Page 77 of The Moonstone Pirate
Draco drew his rig up in front of the Kestrel Inn stable, where it and his horse would remain cared for until he and his charges were ready to return to the Burness residence.
Deandra skipped across the high street, cheerful as a kitten. “It is my turn to water the hospital’s vegetable garden,” she said with pride in her voice. “Members of the Ladies Auxiliary take turns tending it, and my turn is today.”
“You are an endless font of good works,” Draco teased, but he was pleased Deandra’s morning volunteer work was turning out so well. She enjoyed it and felt as though she was doing something constructive with her days, which she was. The wounded soldiers she read to and helped to write letters appreciated her and Imogen. Who wouldn’t feel cheered with their sunshine smiles and gentle attention?
He turned to Imogen, who was walking beside him and smiling at his cousin’s chirpy enthusiasm. “You are a good influence on her, Butterfly.”
“She has helped me, too. I was not sure how this summer would turn out not having Ella by my side. But it has been so much better than expected, notwithstanding a murder and…” She leaned toward him and whispered, “Be very careful tomorrow. You seem to have faith in this Irishman, but this is a bad business, and no one can be trusted.”
“I am always careful and know what I am doing,” he whispered back, trying not to sound as though he was condescending to her. But he had been in much rougher situations and knew how to handle himself. “You have to keep out of it, Imogen.”
“Have I not been doing exactly that?” She gave an indignant huff and said nothing more as they walked past the army fort that had guarded the harbor in ancient times, as well as now. “I’m glad you’ve told Fionn about your assignment.”
Since their last discussion, he had brought Major Brennan in on his plans. For the moment, he only required the major to be watchful, since there was nothing to be done until after his upcoming meeting.
McTavish would fill him in on all the shipment details, the precise date the shipment would arrive, when the rebel agents would pick it up, and who was to load the guns onto the rebel wagons. It was yet to be determined whether his men or a rebel crew would handle the chore. If it was to be his men, then Brennan and his soldiers were going to take on the task in disguise. Several looked like gruff sailors who could pass as loyal crewmen from his own vessel, theAthena.
Imogen shook him out of his thoughts by handing him her sketchbook. “Care to have a look?”
He arched an eyebrow as he leafed through it. “These are only blank pages. You haven’t drawn anything.”
She nodded. “Just wanted to assure you. I will do nothing more than draw portraits of the wounded soldiers in order to give each of them something to bring home to their families. It is a small thing, but they appreciate it.”
“It isn’t small. It is a lovely gesture,” he said.
“We are going shopping after our volunteer work,” Deandra announced as they turned up the small hill toward the hospital.
Draco laughed. “You’ve gone shopping every day.”
“Don’t I deserve it for all my good deeds?” his cousin called out as she once again skipped on ahead.
Imogen remained beside him, and he felt so dearly this was where she belonged. “I very much appreciate the kindness you’ve shown Deandra. This schedule of activities, the hospital work, the walks through the village, and afternoons at Mrs. Halsey’s tea shop have been exceptionally rewarding for her. I have never seen her this happy, and it is all your doing.”
“She has made this summer happy for me, too. Well, if one ignores the murder…but you know what I mean.”
“I do.” He nodded. “I’m sorry I have been so hard on you.”
She teasingly put a hand to her ear. “Is this an apology from you? Do I dare trust what I am hearing?”
He smiled at her. “Yes, an apology.”
“Oh, Draco. Please, it isn’t necessary. You were only thinking of our safety. I may have grumbled, but I understood your reasons.”
“Thank you, Imogen.” Amid all his plans to thwart these rebels, and his responsibilities toward his family and the Woodley properties, he’d had little time to deliberate about her. In truth, he needed no time to consider his feelings for her.
She invaded his dreams. His waking thoughts.
He was in love with her.
What awful timing.
Until meeting her, marriage had not been a consideration. He was only six and twenty, considered in his prime, and had been enjoying his freedom. Seriously courting anyone had not been a consideration. No one had ever touched his heart until Imogen came along and disrupted his life.
Love did not work neatly, did it? It upset all his well-conceived plans.
He wanted Imogen, yearned for her and hungered for her. She was a craving, a burning need. A sweet reward.
Could any man appreciate her as he did?
