Page 9 of The Moonstone Pirate
Big eyes of dazzling aquamarine. A heart-shaped face with perfect bow lips that begged to be kissed. A delicate neck and graceful chin that had a dimple in the middle of it.
Her mass of dark curls shone copper beneath the golden candlelight. He really needed to unpin her hair and plunge his fingers into those lush tresses.
“Your turn, my lord.”
He nodded and removed his mask. “Well, Imogen? What do you think?”
She pursed her lips. “Um…you are much as I expected you to be. Perhaps a little handsomer than I realized.”
He cast her a gentle smile. “That is promising.”
“Oh, do not make too much of it. You know you are handsome, and an earl, no less. That is quite a heady combination for any unmarried young lady, as you have pointed out to me.”
“And you? Do I put you in a swoon?”
“You might, in time. I am not certain I like you yet.”
“Fair enough.” She was still smarting from his snub in asking for the first waltz and then not showing up to claim it. Besides, he liked that she was not tossing herself at him as the other young ladies had been doing all evening.
He liked the idea of earning her affection.
Unfortunately, he would have quite a bit of groveling to do before she would warm to him. Had he been less preoccupied with Driscoll’s group, he would have realized that his good intentions were cruel to this sweet girl.
He had requested the first waltz and then failed to claim it. Was it any different from making a promise and then breaking it? He had abandoned her.
It must have stung. And still hurt her, because she was such a gentle thing.
They said no more as his uncle and Deandra approached them. His uncle was dressed as a harlequin, and his young cousin was dressed as a sunflower, her body in a bright green gown with long sleeves and a big yellow flower made of paper perched atop her head. She had a cheerful smile and was obviously delighted to be permitted to attend the party, even though she was no more than sixteen years of age.
Draco introduced them to Imogen. They were all engaged in pleasant conversation when Parrot suddenly growled and took off like a shot outdoors.
“What in blazes?” He excused himself, leaving Imogen to his family while he went in search of Parrot. That growl meant trouble, and Draco knew just who the troublemakers were. But he saw no one as he crossed the garden and headed toward the meadow and its nearby cliff walk. Well, night had fallen, and most of his grounds were blanketed in darkness.
A crisp wind blew off the water and swirled around him. The wind captured Parrot’s barks and carried them off in all directions. “Blast,” he muttered, staring into a black expanse. “Where are you, dog?”
He heard the sound of waves softly breaking upon the distant rocks and then heard another bark, so he started toward the caves. A silver half-moon and shimmering stars reflected offthe sea, but the ground beneath his feet was dark and too treacherous for him to make his way down to the caves.
His footmen had set torches ablaze at measured intervals along the garden walks. He grabbed one now, hoping the wind would not snuff it out as he made his way across the meadow.
He paused another moment to listen for Parrot.
The angelic strains of a harp floated toward him from the manor house. The music mingled with the laughter and chatter of guests now in queue for their late-night supper.
Draco withdrew his knife from the lip of his boot as he continued toward the caves. Parrot’s bark must have come from there. “Parrot! Where are you?”
Orange flames flickered wildly above his head as he walked on, the torch held out in front of him, his senses attuned to the slightest sounds, the slightest movement of shadows.
He was quite alone out here.
Not even a sign of Driscoll and his dissolute friends. Where were they? He knew they had not come inside for the unmasking or responded when the bell rang to announce supper. He did not like that all of them were now missing.
How different this place looked at night. Still beautiful, but treacherous. These rugged grounds seemed to swallow up all the light.
He suddenly heard shouts, but they were coming from the opposite direction and closer to the house. “Blast,” he muttered, turning back and finally spotting Driscoll’s friends, little more than shadows in the distance, hurrying toward their carriages now being driven to the front courtyard.
But where was Driscoll? He should have been easy to spot because of the white plume atop his hat that was a part of his costume.
For that matter, where was Parrot?
