Page 34 of The Duke
It seemed as though the moment he left the room, the din of her guests filled the space he’d emptied. She needed to return to them.
She needed to think.
About Cole.
She’d not seen much of him since she’d left St. Margaret’s, though Jeremy had alerted her that he’d come by the Bare Kitten looking for her before he’d left for America.
Now he had returned. And still hadn’t forgotten her. She didn’t know whether to be terrified or pleased.
In her secret self, she could admit to a bit of both.
The kindest reason for him to come looking would be that he remembered their time together with fondness. Perhaps he wanted to again pay to share her bed. Even offer to make her his mistress. Imogen had to admit that, had her circumstances remained what they were, she would have seriously considered such an offer. She’d enjoyed his illicit attentions, and even the parts that caused her pain were still worth the stability and opportunity such a position would have afforded her.
But she didn’t need to reflect on options like that now. Edward had generously taken care of all such concerns, not only bribing del Toro with a small fortune, and buying the establishment for Jeremy, but going so far as to set up a six-month investment stipend for the boy.Man,Imogen firmly reminded herself. Baby-faced as he was, Jeremy had to be at least twenty-and-one now, only a handful of years younger than herself.
Which brought her to the most terrifying reason the Duke of Trenwyth might be looking for her…
What if he suspected who she really was and, instead of wanting her as his mistress, he planned to reveal her scandalous and dangerous past to those who would revel in her downfall?
Perhaps a year ago, that wouldn’t have mattered, but now… now that she’d begun to build something, to champion a cause, it was more and more imperative that her past remain where it was.
Hidden.
The last time she’d seen Trenwyth had been at Edward’s funeral in Belgravia Chapel. She’d been both heartsick and relieved as his last weeks had been miserable, and it hurt her unspeakably to watch him suffer.
Cole had glared at her the entire time. Pale and wan from his own recovery, he’d regarded her with such contempt that it had filled her with angst. At the funeral, she’d been frightened of his recognition, remaining swathed in black and heavily veiled. Lord Anstruther’s peers, his military subordinates, and his friends offered her little in the way of comfort, and he’d been no different. The rebuffs had been expected, but she hadn’t thought they would sting as much as they had.
Most especially his.
Though, she supposed, it was better that she avoid him. Should he truly recognize her, the life she’d built for her mother and sister would be in peril.
Now that he’d returned from his travels, she’d need to take care.
Her appearance was most certainly altered from what it had been. Her hair, of course, was a different length and color than he’d remember, but beyond even that, she’d been well cared for since her wedding. Instead of her bones protruding through her thin, dull flesh, she’d become pink-cheeked and—admittedly—well fed. The women in her family were not intrinsically delicate, but the Pritchard women had become so for lack of sustenance. Indeed, Imogen had grown hips and breasts at twenty-and-four. Her hair became glossy, and her gaunt gray eyes now sparkled over features turned golden and freckled with too much time spent in the garden. She’d even dare to call her hazel eyes green now, if the light permitted.
In fact, she doubted very much that should Ezio del Toro, himself, cross her path he’d recognize her.
Even so… she’d be wise to give her neighbor a wide berth, she decided as she adjusted her gloves and swept into the hall. Collin Talmage was a dangerous man. Being a prisoner of war had altered him. Not just physically, but in ways she couldn’t even begin to conceive of. Perhaps in every possible way.
The thought of his loneliness caused her a pang of guilt and sorrow. Curiosity as to his motives for seeking Ginny out after all this time itched at her.
And yet, it was imperative that she keep her distance to avoid the dangerous duke at all costs, she reproached her soft and traitorous heart. Affixing a smile to her lips, she attempted to glide into the ballroom as she’d seen Millie and Mena do, their grace and confidence flowing from them in tangible waves. Though her desperate circumstances had changed, she still had Isobel to consider. Who, even now, attended Lady Caroline Witherspoon’s debutante ball in hopes of meeting a husband.
In the gathering crowd, Imogen found a familiar face. “Dr. Longhurst,” she exclaimed “I’m beyond pleased that you accepted my invitation!”
He made an awkward gesture, narrowly avoiding an upset of his drink as he turned to her. Though his features lit with similar pleasure, which warmed and diverted her. “Nurse—I mean, Lady Anstruther. I almost didn’t attend. I’m appalling at these kinds of events. Never much of a dancer.” He pulled at his collar, which was slightly askew. “Can’t ignore a good cause. Or… the chance to see you again.”
Imogen linked her arm with his and gestured to the room at large. “To see you here has made my entire evening.”
He flushed a bit, and took a bracing drink. “You’re being kind,” he muttered uncomfortably.
“How are things at the hospital?” she queried, realizing his discomfort with familiarity.
“Same old.” He slid her a speaking glance.
“Dr. Fowler?” she guessed.
“He’s retiring at the end of the year, or so the rumor goes.”
