Page 52 of The Moonstone Pirate
More than aweek had passed since the murder of Lord Driscoll that now felt like an ugly dream to Imogen. The flurry of activity in the days since his death had dribbled to nothing, and everyone’s daily routine seemed to return to normal. Deandra and her father had returned to Woodley Lodge, and Imogen missed having Deandra’s chatter at night. However, they had become fast friends and continued to see each other every day.
Having the company of a friend helped Imogen tremendously, because she missed her sister so much. Ella was enjoying married life and a new son. Imogen was not even on the Marriage Mart or ready to have a baby, but holding that precious little boy had felt wonderful. Sadly, this new responsibility kept Ella too busy to write to Imogen more than once a week, although Imogen wrote to her almost every day.
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” she muttered as she sat in the Woodley Lodge garden with her easel set up, painting the lovely flowers in afternoon sunlight.
She had also brought along her sketchbook and pencils, prepared to give Deandra lessons in drawing. Well, that was the excuse Deandra gave Draco for inviting her over each day. In truth, his cousin was still hoping to make a love match between them, a task Imogen knew was futile, since Draco avoided her as much as possible.
Besides, they had made that silly marriage pact neither of them had forgotten.
If he kissed her again, he would have to marry her.
No mere kiss on the hand or polite kiss on the cheek, but a steamy, passionate, devouring kiss like the one he had given her the first time.
She ached for a second kiss such as that one, but had resigned herself to the fact it would never happen. She and Draco were not a match, and no amount of wishing on her part would make it so. However, she was happy to be in Deandra’s company, even though the girl’s supposed interest in art was an obvious ruse.
“Imogen,” Draco said, surprising her by coming up beside her as she sat alone in the garden painting. He had a pouch slung over his shoulder. It looked heavy, but he was quite strong and carried it as though it weighed nothing. “You do know the investigation is still quite active. You shouldn’t be out here on your own.”
She shot to her feet and tipped her chin into the air, already feeling defensive. Why had he not come upon her a few minutes sooner, when the garden was full of activity? His gardeners had been toiling amid the flowerbeds for hours. Also, Deandra had been with her throughout the day, save for these few minutes. Not to mention Wescott and the footmen under his command had taken turns popping their heads out to see if she and Deandra required anything.
She frowned at this big, gorgeous man who made her heart flutter.
He frowned back.
And still, her insides tingled.
What was wrong with her?
“Deandra was with me all the while. She ran inside for a moment to remind Mrs. Angel to set out our afternoon tea on the terrace.”
Draco did not appear mollified in the least. “That is no excuse.”
“I am not making excuses.” Oh, how she hated Draco sometimes. Well, not reallyhatedhim. He was too handsome for words. She liked him, even though she tried very hard to resist his appeal. “Nor am I going anywhere near your pirate caves, so why are you scowling at me? What’s in your pouch?”
“None of your business.”
She sighed. “Ever the polite gentleman.”
His expression darkened. “If you must be here, make certain you always stay close to the house.”
She glanced around and held out a hand, motioning about the garden in which they stood. “Isn’t this close enough? Why won’t you tell us what you are doing in those caves and why we are not allowed to join you?”
She knew something was going on because Draco was behaving more mysteriously than ever. He had sent more letters off to his Bow Street runner and, more importantly, to the Home Office, something she learned by prying information out of Thaddius Angel, because Draco was telling her nothing.
All seemed quiet, but he was obviously tense as he spent much of this past week exploring caves in the Moonstone Landing area. Mostly he concentrated on the pirate caves on his own property, heading down there almost every morning with Parrot at his heels. Occasionally, he carted down supplies. The pouch presently slung over his broad shoulder was full, but she could not tell what it contained. However, she knew he had already brought down lanterns, a shovel, an axe, lengths of rope, and some old and quite rickety tables, and then spenthours every day doing heaven knows what inside those dank, cavernous hollows.
“Stop asking questions, Imogen. You know I am not going to tell you.” He stepped around her to see what she was painting, and his expression softened. “You put your heart into your work, don’t you?”
She nodded. “Of course.”
Smiling, he gave her chin a light tweak. “Keep out of mischief.”
As soon as Deandra returned, he whistled for Parrot to follow, and then strode off once again toward the cliff steps.
“I’m going to follow him,” Imogen muttered, setting down her paintbrush and preparing to remove her apron.
Deandra emitted a soft cry. “Oh, no! You mustn’t. It will anger Draco.”
Imogen did not care. “He is already angry with me. You needn’t come with me if you’re scared.”
