The Love of a Rogue by Christi Caldwell

Author:Christi Caldwell [Caldwell, Christi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Historical, Regency, Historical Romance
Amazon: B00UVMXUUE
Publisher: Christi Caldwell
Published: 2015-03-17T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

Imogen stared after Alexander’s swiftly retreating frame. Her heart in her throat threatened to choke her with the force of her emotion. She touched her hand to her cheek, remembering his words of Shakespeare and now this exposed, raw figure who shared the pain of his past in a bid to explain the bitterness of his present.

Unbidden, her gaze fell upon the forgotten leather volume he’d tossed aside and, drawn to the small book, she picked it up, running her gaze over the title—Romeo and Juliet.

I was not making eyes at anyone last night, Imogen. Not anyone that wasn’t you.

Imogen sank onto the edge of the seat he’d occupied moments ago? Hours? A lifetime? She stared blankly down at the book in her lap. With one exchange, but a handful of words, Alexander had thrown into question everything she knew or everything she’d thought she’d known of him. The world of black and white had been easier to understand than this now, murky shade of in-between that she didn’t know how to make sense of. She’d accused him of hypocrisy, and yet in truth there was no greater hypocrite than herself, for she’d neatly shelved Alexander in a category of unrepentant rogue. She’d never really allowed herself to consider who he’d been before he’d been that man.

Now, she knew. And the knowing was so painful. She tightened her hold upon the leather tome in her fingers. He’d shared but one memory of his father and the vile blackness he found in this home, and that memory had opened her eyes to the scarred, broken child he’d been. Tears filled her eyes and she blinked them back. She’d not pity him. She didn’t pity him, and yet, several slivers of her heart broke apart and crumpled at thinking of the dark-haired boy he’d been, fearing this room, this home, this—

“Oh, dear, never tell me you’re thinking of him again.”

Imogen hopped to her feet, the book tumbling from her fingers and falling to the ground with a noisy thump. “Him?” she repeated blankly, as her friend sailed into the room.

Chloe rolled her eyes. “You’re a dreadful liar,” she said, stopping in front of Imogen. “You’ve not ceased to think of him.”

She hadn’t. God forgive her, she hadn’t. Not since, she’d tilted her head back to find Alex staring down at her with the damning piles of scandal sheets littered about her feet. “How did you know?” she whispered. Had she been that transparent to her friend? A panicky sensation built steadily in her chest. Had others at the theatre seen her staring up at him longingly?

“You’re my friend, silly.” Chloe took Imogen’s hands in hers and gave a slight squeeze. “I know you loved him.”

Loved him? “What?” the question tumbled too quickly from her lips.

Her friend giggled. “Whatever is wrong with you, Imogen? You’re all dazed and befuddled.”

And at last it made sense. Chloe believed she pined for the duke. “Nothing. I… Nothing is the matter,” she said at last. Chloe settled onto the sofa and Imogen allowed her friend to pull her down beside her.

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