Page 112 of The Moonstone Pirate
“Ye really think the Crown knows about Eldridge?” Jake asked in a whisper that carried up to Imogen’s room. He sounded quite concerned.
“How could they?” the third man said. “All contact was made through Healey and Burke, who in turn dealt through those two solicitors, Gray and Sewell.”
“How do the two of ye know so much about the captain’s business?” Lemuel asked. “See, that’s why the Crown agents are on to us. Everyone talks too much, carelessly droppin’ names like that.”
“Captain didn’t tell us nothing,” Jake replied. “You’re the one who talks too much, especially when in your cups. Captain ought to know better than to confide in you.”
Lemuel slammed his fist on the table, making a loudthwuckas his beefy hand struck the weathered wood. “I make it my business to have him confide in me,” he said. “If I’m to be caught and hanged, then I can buy my way free with a few bargaining chips. Just keep yer traps shut and I’ll get the two of ye freed aswell. Mark my words, they are onto us, and Draco is the Crown agent who will betray us.”
“Captain put us out here to stop Draco if he tries to escape out the back,” Jake said. “Should we just hold him? Or kill him?”
Lemuel laughed. “Draco’s not going to run. He’s fearless. But I know what will put the fear into him… Something better than our being caught and hoping giving up names will free us. What I have in mind is something that will stop him from ever turning us over to the Crown in the first place.”
“What?” the third man asked.
“Lady Imogen Stockwell,” Lemuel said with a wicked sneer.
Imogen put a hand over her mouth to muffle her cry.
“Word is, he’s sweet on her,” Lemuel continued, his voice as sinister as he looked. “The captain’s a fool if he does not take her hostage. If he won’t do it, then I will. Anyone tries to come after me, I’ll kill her.”
“Ye’d do all this on yer own?” Jake asked. “How? Ye don’t even know what she looks like?”
Lemuel shrugged. “She’s somewhere here in town. Word is, she’s looking for Draco. All we have to do is wait for her to show up here.”
Dear heaven.
No wonder Draco was obsessively determined to keep her hidden away. Was there no honor among pirates? These men were ready to betray their own captain to save their hides.
Lemuel stared at his two companions. “Draco will never allow them to spring their trap on us if we are holding Lady Imogen hostage. Well, are ye with me or not?”
Jake shook his head. “No, I don’t like it.”
Lemuel growled. “And you, Jonah?”
Jonah was the youngest of them and looked quite scared at the moment. “Lemuel, if we steal a woman and harm her, theywon’t just hang us quickly. We’ll be drawn and quartered. No, I’m out.”
“Useless pair.” Lemuel knocked over his bench as he rose. “Then I’ll just have to find her myself, won’t I?”
Chapter Seventeen
Draco sat ina darkened corner of the Three Lions that was still empty at this hour but would soon begin to fill up. The hint of smoke from the well-used hearth and lingering aroma of sloshed ale had seeped into the sturdy wooden tables and floor that not even the scented sprigs of juniper scattered around the room could erase. He stared at Sean McTavish seated directly across from him, eager to get through their business and return to Imogen, who—Lord help him—was behaving herself for the moment and keeping to the upstairs guest chamber, but he did not know how long that would last. “Keep your hands on the table, McTavish.”
The Irishman smiled. “Don’t you trust me?”
Draco arched an eyebrow. “Yes, just as much as you trust me. You’ve posted three men out back on the chance I try to slip away.”
McTavish shrugged. “Just a precaution. I know you are not going to run. What’s this I hear about someone stealing Lord Eldridge’s horse?”
Draco muffled his surprise. “Why do you care about a stolen horse?”
“No reason,” McTavish said, one eye twitching in response. Just once. A quick twitch and hardly a noteworthy reaction, but Draco knew McTavish, and that slight gesture was telling.
For pity’s sake!
Was Imogen right? How could she possibly have figured out the identity of the rebel leader on a mere sketch she had drawn months ago? She was a slip of a girl, not even out in Society yet. She had never even met Eldridge. The entire pantheon of England’s elite rode along Rotten Row, but she had chosen these very men to draw.
It did not matter that the sketch was only one among fifty she had done over the course of the month, but it was there and undeniable. The men must have been passing furtive looks among themselves and immediately caught her attention because of it. Gad, if the Home Office ever caught on to her talents, they would use her artistic intuition as their secret weapon.
