Page 32 of The Moonstone Pirate
“That’s not what he said,” Phoebe insisted and quickly repeated their conversation.
Imogen sighed. “Aunt Phoebe explained what he meant. It does not make me feel any better. Well, no matter. I am not going to pine over someone I have known for a day. Goodnight.”
Her uncle bussed her cheek. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”
Imogen walked into her bedchamber feeling better. Deandra had already undressed and donned her nightgown. She sat atop her covers, obviously fretting. “I’m so sorry if I embarrassed you.” She then hopped off the bed to assist Imogen out of her gown and into her nightclothes. “I did not mean to hurt your feelings.”
Imogen gave her a hug. “I know. But you really must not meddle in your cousin’s love affairs. He does not like it, nor does he need anyone’s help in meeting eligible young ladies.”
“But those others flutter around him like bees to a honeycomb, which is why I felt compelled to push you to the forefront. I do not want you to get lost in the crush. Wouldn’t it be awful if he let you slip away?”
“Deandra, you cannot decide these things for him. He is a grown man who knows what he wants and when he wants it. He isn’t interested in marrying anytime soon. You have to respect his wishes and not meddle.”
“All right, but it still does not seem fair when you are clearly what he needs.” Deandra looked completely deflated.
Imogen could not resist giving her a hug. “I am honored you feel this way about me. You and I shall become good friends, but you cannot impose your choices on your cousin.”
“All right.” Deandra flopped onto her bed and snuggled under her covers. “Goodnight, Imogen.”
“Sweet dreams, Deandra.” Imogen took a moment to check on Parrot, who was already soundly sleeping at the foot of her bed and emitting little dog snores. Stifling a grin, she picked up her sketchbook, climbed into bed, and began to draw the first wizard by the light provided by her candle. She hoped to get at least two of the sketches done tonight and work on the others in the morning. The party had only been last night, but already details were starting to fade, and she did not want to overlook anything.
Draco had mentioned identifying marks. The first wizard she decided to draw had worn a distinctive ring on his finger. What was its design? While most guests wore gloves for an evening out, a masquerade ball was somehow different, and many chose not to wear gloves at all. Perhaps it was the opportunity to hide behind an intricate mask and be risqué, touch another’s hand or feel the softness of another’s skin.
She returned her attention to that wizard’s ring.
What was familiar about the design? And why could she not remember where she had seen it before?
Chapter Six
Draco spent arestless night not only thinking of Driscoll and his brother, but also lost in thoughts of Imogen. He awoke the following morning in a state of arousal, his body in a sweat and aching. He was eager to see Imogen again, and it had nothing to do with a desire to inspect her drawings.
This desperate ache should not be happening, since she was not the usual sort of lady who caught his attention. Not to mention, he was also in the middle of breaking up an active rebel plot and did not have time for courtship.
“Bollocks,” he muttered, knowing he was lying to himself about Imogen not being special to him. He had never met a prettier girl, or one more perfect for him.
The women with whom he consorted, many of them consideredtondiamonds in their day, were nothing to Imogen. He merely chose to entertain himself with these sophisticated beauties because they were not going to demand his heart in exchange for a night in bed.
Some of these ladies were married. Some were widowed and some betrothed.
None of them were innocent.
Most important, they all understood that a romp in bed would not lead to anything permanent. These late-night encounters were nothing more than meaningless tumbles in the sack, done and out.
No complications.
Imogen, on the other hand, was a huge knot of complications. She was the sort of girl who demanded his heart in exchange for something as small as a kiss.
“Bah,” he muttered, still irritated with himself as he failed to shake off thoughts of Imogen. “You’re a grown man, Draco. Just don’t kiss her again.”
He had already promised not to kiss her again unless he meant to marry her. That promise ought to have dissuaded him from pursuing her.
Unfortunately, it did not.
For the first time in his life, he thought marriage might suit him.
He ignored the wayward notion as he left Woodley Lodge in the late morning and rode to Westgate Hall. He’d spent most of his waking hours attending to estate matters and was now ready to continue his investigation of the murder on his property. As he neared the elegant Burness manor house, he reminded himself to keep to his purpose.
However, all common sense fled the moment he spotted Imogen waiting for him in the courtyard, Parrot dutifully by her side.
