He felt his mother watching him as he moved to the fireplace and stared into the dancing flames. “Are you drunk?” she asked, her tone incredulous.
He pivoted back to her and shrugged, wincing when he tweaked his injury. “I am,” he admitted.
Her face pinched, and she crossed to him and touched his arm, feeling the bandage beneath gently. “I don’t think I’ve seen you drunk in ten years. Is it to numb the pain?”
He almost laughed. Numb the pain? Oh yes, it was for that. But not the physical pain. “It will heal,” he said.
“Will it now?” she asked, and he realized she wasn’t talking about his arm either.
He pulled away. “I’m fine.”
She was quiet for a moment before she said, “And what about Imogen?”
“She wasn’t hurt—” He cut himself off, because that wasn’t true. “She wasn’t shot this afternoon,” he said. “She’s resting in her chamber.”
He could almost hear her voice right now. Saying he was a coward. The word rang in his ears, and he shook his head. He turned back to his mother and stared at her. She looked worried, of course. But she also looked…peaceful somehow. Calm.
“Has Will taken on the role as your protector again?” he asked.
She snorted out a surprised laugh. “That is a change of subject.”
“If you get to grill me on my life, I suppose I feel I am owed the chance to do the same,” he said. “And perhaps the drink has loosened my tongue a little. Is he?”
“Who told you that?” she asked.
He ran a hand through his hair. “Imogen said something about the connection she saw. And then it was all I could see when you two were together.”
“He’s not my protector,” Joanna said softly.
He bent his head, a little bit of disappointment rushing through him. The time when Will had been Joanna’s protector was one of the happiest of Oscar’s life. He trusted the man, as he had never trusted anyone else she’d let into her bed.
“He—” The way her voice wavered when she cut herself off made Oscar glance back up at her. She worried her lip a little. “He’s the love of my life, Oscar.”
He swallowed. His mother so rarely called him by his given name. That made her declaration feel all the more…serious. “I see,” he said, and sank down into the closest chair because his wobbly legs felt even less certain.
She took the chair opposite him and grasped one of his hands between her own. “Do you know why we ended it all those years ago?”
He shook his head.
“Because I was afraid of my feelings,” she admitted, and in that moment all the walls Joanna expertly erected were gone. She was entirely vulnerable and more beautiful than ever. “When I started to see myself fall, I thought of…I thought of your father.”
He flinched. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” She squeezed his hand gently. “I’m not sorry about my experiences, including that one. But the younger me was still afraid. I didn’t trust myself, so I couldn’t trust Will, even when I knew he was decent, caring. Even when he told me he loved me.”
His mouth dropped open. “He told you that?”
“The last night we were together,” she said, and shook her head. “And I refused him…quite flippantly, even though in my heart I felt anything but. It broke us apart. And yet somehow that lovely man still wanted to call me a friend.” She laughed. “And so we were. But in the last year that’s changed. Shifted. Bloomed back into something more like it once was. When he told me he loved me this time, I knew what it was like to have that and lose it. I knew the cost. So I took the chance. He wants to marry me, Oscar.”
The joy that declaration brought made Oscar smile. It felt so rusty to make the expression, though far less so after weeks with Imogen bringing light to his once-dark existence. “I’m glad, Mama. I’m happy for you and for Will. If you need my blessing, you have it.”
“I’ll take it.” She gave a long sigh. “But I look at you, my love, and I see…me.”
“It’s not the same,” he insisted, though he felt the lie as clearly as she could see it.
“Yes, it is,” she said, her tone brooking no refusal. “I’m afraid you are on your way to losing love twice.”
He blinked. “Twice,” he repeated. “Are you…are you talking about Louisa?” She nodded, and he got up on those shaky legs, pulling his hand from hers. “I was not in love with Louisa.”
“Weren’t you?” she asked. “Or was it that your feelings terrified you? Did you not trust yourself because of your father? Because of other men who traipsed through your life thanks to my profession?”
“Mama—”
She ignored the interruption. “Did you push her away because you feared losing yourself? Losing the control you have always wielded as a shield? And now you’re doing it all over again with Imogen. It will be worse this time.”
“Why?” he asked, drawn in by all those questions that he secretly knew the answer to. That he despised her for asking, and yet…
“Because I’ve seen you two together. I see how you are with Imogen. I see what she makes you.”
“What does she make me?” His voice trembled.
“Whole,” she said softly.
He dropped his chin and squeezed his eyes shut, but blocking his mother from his line of vision didn’t block how true that one word felt as it tore through him as surely as the bullet had earlier in the day.
“Perhaps,” he admitted without even meaning to say that word out loud.
“That you can say perhaps gives me hope,” she said. She got up and moved to him to place a kiss on his cheek. “I adore you, you know.”
“I know you do, just as I adore you,” he grumbled.
“Then listen to me.” She smiled at him. “Put away the bottle tonight and don’t hide from what
