Saving Persephone (The Haberdashers Book 4) (26 page)

“Very good, sir.”

Robert went into his study and looked around. How many hours had he spent here? He would often engage in his more delicate work at this desk, information that he didn’t want even the staff at the Home Office to have access to. This had been his haven, his sanctuary, but now it no longer felt like home. He picked up the pillow Sabre had given him. He would keep that. He opened drawers in the sideboard where he knew he tucked away personal items. Locks of hair that his mother had saved when he and Charlie had been born. An array of horses Charlie had drawn over the years. George had finally taken pity on him and painted each of Charlie’s horses for him. Most of the paintings were upstairs, stacked in Charlie’s room, as he didn’t have space for them all at his bachelor’s quarters. If George ever caught up with painting the current herd they would most likely need to find another place to store them until Charlie built a house. Robert wasn’t precisely sure what he was doing, but continued to parse through his belongings, choosing which things were most important to him.

Within an hour he knew what he wanted to do and dressed for his club. The person he wanted to speak to would most likely be there. There was a house he rather desperately needed to buy.

* * *

Imogen wouldn’t want to say that she pined, but yes, she mostly likely pined for three days. But then Robert’s influence on the household seemed to fade in the excitement of the season. If her mother periodically looked at her sadly, she brushed it off. If her father at times asked her if he needed to ‘give that lad a talking to’, then that was just papa. She was fine. Robert Bittlesworth had been an amazing lover and she would miss having him in her bed. For her there was nothing more than that. And even if there was, she was used to growing strong at the broken places.

She enjoyed the holiday season with her family. The foods, the games, the atmosphere of frivolity. But the day after the Epiphany, her mother sent for her.

When she entered the small study her mother wasn’t at her desk, but instead seated on one of the lounge chairs knitting.

Imogen sat across from her. “Are you planning to announce you’re expecting soon?”

“Soon. Not yet. But it’s never to early to begin planning.”

“Is there something I can make for you? Perhaps little booties?” Knitting and crochet were easy enough to practice on a ship, making it one of the hobbies that she and her mother shared.

“Actually, Imogen,” her mother said, while pulling on the yarn to straighten it, “I wanted to ask you if there was any reason for me
not
to write to Mr. Amsted today?”

Imogen sensed the thread of hope that her mother still had. It made her angry. Her mother had no idea what sort of man Robert Bittlesworth really was. The darkness that wasn’t only inside him, but that he let permeate his life. If Imogen married him, how long would it be before some mad nobleman with a moniker like the Dragon would abduct her? Lord only knew what other crimes of his past would haunt her. She didn’t question that he had feelings for her; she just questioned her own sanity if she should accept them.

However, she was also swamped with years of guilt. Imogen had never been the daughter that her mother had hoped for. The best she had ever done was lend her skills in reading people when her mother had important negotiations. Imogen had done it for years, attending meeting after meeting with extraordinarily hostile, sometimes overtly evil people. Because of that, her time at school had been a relief. But she had always known that even if she were ideally suited to manipulate others because she could read their every feeling, she didn’t have the capacity to force others to her will.

Robert Bittlesworth had the capacity. He was colder and smarter than her mother. If he had Imogen at his side advising him, they would be unstoppable. Amsted might be able to keep the company going. Barely. Robert could do anything he wanted to with it. The only question left was what he wanted to do. Imogen had never sensed anything that made her believe that Robert wanted the company for a nefarious purpose. Which, quite frankly, seemed strange. He was full of nefarious purpose. But it had been clear while he was here that he actually thought that taking over an international shipping company would be the
easiest
way to convince Imogen to marry him. What sort of man believed that? Apparently the same sort who made enemies with hellfire clubs, managed impossible rescues of missing siblings, and engendered a frightened respect from everyone who knew him. The Hero of the Home Office. A brother willing to kill to protect you. What sort of husband could he possibly be?

But although she had always sensed the darkness in him, had seen the coldness and the death, he had never truly frightened her. Even in the dungeon in Normandy, when he believed it had been
her
who had organized the kidnapping of his sister. The Dragon had deeply frightened her, with his alien mind full of cruelty. Jean had both frightened and hurt her, with his self-centered rage and brutal fists. But Robert, even in the midst of anger, had a control that the others didn’t, and an underlying humanity. He didn’t recognize it in himself, but she had seen enough of the world to know the difference. Perhaps he wasn’t a man she could ever come to love, but she could respect him.

She looked at the bonnet forming off the knitting needles, closed her eyes and let herself sense the tiny life growing inside her mother. Perhaps this child could have the life that Imogen hadn’t. She opened her eyes and looked at her mother again. “Don’t write to Amsted.” 

Her mother nodded approvingly.

Imogen had some winter traveling to do.

Chapter Forty-Six

After spending the holidays in the country, Robert was back in Town again. He hadn’t quite decided what to do with himself, but felt that his life was better organized. At least traveling between a townhouse and a country house would give him something to
do
. It was entirely too quiet, not only in his house, but in his mind. He would need to find things with which to occupy himself. He had yet to decide what was important enough to command his time.

There was a knock on the front door. Shortly, Bobbins opened it and he heard the low rumble of the butler’s voice. Then, “Is he in his study?”

Imogen. Good God, what was the woman doing here now? Having her pop in and out of his life had been entertaining when it hadn’t mattered so much. Now? Now it felt suspiciously like it could be torture. Worse than anticipating the slide of a blade or swing of a fist. Physical pain he was quite used to enduring. Emotional pain was something he had only recently been reacquainted with.

But the fear made him brazen. Rather than receive her from behind his desk, he went to stand in front of it. If it was to be pain, then he wanted to face it and move on.

She appeared at his door still in her coat and bonnet. Perhaps she didn’t plan to stay long, then. He couldn’t fathom what news she thought she needed to stop here to tell him. Looking upon her, he felt a twist in his chest. How had he already forgotten the precise shade of her hair, the intensity of her aqua eyes? They were even lovelier than he recalled.

She furrowed her brow. “Robert, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. What brings you to London?”
Why are you here? Will you stay for the afternoon? Forever? I want to taste you again more than I want to remember my own name.

The smile she gave him wasn’t born of humor, but something sadder. “You.”

He realized that he had somehow lost the simple thread of their conversation. “Beg pardon?”

“I came for you. Well, to discuss a proposal with you.”

“And that would be?”

“I find myself in need of a husband that can run my mother’s shipping company.”

Robert crossed his arms. This could be taking a positive turn. “And you needed advice on this?”

“Don’t be more of a bastard than you need to be, Robert.”

That made him grin. “I’m not a bastard, I’ll have you know. I’ve the inheritance rights to prove it.”

“I’m asking if you would consider marrying me.”

“And running your mother’s shipping company.”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

She narrowed her eyes at him in frustration. “Yes as in you agree that we have established what I am asking, or yes you will do it?”

He sobered. “Yes, I will do it.”

She seemed surprised by his quick acquiescence. “That’s not all. Or at least not everything I wanted to discuss. I’ve never wanted to bear any children.”

“All right.”

“That’s your only reaction? All right?”

He shrugged. “I’m sure that Charlie and his eventual sons will make fine viscounts when I’m gone.” He could tell that she was frustrated by his answers, but wasn’t sure why.

“What if,” she pressed, “I wanted to take lovers?”

He felt a flare of ugly, violent jealousy but merely said, “Then I suppose what is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.”

She made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a harrumph. “I never meant for you to fall in love with me.”

“Who is to say that I have?”

She shook her head. “Don’t even try that, Robert.”

“I shall endeavor not to make it an issue.” He didn’t know what else to offer her. Did she want poetry? Promises? How could words make anything better? Only actions demonstrated true intention. However, if he knew what words he could tell her that would make her stop looking at him so sadly, he would say them.

* * *

Imogen wasn’t quite sure what she had expected, but certainly not how much his feelings for her had changed. Expanded. She herself had told him that he was capable of boundless love. His brother had warned her that Robert’s love was not romantic but practical and “
unbound by any restrictions of morality or self-preservation
.” But to feel that love wash over her? It was like being in the vast ocean. To know that he would do anything for her? It was to know the power of Poseidon. He would do anything including
hide his very love for her
, if she chose. Her entire life she had thought she wanted freedom from her responsibilities, the freedom to do whatever she wanted. Now she had a different and headier freedom. Someone who loved her and would support her in doing
anything
. For the love of God, why didn’t Charlie Bittlesworth own the world? He was the sibling who had seen the truth, had seen what Robert was capable of.

“What is it you want to hear, Imogen?”

She realized she had been silent for some time. She tilted her head to the side as she regarded him, one finger on her lips. “Perhaps I want to hear you tell me that you love me.”

“I love you, Imogen.” It was a surrender, really, to offer up that truth. She felt it reverberate through him.

“Perhaps I want to hear it again.”

She felt his wave of irritation and he leaned his hands back on the desk. “I love you, Imogen.”

“Perhaps-”

He pulled her into a rough kiss. “Don’t push your luck, woman,” he whispered against her lips. She laughed.

“Most people don’t laugh when I threaten them.”

“
Was
it a threat?”

“It could have been inferred as one,” he grumbled. He wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her temple. She found she was quite content. After a time he finally asked, “What changed your mind?”

“My mother is pregnant. I don’t want my little sister or brother to grow up as I did.”

Robert stepped back, his hands on her arms. “Your mother is pregnant?”

“Yes. It was unexpected to me, but apparently they planned it.”

“Hm. I supposed she’s young enough.” Count on Robert Bittlesworth to know her mother’s age. Her drew her close and she could feel him thinking again. “When is she due?”

“Early summer.”

“So she’s a ways along.”

“Almost three months.”

He chuckled, “I must warn you, siblings can be bothersome.”

“You seem to like yours.”

“Like may be a strong term for it.”

She smiled to herself, entertained that he still resisted admitting how much they meant to him. She enjoyed being in his arms and didn’t wish to think about anything else.

* * *

They stood there embracing in his study as though they had all the time in the world. Then Robert heard his front door open again. Quite the busy day.

“Robert?” Charlie. “Hullo, Bobbins. Is my brother about?”

“In the study, Charlie,” Robert called out. More quietly to Imogen he said, “Your first lesson is how horrible a sibling’s timing can be. And as they are usually well-intentioned, you can’t even punish them for it.”

Charlie was already talking as he walked up the hallway. “I’ve confirmed that Vickers is bringing that stallion to Tattersall’s. I really think that you should bid o-” Charlie’s voice cut off comically when he rounded the doorway. ”Miss Grant!”

Robert allowed Imogen to disentangle herself so that Charlie could bow over her hand.

“You’ve impeccable timing,” Robert said. “We can just now announce our engagement.”

“You’re to be my sister? Truly?”

Robert should have anticipated Charlie’s enthusiasm. His brother picked up Imogen and twirled her around, surprising a laugh from her.

“Set down my wife, please.”

“She’s not your wife yet.”

“Then she’s not your sister yet, either. Set her down.”

Charlie let Imogen find her feet, but kept an arm companionably over her shoulder. “Sabre is going to be so jealous that I knew first.”

“Oh!” Imogen said. “Should we go tell Sabre?”

“Only if you have your wedding plans firmly in mind,” Robert warned her.

Charlie nodded. “True. She bullied George into a second wedding simply because we hadn’t been at the first one.”

“I, well,” Imogen looked at Robert, “we hadn’t talked in terms of plans.”

“You have carte blanche.”

Charlie turned to Imogen with a grin. “Robert letting someone else plan something? You must have mystical powers.”

Chapter Forty-Seven