Chapter Eleven

Imogen licked her lips and stared up at Draco.

Dear heaven, this man is gorgeous.

He had asked her questions, she had responded with more questions and smug retorts, but for the life of her, she could not remember what he had said or what she had said. How could she think while her back was pressed against his bedchamber wall and he was leaning half naked over her?

She could feel the heat radiating off his magnificent body.

She knew he had muscles, but to actually see them in all their Greek god splendor, taut and rippling, was making her heartbeats spike. “I cannot breathe when you are this close,” she whispered.

Every time she did breathe, she caught the delicious scent of bay spices on his skin, a scent that was quite familiar to her now. She wanted to inhale him and kiss him and, dear heaven again, lick him.

Would he mind if she ran her tongue along the sinewed cords of his neck?

He growled low in his throat, a beastly sound Imogen thought was quite thrilling even though it was probably meant to scare her. “You should not have come in here.”

“Well, to be accurate”—she gave her dry lips another lick—“I only came to your door. You are the one who pulled me in here.”

“I suppose,” he muttered, his expression appearing to soften just the littlest bit. “If your eyes pop any wider, they are going to fall out of your head.”

“I have never been this close to a naked man before.” She was going to faint if she did not get her breathing under control. She was also going to wind up married to him if he did not let her out of here before Deandra realized where she had gone.

“I am not naked.”

“Nuances, Draco. You are showing far too much skin, and my face is right in it.”

He laughed and eased away, but still kept her trapped between his gloriously muscled arms. No wonder women threw themselves at him.

“Imogen, forget what you saw in the cove earlier. How much did Deandra see?”

“Just that ship in the distance. I only allowed her one quick look through the spyglass to appease her curiosity. I can exercise good judgment when necessary. Your cousin is too excitable to be trusted. I told her it wasn’t a pirate attack at all, just a vessel out of Moonstone Landing that might have been following a large fish, perhaps a shark or a whale. They are a valuable delicacy, I told her.”

“And she believed you?”

“Yes, because I made a jest about calling them pirates, and wasn’t it more romantic than thinking of them as merely seamen? I told her that you seemed friendly with the captain and that you probably knew each other. That calmed her down, although I was terrified inside. But I hid my fear well.”

He chuckled at that. “You? Hide your feelings?”

“Yes, I managed quite well. Not only with Deandra but with your staff. Since I remained calm, the others followed my lead. Anyway, Deandra and I made a little game of it and resolved to call them pirates from now on. This is also why she did not get hysterical. She thought it was all a fine jest.”

He grunted. “Well done, Imogen. Thank you. So Deandra is all right?”

Imogen nodded. “Yes, you mustn’t worry about her. After dealing with the ship’s captain, you returned unharmed, albeit soaking wet. There were no shots fired, and your staff remained alert but went about their business as usual. They ought to be commended, by the way. Deandra would have been running around like a chicken without her head had anyone panicked and run for the gun cabinet. But I did my best to allay all fears while also making certain we were prepared for any surprises.”

“So everyone stayed on alert but continued to go about their duties?” He ran his finger gently along the line of her jaw. “You surprise me, Butterfly.”

“Why? Because I handled the incident responsibly?” She laughed lightly. “I surprised myself as well. But it was important to keep my wits about me. All turned out well, thank goodness. I had better go before this victory turns into a scandalous defeat.” She looked up at Draco again, ignoring the flutters in her belly as he eased closer so that his lips almost met hers. “Deandra will tattle to my aunt and uncle if she finds me in here.”

“Are you going to tattle?”

“And claim you have compromised me? I’ve told you, I would never do such a low thing. I want a love match, not a marriage of convenience that would be most inconvenient for both of us. But you really ought to tell me what is going on between you and that Irishman.”

“No. Go back downstairs and put your supplies in order. You’re to take them home with you today. Do not think our kiss or your honorable actions toward my staff will change a thing. From now on, Deandra goes to Westgate Hall to visit you, and you are banished from Woodley Lodge until further notice.”

“Draco! That is cruel and completely uncalled for.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “Out, my lovely butterfly.”

He opened the door, lifted her into his arms, and set her down in the hall. “I will not be a happy husband if your antics get you compromised and I am forced to marry you.”

“Then why did you kiss me earlier in the garden?”

He returned to his bedchamber and added the insult of locking his door after shutting it in her face.

Imogen gasped when she heard the lock click into place. “What gall! And don’t you want to know what the question is?”

“No, Butterfly. Go away.”

“Insufferable man,” she muttered, frowning at his door.

She returned downstairs to his study in a snit, but quickly shook out of it when Deandra looked up. “Where did you go?”

“I thought I dropped something upstairs, but I had it all along. Oh, and I think I ought to check in the garden one last time for any art supplies that might have been overlooked. Help me put these in order so I can tell if any are missing.”

“All right,” Deandra said sweetly, assisting Imogen in placing her pencils in proper order and checking all her supplies once again to make certain the pencils were aligned by color, the brushes were aligned by size, and the paints were properly sealed and accounted for.

They had just finished their task when Draco marched in, properly garbed and achingly handsome. “Deandra, I took the liberty of having your maid pack clothes for you. You are to stay at Westgate Hall with Imogen for the rest of the week.”

“I am?” Deandra, who remained unaware of the close call with the Irishman, was gleeful. “Papa, too?”

Draco nodded. “Yes.”

Imogen gave her a hug. “We shall such have fun together.”

“I promise to do better with my art lessons,” Deandra assured her.

Imogen laughed. “Don’t worry about those. I did not offer them to torture you. If you find the lessons boring, we shall do something else. Anyway, I’m sure we will be permitted to resume the volunteer work soon. Those soldiers are in desperate need of cheering.”

“I look forward to it.” Deandra’s eyes brightened.

Within the half-hour, they had all climbed into the Woodley carriage for the ride to Westgate Hall. Deandra’s father grumbled all the way, for he had been quite happy to lose himself in the well-stocked library at Woodley Lodge and did not see a reason why he should leave. Draco listened patiently to his complaints, but would not budge. “Uncle, it is only a few days, and then you’ll be back.”

“But Burness’s chairs are too comfortable. I shall fall asleep in them as soon as I sit down to read. It will not do, Woodley. It will not do at all.”

Draco arched an eyebrow. “Just a few days, Uncle. You will survive it.”

“First a party, then a murder, and now kicked out of my library. When will it all end?” Albert frowned, awaiting an answer that Draco did not bother to give.

“And then to have that lost ship sail into our cove not an hour ago,” Deandra added.

“What ship?” her father asked.

“Papa, the one that had our entire staff scrambling and on alert because we thought it might have been pirates. But it was merely a fishing vessel chasing a fish. The captain turned out to be an acquaintance of Draco’s.”

Her father harrumphed. “Then what was all the fuss about?”

Imogen understood how Deandra’s mother might have felt frustrated by Albert. The man had his nose buried in books all the time. In fact, he was so oblivious to what was going on around him, he was not even aware of the Irishman’s visit.

She had never met anyone more absent-minded.

Still, Albert Woodley was a gentle man with a unique love of all things impractical. He was a creature of habit who felt most comfortable in his routine and did not like to be pushed out of it, even if it was to steer clear of pirates. In this, he was quite different from Draco, who seemed to thrive on daring adventures and facing the unknown.

Draco did not take his eyes off her the entire ride to Westgate Hall.

Nor did he take his eyes off her during their meal, or the drinks Uncle Cormac offered on the terrace afterward. She knew it was not because he was besotted with her. He was worried she was going to say something to her uncle and aunt about the pirate visit.

Perhaps he was also worried she was going to say something about their steamy kiss.

As the evening came to an end, Draco and her uncle disappeared into her uncle’s study. A few minutes later, Melrose stepped onto the terrace. “Lady Imogen, your uncle requests your presence.”

At last, she was to be included in their discussions. “Thank you, Melrose.”

She hurried down the hall and marched into the study, not knowing quite what to expect. However, she was ready to do battle if Draco continued to hide what was going on between him and the Irishman. He stood beside her uncle’s desk with his arms crossed over his chest and a frown on his face.

Did this gorgeous man always have to frown at her?

“I’ll have you know,” Draco said, his voice deep and commanding, “that I disagree wholeheartedly with your uncle’s decision.”

Imogen took a chair beside her uncle’s desk. “What decision, Uncle Cormac?”

Her uncle closed the door and then took a seat beside her. “The one where I insisted he tell you everything.”

Imogen gasped. “And he agreed?”

“Grudgingly,” Draco muttered.

She turned to her uncle and smiled. “Thank you for making him see reason.”

“Don’t thank me, child. I am only requiring it because no one seems able to control you, and now you may have been seen by those pirates.”

“Oh, I don’t think I was. Draco was very careful about that.”

“He told me the same,” Uncle Cormac admitted. “Still, I would ship you off to London if I thought you would be any safer there. But I fear that would be worse while Driscoll’s friends and Healey and Burke are there. Go on, Woodley. Tell her what you are doing. It is time she learned the truth.”

“All right.” Draco sighed and then ended with a groan. “I am working as a special agent on behalf of the Crown.”

“I knew it!” Imogen was bursting with joy, for he was every bit as honorable and wonderful as she had always believed. “You are so kind to your family and good to your dog. I knew you had to be a man of valor and not a bloodthirsty pirate.”

“Do not impute noble motives to me. I am only a notch above a pirate, for that’s all a privateer is. The difference is that I usually work under contract for a particular country rather than marauding for myself. Mostly, I raid enemy ships and confiscate their treasures. It is a dirty business, and those who partake are ruthless. It is a requirement of the trade. Anyone soft or merciful would not survive beyond a first voyage.”

Imogen’s heart sank. “Do you mean to say you murder people?”

He cast her a cold stare. “I kill enemy soldiers in the heat of battle.”

“How can you be sure there are no innocent women and children aboard these ships you attack?”

“I go after warships, not merchant vessels or passenger ships.”

“That is a relief.” In truth, a great relief, because she could not love him if he were a brutal killer. “What happens when you attack those warships? Do you sink them?”

“Sometimes, but not always. Some I allow to limp safely to the nearest harbor. It depends.” His expression remained stern because he was obviously not about to soften his explanation to accommodate her tender feelings. Nor would she want him to, although the thought of his allowing others to drown made her ill. Yet this was an ugly fact of war, and often what happened during maritime battles. The enemy would have gotten him if he did not get them first.

Still, it was a hard thing to reconcile. Why did men have to be so cruel to each other?

“On what does your mercy depend, Draco? And do you always act on behalf of the Crown?”

“Yes, always for the Crown. As for the ships I engage in battle… Well, a battle is a battle. Someone is going to lose, and I will not have it be me. If the opposing captain is willing to surrender, I offer him and his crew merciful terms. But not all are willing, and one cannot negotiate with such men.”

Imogen clutched her stomach. “That is awful. All those needless deaths.”

He stood there like a gargoyle, unmoved by her compassion for the sailors drowned at sea. “I do not go out of my way to take lives, Imogen. We spare those who surrender. But I won’t apologize for my actions.”

She was beginning to understand why her uncle and Draco had been so keen to keep her out of the murder investigation. Obviously, something was going on well beyond the killing of Lord Driscoll, which was upsetting enough. She had seen the Drogheda and its captain in the harbor, and now had seen Draco dealing with him by the caves. “Are you going to sink that Irishman’s ship?”

“Not unless I am left with no other choice. But first, I would have to get mine, the Athena, out of dry dock in Portsmouth. She is undergoing repairs.”

“Does the Irishman know you plan to sink his ship?”

“I do not plan to do it, Imogen. It depends entirely on his actions.”

“What if he gets to yours first?”

“Then it is likely I will drown if I am on it. So will my crew, because I do not think he is the sort to show mercy. As I said, this line of work is not for the squeamish.” He sighed. “I intend this to be my last assignment for the Crown. Afterward, I plan to attend to the business of being an earl.”

“Assuming you survive.” Imogen closed her eyes as a shudder rippled through her. “When is he due to return?”

“The Irishman? I would rather not tell you. You’ve done enough poking about as it is.”

“All right, Draco.” She would get the information out of him eventually, or simply go to the harbor master and ask him. Surely the captain’s name and other helpful information would be listed along with the vessel recorded in the harbor master’s registry. “What has this Irishman to do with Driscoll’s murder?”

“Your drawings connected him to several lords who were at my party. The reason it is significant is that the Irishman happens to be smuggling guns into England in furtherance of a rebel plot to harm the royal family.”

“And you have been working on behalf of the Crown to break up that plot?” Her mouth dropped open. “Draco!”

“It is still possible that Driscoll was murdered by a jealous husband, or those toady friends of his who were ogling you at my party. But I would bet my estate that Driscoll was killed by the wizard with that distinctive ring you recognized, Lord Healey. Or it may have been his partner, Lord Burke. Those two happen to be acting as agents for the rebels who are buying guns from the Irishman.”

Imogen clutched her stomach. “This is getting quite complicated, isn’t it?”

“Yes, and my assignment is to get into their distribution system, find out as much as I can about their plot, and disrupt it. I have very little time to do this. Those rebels are getting anxious and want to put their scheme in place soon.”

“Because the authorities are closing in on them? Do you think they were scared by Driscoll’s murder? How was Driscoll involved?”

“We don’t know yet. All we know—and some of this I learned only this afternoon when talking to the Irishman—is that Driscoll reached out to him in order to start an opium-smuggling operation. But the Irishman assures me he would never go into business with Driscoll. I believe him. His trade is smuggling guns.”

Imogen was listening attentively and trying to connect all the bits of information. “The Irishman was in contact with Healey and Burke. We know Healey handed your footman that note just before Driscoll was killed. Is it possible Healey and Burke got themselves involved in smuggling drugs on Driscoll’s behalf?”

Draco cast her a mirthless smile. “Whether gun smuggling or opium smuggling, it matters little. The point is, I am fairly certain Driscoll, Healey, and Burke were in a disagreement over something, and this got Driscoll killed.”

“And you think Healey or his companion did the deed because I identified his ring, so we now know he is the wizard who approached your footman and had him deliver the note to Driscoll.”

“That’s right. However, I doubt the Irishman was involved in the murder. He appeared genuinely surprised when I told him about it.”

Imogen nodded. “He was not in Moonstone Landing when your masquerade ball took place, or we would have seen his ship in the harbor.”

“When I spoke to him today by the caves I did not mention Healey as a suspect in Driscoll’s murder, but I could see his mind working. He has to be wondering whether Healey and Burke killed him. So, it is pretty clear that the Irishman did not authorize Driscoll’s murder or have any part in whatever dirty dealings these three had.”

“Could the rebels have ordered him killed?”

Draco shook his head. “Yes, perhaps. But my sense is that they did not know of Healey and Burke’s other activities, which is why those two miscreants are now running away. What I think is this: they were taking on side jobs that neither the rebels nor the Irishman knew about, and now this has blown up in their faces and they are terrified of the consequences of their being found out.”

“Oh, I see.” Imogen nibbled her lip as she considered all these connections. “Now your Irishman is worried those two, by not being square with him, have attracted unwanted attention to him. Same for the rebels, who are now worried about this same unwanted attention being cast upon their cause.”

“The news may not have reached the rebel leaders yet. This is why Healey and Burke are running away while they can.”

Imogen nodded. “What I don’t understand is why those two would stupidly kill Driscoll on your property when their benefactors, or whatever you want to call these rebels, were considering using your caves to store their smuggled guns? Were Healey and Burke sending the rebels a message? Issuing the Irishman a challenge? Goodness, there are so many facets to this murder. It is like a Gordian knot that must be carefully untied.”

“Which explains why your stomach was in knots all day,” her uncle remarked. “You were sensing all of it, Imogen.”

Draco was giving her that icy stare again. “Now you understand why I need you to stay out of this. I am trying very hard to keep this murder from destroying months and months of groundwork to lure this Irishman into using my caves.”

Imogen shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “I do understand. And you wanted to keep all of this a secret from me? How you must have hated that I was putting all the pieces together.”

He had crossed his arms and now unfurled them. “No, Imogen. I hated that your meddling put you too close to danger. I hated that you wouldn’t listen to me when I was trying to protect you…and I fear you still won’t listen.”

“Imogen,” her uncle said with marked impatience, “I urged Woodley to tell you the truth in the hope you would fully appreciate the danger and keep out of his way. He must be allowed to handle matters without your interference. Don’t make me regret my decision.”

She felt the pressure both men were putting on her. “Is there any more I ought to know?”

Draco did not look happy, but he nodded and continued. “Here’s the last of it, but it is something you already suspected. I am fairly certain my brother’s death is connected to Driscoll’s murder, and not because of some angry cuckold husband seeking revenge. Nolan was an opium eater just as Driscoll was. I think Driscoll got wind of Healey and Burke attempting to build a trade in the drug, and decided he wanted a cut of their business. Nolan might have been Driscoll’s partner and the original instigator of this plan. They were both dissolute wastrels, and thick as thieves.”

“But your brother died over a year ago.”

“Their trade in drugs could have been going on for that long. It is merely a theory on my part. I could be wrong. I’ll learn more as I dig into the cause of my brother’s death. I am not ruling out an accidental death, because he was such a dissolute and not in control of his faculties when jumping those hedgerows on his ride. But this is another possible murder I have asked the Home Office and my own private Bow Street man to investigate.”

“I will look through old gossip rags and try to find some connection to—”

“What don’t you understand about my asking you to keep out of this dirty business?” Draco said. “My brother had his neck broken. Driscoll was stabbed through the heart. Do you wish to be next?”

“I see your point,” Imogen admitted.

Draco raked a hand through his hair. “Well, there’s nothing more to tell. You now know as much as I do.”

“Why must you continue to deal with the Irishman? If you know these parties are involved, then why doesn’t the government simply put a stop to their plans and arrest them all right now?”

Draco cast her a wry smile. “Because we hadn’t connected Healey and Burke to the Irishman and his gunrunning until I saw your drawings. This new information only reached the Home Office a few days ago, unless the mail coach was delayed, which would mean they have no knowledge of it yet. The point is, it all came together so fast, they haven’t had a chance to digest it, investigate it, or issue new instructions. Until I receive those new instructions, I will continue as originally ordered, and that is to insert myself as the middleman.”

Imogen gazed at him in dismay. “Draco, this is awful.”

“Yes, but you know I must see it through. With Healey and Burke certainly out as agents working for the rebels, I need to see who will replace them. I’ll only know that when the new agents come to my cave to pick up those guns once they are delivered to me.”

“And then what happens?” Imogen asked.

“I’ll track them and find out where they are stockpiling their arsenal. I hope this is something I can pass off to another Crown agent, but I don’t know if any will get here in time. So the task will likely fall to me and Parrot. He’s an excellent tracker.”

Imogen’s heart sank. “But if they see you, Draco…or see Parrot. What if they recognize either of you?”

“It is a possibility.” He shrugged. “This is why I hope my role is limited to receiving the goods. It would be easier if someone else took over the task of finding their stockpile.”

“And finding out who are the top organizers in the rebel plot,” Imogen added. “Is this not the logical next step?”

“Yes, it is. Again, I hope that role will be taken over by other Crown agents. But I must do whatever I can until that time.”

Imogen had another disconcerting thought. “Draco, will you sell Woodley Lodge once this Crown operation concludes?”

“No, Imogen.” He smiled. “I acquired this property with every intention of settling here permanently. There will also be no more privateer activities for me, since I am now an earl and have others to think of besides myself. The Athena will eventually become a merchant ship, and my second-in-command will take over as its captain. If I travel, it will only be to ensure the Woodley properties operate at their best. Most of our holdings are spread across the south of England, so it shouldn’t be too hard to keep an eye on them. The real chore is to figure out how much damage my wastrel brother did to them before he passed away.”

“I’m glad you will be staying on.” Imogen did not know why she felt this way when she would be returning to London in another month and might not see him again until next summer’s visit. Then again, would he not have to return to London for sessions of Parliament? She asked him the question.

“I might not return to London this year. Depends on how much damage my brother has done during his tenure as earl. Not to mention, this assignment must remain my top priority.”

“I see.” Well, she held out hope to see him next March or April, once the Season got underway. However, the man was reckless and fearless. Would he still be alive by then?

“That’s an end to it, Imogen,” her uncle said, rising from his chair to mark their discussion over. “I’ve put my neck out for you, assured Woodley that you can be trusted to keep his assignment secret. Now, keep out of his way and do not make a liar out of me.”

She turned to Draco. “I won’t take a step out of line, but please continue to confide in me, or at least warn my uncle or Constable Angel when you next plan to meet the Irishman. If you disappear suddenly, they will know where to start looking and can rescue you.”

He tucked a finger under her chin. “Butterfly, if I disappear suddenly it will mean I am dead and the Irishman has tossed my body into deep waters, where the sharks will eat me.”

“Do not say such an awful thing!” She did not know why she shed tears for this man when he cared so little for his own safety.

He spoke with such careless disregard about his possible death. She had insisted on hearing the truth, but her heart was now in a painful twist.

Draco looked over at her uncle. “I warned you this was a mistake. She is going to cry again.”

She frowned up at him. “I am not going to cry.”

“Imogen, I can see you are aching for me. Don’t. I went into this with my eyes wide open. I am the right man for this task, perhaps the only man capable of pulling it off. So do not shed a tear for me.” Draco withdrew a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his jacket and handed it to her as the first droplet fell onto her cheek. “Here. Deandra will know something is amiss if you do not pull yourself together.”

“I’m trying. You know how hard this is for me. I cannot help worrying for your safety.”

“I know, but I do not need you to be a watering pot. It does not help at all. In fact, it irritates me.”

“Shedding a tear or two does not make me a watering pot. I would be doing the same for Parrot, so do not get so full of yourself. And stop being so mean to me.”

He groaned. “I am not being mean to you.”

“Yes, you are,” she said, sniffling. “Shouldn’t someone care about what you are doing, since you obviously have no care for yourself? I will be better in a moment. Even you must admit, it is a lot to absorb. Draco, does this assignment scare you at all?”

“Of course it does. This is why I prepare in advance as best as I can. I try to leave as little as possible to chance. Any man who jumps in without fear is a fool and won’t survive long.”

“Will you promise me you won’t do anything foolish?”

He nodded. “My goal is to live a long and healthy life, and not have my hair turn gray worrying over you.”

“Worrying over me?” She regarded him in confusion. “I ought to be the least of your concerns.”

He sighed again. “I wish it were so, but you seem to have made your way to the top of my list. What are all my good intentions worth if I cannot protect you, and you are hurt? What is my heart worth if you ever come to harm?”

“Dear heaven,” her uncle muttered.

“I am not making any declarations to your niece, Burness.” Draco glanced at her uncle, frowned, and then turned back to her. “Be strong for me, Imogen. Be as strong as you were when the Irishman sailed into my cove. You handled my staff and Deandra brilliantly. I could not have done better myself. So I know you have it in you to be fierce and brave.”

Fierce?

Brave?

No one would ever use those words to describe her. She cried if she came across a kitten with an injured paw.

In that moment, Imogen realized she was not cut out for intrigue. Yes, she was a good puzzle solver, but this was all. She did not have the temperament to carry out the dangerous and dirty assignments required to protect king and country.

Well, perhaps if matters were dire enough she would rise to the occasion. However, for everyone’s sake, she hoped her resolve would never be tested.

She also came to another dismaying realization. Even though Draco thought she was pretty and had kissed her with delicious ardor, she was not the sort of woman he would ever wish to marry. Had he not just told her uncle that he was not making her any declarations?

Which meant that when he’d kissed her ardently before confronting the Drogheda’s captain, it was only because he thought he was going to die. Despite all his assurances, he was not safe at all and did not expect to survive.

He would not have kissed her otherwise.

But having survived the encounter, he would have married her if she had insisted on it. Because of that foolish kissing pact. She had let him out of it, of course. Marrying someone who did not love her was the worst thing she could possibly do.

Had he asked her the question, she would have answered it.

All he had to do was ask her if she loved him.

Her answer…yes.

She loved him desperately and wanted nothing more than to share a lifetime with him.

But he had no intention of ever asking her. He was tough as nails, and used to adventure and intrigue. He was experienced in the ways of the world. He wanted an exciting woman to marry.

She was not exciting.

She was a butterfly.

This was what Draco called her because he thought she was delicate and too soft-hearted.

However, she did not think of herself as delicate. Yes, she was soft-hearted, and did seem to cry often when in Draco’s company. But this was only because danger surrounded him, and she was truly concerned for his safety.

“Feeling any better, Imogen?” Draco asked.

I am not making any declarations to your niece, Burness.

How was she supposed to feel after hearing that statement?

She sniffled again. “Yes, I am fine. Just give me another moment.”

Her uncle sighed. “Take all the time you need to hide those feelings of yours, or everyone will start asking questions.”

“I’m trying my best, Uncle Cormac.” She turned to Draco. “I am not going to give you or your mission away. I appreciate how important this work you are doing is. And might I suggest that if you have more information to provide to the Home Office, you allow me to include it in a letter to my sister?”

“And why should I do this?”

Doubt was written all over his face, so she pressed on before he had the chance to dismiss her idea. “I write to Ella several times a week. No suspicions will be raised if I drop my correspondence off with Thaddius, as I have done almost daily since my arrival in Moonstone Landing. Ella’s husband is very well connected and will take your information that is secretly included in my letter directly to the top men in government, the Duke of Wooton, Earl Grey, and even Viscount Palmerston, if necessary. Wellington, too. He is that well connected. In fact, these very men begged Ella’s husband to serve with them in the highest echelons. He is quite high up now in the Foreign Office. For this reason, he has immediate access to all of them and can provide anything you need upon a mere command. Everyone in the top ranks will jump to do his bidding.”

She turned to her uncle. “Is this not a better solution than requiring Thaddius to hide Lord Woodley’s letters? This way, not even Thaddius will know what is being sent and when. It is as much for his safety as anything else.”

“I don’t know, Imogen,” her uncle said, shaking his head as he considered her words. “It is a lot to ask of Ella and Caden.”

She was now on the edge of her seat. “They will gladly do it. You know they will.”

Draco laughed softly. “Gad, you are the most irritating girl. Thanks to that unexpected murder, I already have more people involved than I ever wanted. And now to bring in your sister and her husband?”

“They can be trusted,” Imogen insisted.

“I haven’t a doubt.”

She realized what was troubling him. “You needn’t worry about Ella. She is nothing like me. She knows how to be discreet. I know I am terrible at hiding my feelings, but she is quite the opposite. She is logical and thoughtful, and will give nothing away. It is an excellent idea, and you know it is far less dangerous than your communicating directly with anyone in the Home Office. They can write back to you in this same manner. No one will be the wiser. Isn’t this better than worrying that someone will see correspondence between you?”

Her uncle was smiling. Imogen knew she was winning him over.

“Thaddius knows to be careful, but he is not always at his desk and cannot control who sees what is in the mail pouch. Besides, he really is not all that good at keeping secrets. If I can cajole information out of him—which I am able to do at will—then someone dangerous might be able to do the same.”

Draco turned to her uncle. “Burness? I’ll leave the decision about involving her sister and Lord Mersey up to you. As for me, I think Imogen is infuriating, unmanageable, and completely not cut out for this intrigue, and I am worried to death that she will come to harm. But she is also brilliant, and I would be nowhere in my assignment if it weren’t for her.”

Imogen gasped. “Was that a compliment?”

“A grudging one,” he said with a nod. “However, I would rather be nowhere in the murder investigation and my Crown assignment than ever see you hurt. Have I not made this clear enough to you?”

“And I would rather be helpful than sit idly by and watch you get hurt.”

He rose and began to pace around her. “You aren’t trained for this. Don’t get ideas.”

“I am only offering to help solve puzzles and deliver letters. I have been doing this all my life to pass the time of day.”

Draco did not immediately give her an answer, but she knew he would accept. Despite all his concerns, this was an excellent solution that he could not pass up.

He paced.

He stared at her.

He arched an eyebrow and turned to her uncle, awaiting his confirmation.

At Uncle Cormac’s nod, Draco turned back to her with an affectionate smile that melted her insides. “Yes, I like that idea.”

So did she. It meant she would have the chance to see him and perhaps pry more information out of him. She really wanted to help and knew she could do it from a safe perch.

They all returned to the terrace a few minutes later, each of them with false smiles on their faces. Fortunately, Deandra completely misunderstood the reason her uncle had called her into his study. She squealed and then smiled broadly. “What did Draco say to you? Did he ask your uncle for permission? What did your uncle say? Oh, Imogen! What were you and Draco discussing in your uncle’s study for so long?”

Imogen blushed.

Good grief.

How could she not have an answer prepared for this obvious question?

“I knew his scorching kiss had to mean something!” Deandra squealed again. “Did Draco ask for your hand in marriage? Did you accept him? Have you set a wedding date?”

Imogen felt the blood drain from her face.

Draco’s expression revealed nothing. So typical of him. Completely unhelpful.

Her uncle, who would have been reaching for his pistol if he carried one, now turned in all his fury toward Draco. “What kiss?”