Chapter Twelve

Draco tossed his cousin a glower. “Imogen and I are not getting married. Stop this foolishness already, Deandra. Look at the havoc you are creating.”

Bollocks.

He did not know who looked more heartsick at his remark, her or Imogen.

Lord help him, if he did not have the entanglement of this assignment, he would be on bended knee right now proposing to Imogen.

But to do so now was sheer folly. Had they not just spent the last twenty minutes in her uncle’s study going over every detail of his dangerous assignment?

He sighed, wishing for the day he could draw her into his arms and assure her his words were utter rot and he loved her to pieces. Did that second kiss not give his feelings away?

He saw the disappointment in Deandra’s eyes.

Worse, he saw the hurt in Imogen’s.

However, she understood his reasons, and immediately leaped to defend his honor. “He has behaved like a gentleman all the while. Let us not make too much of a simple kiss. It was not all that good, anyway.”

Draco cleared his throat.

Like hell it wasn’t.

“And you did far worse, Uncle Cormac. Do you dare deny it? Why, Melrose still has tormented dreams about your first weeks here. Those nights of debauchery. Naked women—”

“Imogen! Enough. This is not about me.”

She was not about to give up. “And what about your appalling behavior toward Aunt Phoebe? You kissed her every chance you got, and—”

“Lord have mercy,” her uncle groaned, and turned to Draco. “Go home, Woodley. You are spared my wrath for now. But if I hear of you ever touching my niece again without a firm declaration of marriage and vow to be faithful, I shall run you through with my sword.”

“Fair enough,” Draco muttered, sparing another glower at Deandra. He bade a hasty good evening to everyone and left Westgate Hall knowing he was leaving Imogen and his cousin bitterly disappointed.

Well, it could not be helped.

He spent the next week riding off on his own with Parrot always by his side. There was nothing more left for him to do but await word from the Home Office. However, he could not completely ignore Imogen or his own cousin, nor could he ignore the kindness of Burness and his wife in keeping his cousin and uncle with them at Westgate Hall. It had to be an imposition, especially since Albert had not wanted to leave Woodley Lodge and still grumbled bitterly about it to everyone who would listen.

But Draco had insisted he leave the comfort of the Woodley library because it was more important to keep his loved ones safe. He could not afford for them to be used as pawns against him should matters turn sour when those guns arrived. He was dealing with dangerous men and not certain who those men would be, since Healey and Burke were sure to be replaced.

Draco’s thoughts turned to his impending meeting with McTavish. Their rendezvous was to take place at the Three Lions tomorrow, which was why he had taken to stopping by that tavern every afternoon for an ale and conversation with its owner, William Angel. His real purpose was to familiarize himself with the layout of the place, make note of the regular patrons and any strangers who stopped in, and work out the best escape routes if things did not go as smoothly as hoped.

He intended to stop in again this afternoon. The hour was early yet, only midmorning, and he happened to be escorting Imogen and Deandra to the army hospital because Burness could not manage the chore today. Draco had insisted on attending to it because he did not trust anyone else to watch over them with less than twenty-four hours to go before McTavish’s arrival.

Viscount Brennan had permitted Imogen and the other regular volunteers to return to their duties several days ago. Deandra, who had attached herself to Imogen like a barnacle to the keel of a ship, accompanied her to the hospital every day.

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, the Athena.

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?

Draco did not think it was possible.

Her gentle trill of laughter brought him out of his thoughts. “Are you just going to stare at me, or were you about to say something?”

He tweaked her nose. “You look pretty today.”

She blushed.

Imogen was a wonderful mix of compassion, intelligence, and quiet strength. At times, her compassion would set her off, and she would cry too easily. Lord help him, but he liked this about her, too. He could not blame her for feeling another’s pain and caring enough to help them.

She was clever, as well. If not for her fine instincts, he would never have uncovered the identity of key players in the rebel plot so quickly. She still provided helpful information because she was always alert to the littlest details and knew how they all fit together.

Nor did he doubt her strength.

Oh, she was no mythical warrior goddess.

She was his butterfly.

“I have a request to make,” he said as they strolled up the small hill surrounded by a gentle breeze.

“Do you want me to dig up old newspapers and read through them? See if I can find gossip about the Trewicks or Driscoll and his friends? Or Healey and Burke?”

“No, it isn’t about that. I know you have been doing a bit of digging and come up with nothing of interest on any of them. You would have told me if you had found something.”

She stared up at him. “You knew? And didn’t chide me? How did you find out?”

“Thaddius told me. He noticed you going through old newspapers stored in the inn’s library. I didn’t say anything because it kept you out of mischief and was, in truth, quite helpful. He is an enterprising fellow, is he not? Seems the Kestrel Inn serves not only as an inn, but a postal office, a newspaper office, and a village library.”

“Thaddius is a remarkable fellow,” she agreed. “So, if your request is not about the investigation, then what is it about?”

“You.” He wanted to give Imogen something special, a gift because he loved her. Something to show his appreciation for all she had done for him and his family. He dared not choose it himself, since he was not in the habit of showering women with jewelry and would probably select something hideous that she would hate.

“Me? Care to elaborate?”

“My staff is still talking about your poise when those pirates sailed into the Woodley cove. They were calmed by your steady presence and touched by your concern for them.”

“We spoke about this before, Draco. I wasn’t going to escape in your carriage and abandon them.”

He touched her hand lightly. “What you did for them requires more than mere words of gratitude.”

His comment obviously surprised her, and she grinned. “So I am to be specially thanked for a job well done? You know it isn’t necessary.”

“It is, Imogen. I have been an oaf to you so much of the time.”

Was there any doubt she would make him a perfect countess?

“Draco…do you love me? Is this what you are trying to say?”

Yes, he adored and worshiped her.

He could not get enough of her.

“I cannot answer that yet.”

“Oh. Are you still thinking about it?”

“A lot, Imogen.” He would propose to her once his assignment was over. He had even written a love letter to be delivered to her if he did not survive this rebel plot. Him! A love letter? In his wildest dreams, he’d never thought he would do such a ridiculous thing. Of course, he looked forward to burning it the moment the plot was foiled and he was free to reveal his true feelings in person. “I need you to do something important.”

She gazed up at him as they walked along. “Anything—what do you need?”

“I would like you to get those butterfly clips for your hair.”

He did not know why this mattered to him, but it did.

“That again. Why do you keep bringing it up?” She frowned lightly when he did not reply. “All right.”

They had slowed their pace so that Deandra and Parrot—who was barking in delight and having a grand time chasing birds—were now far ahead of them. They were on the shore road, the glistening cove waters on their left and the massive stone fort on their right. The hospital was immediately ahead of them. The sun shone brightly and the salty breeze off the water cooled them.

He gave Imogen’s hand another light touch.

She entwined her fingers in his. “You’re worried about your meeting with the Irishman.”

“No, he is the least of my worries. He and I have a history. I can talk my way out of a confrontation with him.” He glanced at the shimmering waters and then turned back to gaze at her, losing himself in her aquamarine eyes. “The problem is, how do I convert him to my side? He is the key to dismantling this rebel plot. But with Healey and Burke now in hiding or possibly dead, how much does he know? How much can he help me?”

“Assuming he is willing to help you at all,” Imogen remarked.

“I think I can turn him, but I don’t know if he has been told who the new rebel agents will be. He probably knows when the goods are to be delivered, but does he know where they will go after leaving my cave? And does he know who the rebel leaders are?”

“I think it will help if you toss out names and see how he responds.”

“All I have is Driscoll, Healey, and Burke. No, I need a name that will surprise him and make him think the rebel operation is falling apart.”

“We still have a day to come up with someone. If we don’t… Well, you’ll just have to use what you have. Converting him may have to wait until his next visit.”

“I would prefer to end it now.”

“I know.” She regarded him with concern. “Draco, my greatest fear is that you will be dragged in too deep and caught in the crossfire when the rebel plot falls apart and all the conspirators start shooting at each other.”

“Imogen, if it falls apart, I think McTavish will take my side. He doesn’t give a fig about political intrigue or supposed causes. Even if he loses trust in me, there is no reason for him to harm me. He doesn’t want a murder charge hanging over his head. Why bother when all he has to do is forget about using my caves and not show up in Moonstone Landing?”

“What if he holds a grudge against you?”

“And decides to avenge my betrayal?” Draco laughed lightly. “First of all, I am going to protect him from the Crown’s retribution, so he will credit me with saving his life. Every successful privateer is practical. Why risk being hunted down for the murder of an earl when he can find himself another cave, drop off his guns, and collect his fee?”

“Assuming he has time to start a new search for a suitable cave.”

“If things get too hot in England, he can sell them somewhere else in the world. He isn’t dependent on these rebels. Yes, he will be annoyed and perhaps squeezed financially for a short while, but this happens in any business.” He sighed and shook his head. “We are talking about the Irishman and the Crown assignment again. It wasn’t my intention.”

“I’m glad you are confiding in me. You are in this on your own, without guidance from the Home Office. It is too much of a burden for one man to carry. I wish we were not so far from London.”

“Me too.” He raked a hand through his windblown hair.

He had done all he could to prepare, but he was worried it was not enough. Well, he had enlisted the aid of Major Brennan, advised Burness and the constable. Tomorrow, Imogen and Deandra would remain safely out of the way at Westgate Hall. And he would finalize plans—whatever those might turn out to be—with McTavish.

The waiting was the worst. Obsessing over every detail was not helping.

He could do nothing more than rely on his instinct and experience. If he needed to handle matters alone, this was what he would do. These rebels were not rational men of science. Something as small as the snap of a twig or a shadow seen upon the meadow might prove disastrous.

Imogen must have been following his thoughts. She was nibbling her lip. “Fionn and his men could position themselves close to the secret tunnel you opened up, and no one would notice them.”

“No.”

“But they—”

“Imogen, I have thought this through a hundred times. No one is to interfere when the Irishman brings in his crates of weapons. I’ll decide later what to do when it is time for the rebels to pick them up. It is vital that the shipment moves in and then out of my cave without incident.”

“But once they leave your cave, you are going to track them.”

“That’s right. Maybe at that point I will ask Major Brennan to assist. Maybe.”

“And maybe not.” She cast him a worried glance.

“That’s right. It might end up being just me and Parrot. He’ll easily pick up their trail.”

“Oh, I do not like this at all. What is to stop these rebel agents from shooting you once they are done? If these are desperate, angry men, they might not care about the consequences of shooting an earl.”

“It won’t come to that. It is only the first shipment. They plan at least two.”

She pursed her lips.

“Imogen, they need my cave. I am useful to them until they receive their final shipment.”

“And what if this next shipment turns out to be the final one?”

“It isn’t, at least not according to the Irishman.”

“Why are you being so stubborn?”

“It is not a matter of stubbornness. This is what I do best, get a sense of my opponents and act accordingly. It is what made me a successful privateer.” He studied her face and groaned. “The last thing I need to worry about is you doing something foolish to rescue me.”

She stared up at him with her beautiful eyes that were so big and round. “I am not deliberately trying to put you or myself in danger.”

“You had better not.” Was he thinking too hard about this? Imogen’s assurance that she was not going to put herself in danger ought to have satisfied him.

But it did not.

“Just get those butterfly clips for your hair, Imogen. Do this for me. Let them be my gift to you.”

She looked up at him again, her expression sincerely pained. “You are only asking me to do this because you think you are going to die.”

“Not at all. I am not going to die.”

“Then what is the point of those butterfly clips?”