawn. Her challenging him directly only made him more committed to marrying her. And if she was upset with his interest in taking over the company for her mother, that meant she considered it to be a fair possibility.

No, Imogen Grant didn’t need or want poetry. Once he did divine her weakness, she would be his.

Chapter Forty-Four

Imogen surprised herself with the level of resentment she started to feel toward Robert. In less than a fortnight of his arrival, her parents adored him like son they never had. He showed no signs of leaving, and they were already asking after his plans for Christmas. In front of her parents he treated her with a mixture of adoration and deference that made them sigh and smell orange blossoms. It made her wish that the Haberdashers had taught her more about knives. In the rare moments of near privacy, since she no longer searched him out, he was quiet and watchful. Except for the one time they passed in the hall when she frowned at him and he winked back. His emotional timbre was one of calm determination, such as one might have during a chess match. Damn it, but infiltrating her family was not a chess match!

She considered revealing all to her parents, accusing her ‘suitor’ of staging a most outrageous form of bride stealing. Two things stopped her. First, her parents had become
hopeful
that she and Robert would marry and he would take over the shipping company with her at his side. They hadn’t said as much, but Imogen didn’t need words. Second, as much as she loathed admitting it, as much as Robert was driving her mad, she couldn’t bring herself to send him away. Or attempt to, at least. The man was obviously outstanding at entwining himself into the fabric of a place like a weed. Her kin no longer teased him, but drank, and rode, and hunted with him. He was becoming part of the place, part of
her
place. And that was why she found herself suddenly desperate to convince him to leave. In another week it would be Christmas. He would then be embedded in a family memory. This was the first Christmas she would spend with both of her parents in ten years. It could even be the last. Robert wasn’t her husband he was only her lover. Did she truly want to remember him here all of her days?

The previous two times she had run up the steps to the east wing, it had been with the anticipation of meeting her lover. This time, it was with trepidation. How would she convince a very determined man to change his plans?

* * *

Robert was in bed reading when he heard his doorknob rattle before the door quietly slid open. He tensed until he saw familiar ginger hair. She had returned. He set the book aside and waited for her to approach. The room was cozily lit with a fire and the lantern he had been reading by. She stopped at the foot of the bed, her hands clasped in front of her. She was still wearing the dress she had on at supper. He saw her eyes flit over his chest where it was bare above the covers, but she took a deep breath and trained her gaze to his eyes.

“Good evening,” she said.

So it was to be formality. “Good evening.”

“I wanted to- That is to say I hoped-” Her voice trailed off.

“You’re going to have to say something, Imogen.”

She bit her lip, a sure sign of her thinking. “Why do you want to marry me?” she finally asked. Her tone was more plaintive than he expected. Imogen was strong, saucy, confident, bold. He could think of a whole list of terms he would use to describe her, but none of them suited this moment. He was reminded of when he caught her off guard at the Lyle ball. When she had seemed younger, more vulnerable than she usually did.

“I don’t remember asking you to marry me,” he answered.

As he expected, that answer irritated her. But at least that served to stiffen her backbone. She set her hands on her hips. “Well, you’re sure as hell not taking over my family’s company
without
marrying me.” 

And there it was, in that moment. Affection, attraction, and something keener, sweeter, that pierced through his chest. He saw her eyes widen, but was across the length of the bed and pulling her into his arms before she could react further. “Was that a proposal?” he teased.

She pushed at his shoulders. “No.”

“Oh well, then come to bed with me.”

“Robert.”

He kissed the hollow of her throat the way he knew made her shiver. “Yes, Imogen?”

“I want you to leave.”

“Right now? I’m naked and there’s a beautiful woman in my room.” He kissed her on the lips then, and felt when she relented.

“Maybe in the morning, then.”

“Yes, maybe in the morning.”

* * *

Imogen wished that all of her failures in life could have such spectacular results. She panicked when she sensed that emotion beyond anything he had felt before for her, but his flare of love had subsided into a simple delight. A heady combination and difficult to resist, that, the wicked sensual delights of Robert Bittlesworth combined with his affection. He was the first lover she had never tired of. Perhaps he wouldn’t leave, but if not, then she would no longer deny herself his bed.

* * *

“Robby, wake up sleepyhead.”

Robert scratched his nose and burrowed deeper into his pillow. His mother patted his back.

“Come now, you can’t sleep all morning. Your brother wants to go see the horses.”

That was when Charlie always said,
“Horseys, Robby!”
But Robert didn’t hear his brother’s voice. That woke him up faster than usual. It was the dream, just the dream again. He ran his hands through his hair, glad the dream had ended well before it turned dark. It had been some years since he’d suffered it. He was sad, however, that he hadn’t been in the dream long enough to see her face. He always saw her perfectly in the dream when she said-

“There’s my Robby-boy. Back with us for another day, I see.”

Robert’s skin went cold as ice. It was something between his mother’s and Imogen’s natural tone.

“I hear your father, let me see what he wants.”

No. No, no, no. He shook her shoulders. “Imogen? Imogen, wake up.” He wasn’t sure what he should do. Shout at her? Slap her? She finally shook her head and pushed at him.

“Stop it, Robert.”

“Do you recall what you were dreaming about?”

“What? No. I don’t know. Greenland?”

Her nonsensical answer told him that she was still essentially asleep. He let her curl back up on her side of the bed while he sat up and waited for his heart to stop galloping in his chest.

That had been the last time he had seen his mother alive. His parents had argued, and then his father had pushed her down the steps. His father had always claimed that she fell down them, of course, but he and Charlie had been watching from the doorway to the nursery. Thank God his brother was too young to truly remember the event. Robert had never countered the standing story that their mother’s death was an accident in front of Charlie. That was the day that Robert had promised himself that nothing would ever happen to his brother. And that he would avenge his mother’s death.

He realized that he was standing vigil over Imogen, ensuring that she didn’t fall back into a dream of that ill-fated day. He remembered that day better than he might hope. He remembered what his parents argued over, he remembered his father’s rage. His father didn’t love people, he possessed them. When they displeased him, he felt no compunction in punishing them.

Robert looked down at Imogen. Wasn’t that what he was trying to do to her? Possess her? He had never asked her opinion, had simply set out his strategy for entrapping her. He had proceeded with his goal in mind, as though he knew what was best. That what he wanted was best. What of what she wanted? Did he have any idea at all what she wanted?

Only that she wanted him to leave.

He retrieved two sheets of vellum from the small writing desk in his room. He had no words for her, no poetry, but he wanted to leave something for her to remember him by.

Chapter Forty-Five

Imogen awoke slowly, with sunlight gently streaming in the windows. The angle of the bed to the windows seemed wrong. She realized she was still in Robert’s room. Sitting up, she drew the blankets closer to her. He was no longer in bed, but there was something on his pillow. A paper flower, rather carefully done. A lotus. She twirled it between her fingers, not expecting whimsy from him.

She dressed and tucked the paper flower in her hair. It took careful maneuvering to make her way to her room to change, making her late to breakfast. When she arrived, the room was abuzz with conversation but it quieted. It didn’t take long before she knew why. Mr. Bittlesworth had left early this morning on his stallion. A family emergency, it was said. She schooled her expression. She had asked him to leave so she shouldn’t be surprised. After breakfast, which she couldn’t taste, she returned to her room. She set the paper flower inside a drawer.

* * *

Robert arrived at his townhouse four days before Christmas. Bobbins met him at the door with something resembling a smile. Apparently the bruiser had missed him.

“Welcome home, sir.”

“Thank you, Bobbins. Anything of note I need to know about?”

“Nothing I didn’t send you in the monthly letter, if you received that.”

“I did, indeed. Well done. Before I forget, do you remember Miss Grant?”

“Of course, sir.”

“If she should ever return, she has full access to the house.”

“
Full
access, sir?”

“Yes, treat her as if she were the lady of the house. If she needs funds, supply it. If she should need anything it is in your power to give, I expect you to give it to her.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The carriage should be a day or two after me.”