Chapter Thirteen

“You want me to have a butterfly as a remembrance of you,” Imogen insisted, getting overset. “You are worried that something will go wrong. Oh, Draco! Surely there is something more we can do to—”

“Absolutely not! Gad, do not give me that stubborn look again, and don’t you dare start crying.” He took both of her hands in his. “All I want is to make a gift of butterfly jewelry to you. A brooch or clips or a simple necklace. Nothing elaborate. That is all. Have I not wanted this all along? It has nothing to do with my upcoming meeting with the Irishman or the exchange at my caves.”

She regarded him warily.

He growled softly. “I would choose them myself, but people will talk and make too much of it. They won’t think twice if you and Deandra select gifts for yourselves.”

She shook her head. “It is such a pointless thing to ask of me, but all right. Deandra and I will stop by the jeweler’s before we head over to the tea shop this afternoon.”

He let out a breath. “Thank you.”

“What are your plans for the rest of the day, Draco?”

He shrugged. “Nothing firm. I’ll wander around a bit and then meet you at Mrs. Halsey’s tea shop.”

After dropping off Imogen and Deandra at the army hospital, he and Parrot went off on their own. In truth, he was feeling quite limited in the things he could do at the moment. There was work to be done on the various Woodley farms and estates, but he could not leave Moonstone Landing to attend to them. Nor could he ride to Portsmouth to inspect the repairs on the Athena. He could only trust his second-in-command, James Archer, to attend to the task. He had full faith in the man, but the Athena was his vessel, and no one could possibly know her better than he did himself.

He knew it was probably too early to receive word back from his Bow Street runner in London about Lord and Lady Trewick, neither of whom had been crossed off his list of suspects in Driscoll’s murder, but he decided to stop by the Kestrel Inn on the chance something had arrived today.

He thought about Imogen’s desire to help him out on this assignment. Burness, Brennan, the dukes, and Constable Angel all stood ready to assist as well. He had given it considerable thought and always came to the same conclusion,—he had to work through this first leg of his assignment on his own. McTavish was as much on edge as he was, and the rebel agents would be scared as rabbits because they were so close to putting their plan into effect. “Shall we check for mail at the Kestrel Inn and then go home, Parrot? It is hours yet before we are due at the tea shop.”

The dog merely quirked his head in that odd, parrotlike way, and then plunked himself down in the shade of a tree.

Draco laughed. “All right, let’s stay in town today.”

Why not spend a day in relaxation? He could watch fishing boats sail in and out of the harbor, perhaps take a boat out himself. He hadn’t been on the water in a while, and missed it. But there was little wind just now, and the harbor was quiet today. No navy frigates were moored, and there were no sloops or schooners of note, other than the ones operated by local men who offered daily excursions for the summer visitors to this quiet village. He had no desire to sit among a group of Londoners who would not take their eyes off him once they realized he was an earl.

But he was getting restless again.

McTavish would not sail in until tomorrow. Major Brennan already had his men watching the harbor on the chance the Irishman arrived early. Constable Angel had his men on alert for any suspicious strangers entering town.

Draco himself had been stopping by the Kestrel Inn every day for a report on the latest guests to register. Thaddius had taken to preparing a full account of all the comings and goings at the inn.

Well, Draco still needed to check on today’s mail. Some word had to come soon from the Home Office.

William Angel, proprietor of the Three Lions, had been helpful in keeping an eye on all his patrons. He had a few rooms to let above his tavern, but mostly tradesmen stayed there, or men paying for a quick turn with a doxy. It was not something William encouraged, but men were men, and the young proprietor had a business to run.

Draco was lost in his thoughts, feeling a moment’s nostalgia for his days at sea, and absently watching Parrot frolic in the sand, when he felt a lady’s hand slide into the crook of his arm. He turned with a frown, knowing this was not Imogen’s touch.

Bollocks.

His gaze met that of the beautiful widow, Lady Dowling.

“Lord Woodley,” she said in a sultry voice, and cast him her idea of an alluring smile, “we have not seen much of you in the village lately.”

“I have been busy.”

“But you appear to be at leisure now.” He had been around women long enough to understand that look in her eyes. A bit brazen, a bit seductive, and openly inviting.

He did not respond.

“A gentleman would invite a lady to dine with him at the Kestrel Inn. You are not otherwise engaged, are you?”

No, he wasn’t. And he was just about to head over to the inn to see about the mail. The lady would be highly insulted if he made up an excuse to avoid her and then showed up there not ten minutes later.

He gave a curt nod. “Would you care to join me?”

She smiled brightly. “Yes, how lovely of you to ask.”

He hadn’t asked so much as felt coerced, but what did it matter?

Had he walked into the inn on his own, he would have been accosted by matchmaking mothers and their daughters. A bachelor earl was fair game and always in season to be hunted until finally caught in the parson’s mousetrap. Even then, the invitations would keep coming, for a marriage commitment was no impediment to women such as Lady Dowling.

Parrot had been frolicking on the beach, chasing birds and sniffing around rowboats on the sand. Draco whistled for him to follow them to the inn. The dog bounded forward with a happy grin and wagging tail until he realized the woman beside him was not Imogen. He turned his head like a parrot and stared at Draco, who arched an eyebrow and stared back.

Do not make anything of this, Parrot.

The dog gave an indignant snort and trotted ahead.

The best Draco could say of their midday meal was that it would soon be over. The dining room was packed and everyone was staring at him, a consequence of his being the highest-ranking bachelor in the place. Lady Dowling was soaking up all the attention, her expression gloating and triumphant. Yes, it was all about appearances for her. Imogen would never consider using him in this way.

Of course, she was going to hear about his time with the beautiful widow, for Lady Dowling herself would make certain this innocent engagement reached Imogen’s ears. Not that she needed to say anything, since everyone in this village gossiped, and word would spread like wildfire.

Imogen had to know Lady Dowling meant nothing to him, but he would clear up any misunderstanding as soon as they had a chance to talk.

Not that he owed her any explanations. However, she had his heart, and he did not wish to cause her any more pain than he already had because of his assignment.

“I had a lovely time, Lord Woodley. Thank you for inviting me,” Lady Dowling said, her voice loud enough to ensure everyone at the nearby tables heard.

He said nothing, just led her out. “Were you on the high street to shop? Let me not delay you.”

“I was on my way to the dressmaker’s.” She batted her eyelashes and took firm hold of his arm. “Will you escort me there?”

It was just across the street, and he was eager to be rid of her, for the woman was all over him. The faster he got her to the dressmaker’s, the faster he could escape her clutches. “Of course.”

But they had no sooner stepped out of the inn when Draco spotted Deandra and Imogen walking toward the jeweler’s shop, Harrow Sons, which happened to be next door to the inn. They spotted him at the same moment. Parrot barked and immediately ran to greet Imogen. She knelt to pet him, but as she looked up, she noticed Lady Dowling and how she was poured all over him.

Since Imogen hid nothing of her feelings, he saw the sting of hurt in her eyes.

His heart tugged. She looked like a wounded bird…no, a wounded butterfly.

Hisbutterfly.

“Lady Imogen, how was your morning at the hospital?” he asked, unwinding himself from Lady Dowling’s grip to kneel beside her as she petted Parrot.

She refused to meet his gaze. “Fine.”

“The soldiers must have appreciated your time with them. Did you draw any portraits?”

“Yes.”

“Ah…” He should have just nodded to them and walked on. This was not going well at all. Imogen was staring at Parrot and would not look at him. Well, he would seek her out later and explain that he had not invited Lady Dowling to dine, nor had he made any amorous overtures to her.

Again, he did not really owe anyone explanations. But he could not bear to see Imogen so disappointed and wanted to clear the air. “Were you about to stop in at the jeweler’s?”

“No, I have decided it isn’t necessary.”

He frowned. “Imogen…”

She rose abruptly. “Good day, Lord Woodley. Deandra, I find I am suddenly quite thirsty. Let’s go to the tea shop.”

Deandra grabbed her hand. “No, the jeweler’s first.”

Imogen still looked pained. “I don’t think so.”

“We must.” Deandra turned to Draco and cast him an insolent smile. “We intend to shop for outrageously expensive jewelry. You did insist we put all our purchases on your account, did you not? There’s a lovely diamond necklace Imogen has been eyeing. I’m sure it is the most expensive item in the shop. I’ll encourage her to buy two.”

Draco shot his cousin a warning glance. “Lady Imogen knows I will take delight in anything she chooses.”

“You are so very kind to these children,” Lady Dowling commented, and tugged him along.

“I’ll be right back, Deandra. Both of you wait here for me.” He was about to whistle for Parrot to follow him, but his own dog had no intention of following him while he escorted that woman who was not Imogen.

“You should not indulge those girls,” Lady Dowling remarked as they crossed the street.

“Really? What should I have done?” His tone ought to have warned her not to say another disparaging word, but Lady Dowling was of a mind to cause mischief and ignored him.

Her cat claws now came out. “She isn’t right for you.”

“Are you referring to Lady Imogen?”

“Yes, who else could I be referring to? She is a priggish do-gooder who will pass moral judgment on you at every turn. Is this really the sort of wife you want?”

He frowned. “You really enjoy this, don’t you? Hurting others, especially those as sweet as her. That do-gooder is one of the finest women I have ever met. Any man would consider himself fortunate to have her as his wife. Now that you have put me onto the idea, perhaps I will do just that.”

He left Lady Dowling in front of the dressmaker’s shop with her mouth agape, and hurried back to Deandra and Imogen. However, only Parrot had remained waiting for him. “Bollocks,” Draco muttered. “Parrot, where did they go?”

The dog trotted off to Mrs. Halsey’s tea shop.

“Fine, wait for me there. I’ll be along in a moment,” he said, as though Parrot was even listening to him.

He strode into the jeweler’s shop. “Good afternoon, Miss Harrow.”

“Good afternoon, Lord Woodley.” The shopkeeper cast him a pleasant smile. “Is there something I might help you with?”

“Yes, I’m looking for something with a butterfly decoration—a pin or necklace or hair clips. Whatever you have. I’d like your prettiest.”

That put a smile on her face. “I have lovely hair clips that just came in. Here, let me show you.”

They were aquamarine butterflies and matched the splendid color of Imogen’s eyes. “These are perfect. I’ll take them all.”

“All?” Miss Harrow’s smile broadened, and her eyes lit up.

Well, at least someone was happy with him.

“I assume this is a gift? I’ll place it in a lovely box for you. Do you wish to include a note for the young lady?”

“No note required.”

Having finished that chore, he tucked the prettily wrapped box in the inside pocket of his jacket and strode to the tea shop. He did not know whether to groan or laugh, for Imogen had three large strawberry tarts in front of her and appeared determined to eat them all. Devouring three tarts of that size was too much for even him to accomplish without suffering for it later.

He knew she loved strawberry tarts.

He also knew she was in love with him.

“Do you mean to eat them all in one sitting?” he muttered, drawing out the chair beside hers and settling in it.

She was still refusing to look at him. “In fact, I do. You may take yourself off if you disapprove.”

He turned to his cousin, who was avidly listening in on their exchange. “Deandra, go check on Parrot.”

“Why? He is safely tucked away in Mrs. Halsey’s garden enjoying his own treats.”

He frowned at her.

“Oh, all right. But it was quite low of you to be cavorting with that horrid widow when Imogen is—”

“Go, Deandra.”

She sighed and scooted out of her chair. “All right.”

Now alone with Imogen, he tucked a finger under her chin and turned her to face him. “I did not invite that woman to dine with me. How could you think I would? Nor did I enjoy a moment of our meal. Not that I owe you an explanation, but I am going to give you one anyway.”

“Save your breath. You have already made it clear you have no intention of marrying me. It is none of my business what you do or with whom you do it. I am not an idiot. I saw the way she was all over you. What I don’t understand is what you are playing at. Why insist I choose butterfly pins for my hair if you care nothing about me? Why bother with me at all?”

“You ought to know by now the only reason that widow insinuated her way into dining with me was in order to hurt your feelings.”

She sighed. “I wish my feelings weren’t so obvious.”

“Imogen,” he said softly, “this is the sweetest thing about you. I love your honesty. Now I shall tell you something that I vowed I would not, but I cannot bear for you to think…” He raked a hand through his hair, and then reached into his pocket and set the gift box on the table. “Bloody hell, I know I am going to regret this.”

“Regret what? You have been hemming and hawing and have said nothing yet.”

“Just because I don’t say it doesn’t mean I don’t feel it…and that is all I am going to say about it. Just accept my gift and do not give me a hard time about it.”

She stared at him and laughed lightly. “Draco, what haven’t you said? And what do you feel? Would you kindly be more specific? I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Figure it out, Imogen. I’ve already said more than I should.”

She stared at the gift box, and her expression turned tender. “Will I find a butterfly in that box?”

“Several, and they match the color of your eyes.”

“I shall treasure them,” she said in a whisper, casting him a hesitant smile. “I wasn’t jealous of Lady Dowling.”

“You weren’t?” He glanced at the three strawberry tarts in front of her.

She managed another small smile. “No, I wasn’t going to eat myself sick with jealousy.”

“Then you’ll share them with me?” he teased. “They look delicious.”

She nodded. “Draco, it wasn’t about her. Truly. In fact, I pity her. When Lady Dowling first came to this village, everyone welcomed her. She is beautiful, and at the time she was a young widow, no more than a couple of years older than Aunt Phoebe. We all wanted to help her establish roots here and make a new life for herself. But it wasn’t long before we realized she has a streak of malice in her. She simply cannot bear to see others happy. Perhaps she never found love for herself and resents everyone who has done.”

She reached for the box and cupped it gently in her hands. “What hurt me is that she had gotten it so wrong about you and me. She was all over you because she thought you were falling in love with me.”

“And you think she was wrong, Butterfly?”

She stared at him again. “Yes, Draco. I’m not sure what you feel for me, but I do not think it is love. Affection. Friendship. You cannot even say the word ‘love,’ because this is not what you feel for me yet. Perhaps in time, but not now. So please do not give me hope if there is none. My heart knew you were the one for me the moment we met, which is ridiculous, since we were still wearing our masks and could not see each other’s faces. How can one know so quickly and be so certain? Yet it was this way for me.”

He wanted to admit he felt the same, but was this not the very thing he needed to avoid? A betrothal would only complicate matters. He had felt lightning bolts shoot up his arms the moment he wrapped them around Imogen’s waist to help her out of her uncle’s carriage on the night of the masquerade ball. When her mask came off, his heart was lost.

“You know I am a cautious fellow.”

“Yes, it ought to be so when it comes to something as important as marriage,” she agreed, “and that is wise of you. I am not chiding you for it. However, you are not cautious by nature.”

He arched an eyebrow. “I’m not?”

“No, you are far more adventurous than I would ever be when it comes to everything else in your life.”

He leaned toward her, resting his arm upon his thigh. “I intend to leave my days of adventure behind me once this assignment is over. I have other responsibilities now that I must address, and this requires me to remain in England.”

“Draco, do you think you are ready to settle down to a staid life?”

He chuckled. “Depends on how staid. I am not going to spend my days with my nose buried in a book, as my uncle has done. But there’s a compromise to be had between sailing around the world to engage in combat on the high seas and sitting in a library for hours on end.”

“Yes, that is true.” She tucked the pretty box in her reticule. “Thank you for thinking of me.”

He nodded. “Are we all right, Imogen?”

“Yes.” She pushed her chair back and rose. “I’ll let Deandra know to come back now. Oh, goodness. Why is Parrot suddenly barking so furiously? I wonder what is going on.”

“Blast.” His dog never barked like that unless there was trouble. Draco leaped to his feet. “Stay here. Let me go to him. I’m the one who—Bloody hell!”

He noticed a glint of metal against the window and instinctively threw his body over Imogen, knocking her down just as a shot rang out. It smashed the tea shop window, sending a spray of glass toward them. Ladies screamed. Everyone panicked. Draco felt something hot tear through his arm as he shielded Imogen from the flying glass and knew he’d been struck by that shot.

He ignored the fiery jolt of pain, shook the shards off, and then lifted himself off Imogen, intent on chasing down the culprit. “Stay down, Imogen. I’m not certain it’s safe yet.”

But a quick inspection of the street revealed it to be empty, save for a rider on an impressive horse fleeing north on the high street. Draco immediately thought of Healey and Burke…or perhaps one of Driscoll’s friends, for no commoner could afford so fine a horse.

Constable Angel raced in. “Lord Woodley! You’re hurt!”

“No, I’m fine. Go after him. He rode north.” Draco gave a quick description of the stallion—a chestnut Friesian, if his eyes did not deceive him. But he had made out nothing of the rider, who was cloaked in black and wore a hat tugged low over his forehead. “Parrot will lead the way. Take him with you,” he said, helping a shaken Imogen to her feet.

“I’m all right,” she insisted. “Do what you must.”

He was about to ask someone to fetch Parrot when the little beast tore into the tea shop. “Parrot, sit!”

The dog obeyed, although obviously unhappy with the command. But Draco could not allow him any closer or risk cutting his paws on the shards of glass strewn all around them.

He left Imogen’s side a moment to lead Parrot around the back onto the high street. “Go with Constable Angel,” he whispered in the dog’s ear. “Catch the man who shot me.”

Parrot whimpered and licked his hand, which had a thin trail of blood now seeping down it.

“I’ll be all right. Good boy.” Draco gave him a scratch behind his ears.

By this time, the constable had returned on horseback along with several of his men. “Take care of yourself, my lord. Get that wound treated right away. We’ll do our best to find that villain.”

Draco watched them ride off, Parrot in the lead.

He would do a bit of investigating himself as soon as Dr. Hewitt sewed him up. If his assailant had ever stayed at the Kestrel Inn, the curious stable groom, Matchett, would recognize the fine bit of horseflesh left in his care and hopefully be able to identify the owner.

He returned to Imogen, worried he might have inadvertently hurt her when pushing her down and covering her with his body. He was a big man. Had he crushed her? “Imogen, are you certain you are all right?”

“Yes.” But she was breathing heavily and holding her hand protectively. “Don’t worry about me. Why did you not ride out with Constable Angel? Deandra and I will see our own way home.”

“Not on your life. I am not leaving you alone for a moment. That shot might have been meant for you.”

“That is absurd. Who would want to harm me? He must have been aiming for you, Draco. Why are you letting him get away?”

“The constable and his men are on his trail. Parrot’s with them. He’ll find whoever did this fiendish deed.” He made the general announcement so that everyone in the tea shop would hear and hopefully be calmed. Several ladies were still crying. Fortunately, the flying glass had missed all of them, except for Imogen, who would have gotten the worst of it had he not sheltered her with his body. The incident was upsetting for everyone.

All his fault. He’d brought these villains to this idyllic place. That it was under orders of the Crown did not make him feel any better about it.

Imogen frowned. “You sent Parrot off with the constables and did not go with them? This isn’t like you, Draco. Why are you weaving as though you’re… Oh, my heavens! He shot you! Why did you tell Constable Angel you were fine? Stubborn man. Mrs. Halsey, summon the doctor!”

Draco countermanded the order. “There’s nothing the doctor can do in a tea shop. I’ll walk to the army hospital.”

“Walk? Are you mad?” Imogen stopped him before he took a step. “Sit down, you stubborn man. You won’t make it down the high street before falling flat on your face. Mr. Halsey, bring your wagon around.”

“At once, Lady Imogen.”

Deandra began to cry as she looked on helplessly. “You were shot? Why did you not tell us?”

“I’ll be all right, Deandra.” Draco gave silent thanks he had sent her away from their table in order to allow him time to speak privately with Imogen. If not for that, she might have been hurt too.

Imogen, to his surprise, remained composed and diligently attended to him, though there was not much she could do beyond removing his jacket and trying to stanch the flow of blood. She held a handkerchief pressed to his wound, and was trying to instruct Deandra to tie her own handkerchief tightly over hers, but his cousin was crying harder now and not listening. “Never mind about her, Imogen,” he said. “Just take my handkerchief and tie it as best as you can. Let Mrs. Halsey’s daughter calm Deandra.”

“All right.” Imogen began to nibble her lip. “I think the shot went clean through the fleshy part of your arm, Draco. That is good news, but it did leave a nasty gash. Does it hurt terribly?”

“No, Butterfly,” he lied. “It just went through soft flesh.”

“Nothing soft about you, Draco. You are a wall of hard muscle,” she muttered.

He grinned. “Like what you see?”

She frowned at him. “All I see is blood and poor Deandra still in uncontrollable tears.”

“Sorry. Guess I should not be making jests, considering what just happened. I’ll hold the handkerchief in place. See to my cousin.”

Deandra had worked herself into a state bordering on hysteria, but if anyone could calm the girl, it would be Imogen.

He listened as she tried everything she could to assure Deandra of his recovery. “Draco will be fine,” she said. “I have seen these types of injuries in the hospital wards. It is not life threatening. The soldiers all heal, and there is no reason Draco will be any different. Truly, Deandra. Many have suffered much worse injuries and fully recovered.”

“Are you sure?” Deandra sniffled.

“Yes. I have volunteered there ever since the hospital opened. I know what I am talking about. Do you see me crying?”

“No,” his cousin weakly admitted. “But you are stronger than me, and he isn’t your own blood family, Imogen. It isn’t the same.” She resumed her wailing, but it sounded forced, like she were a child who’d forgotten the reason why she started crying in the first place.

Draco hoped his cousin would settle down soon. There was already enough mayhem swirling around them, and he did not need her adding to the chaos.

Imogen whispered something in Deandra’s ear.

Suddenly, his cousin snapped out of her crying bout. “Oh, yes. Imogen, that is an excellent idea.” She was still taking deep breaths and sniffling, but her sobs were nothing as dramatic as before. “I am much better now. Yes, it is more important that you help Draco.”

Imogen left her in the care of Mrs. Halsey’s daughter and returned to him.

He arched an eyebrow. “That worked like magic. What did you say to her?”

Imogen winced. “I told her I would remain by your bedside and personally nurse you back to health.”

“Ah, my own little helper?” He cast her a seductive smile.

She nodded. “And then I pointed out the obvious.”

“What is that?”

“How are you to fall in love with me if I am busy tending to her instead?”

He chuckled. “No wonder she’s happy.”

Deandra must have seen his smile and heard his laugh. “Isn’t Imogen an angel? She is just what you need, Draco. Haven’t I always said so? See how well she takes care of you?”

Draco withheld a sigh. “Yes, she’s a marvel.”

Imogen blushed. “Thank you for shielding me, by the way.”

“Always,” he said with raw feeling, wishing he was free to tell her just how remarkable she was and how deeply he cared for her.

Imogen cleared her throat, and then turned away and began issuing orders. She instructed two men, who had been seated with their wives and having tea, to help her get him into Mr. Halsey’s wagon, which had now drawn up in front of the tea shop.

Draco had noticed these men hovering close and staring at him. Perhaps they were merely hoping to be helpful, but their gazes were intense, and they were exchanging looks with each other, as though silently communicating.

What the hell was that about?

Imogen directed them to pick him up. “Be careful. Don’t hurt him.”

Draco did not want these strangers putting their hands on him. His scowl was fierce enough to have them back away. “See to the ladies. I can climb into a bloody wagon by myself. I don’t need nursemaids.”

The men stared at each other, then scurried away.

Imogen planted her hands on her hips and huffed in frustration. “Will you listen to yourself? Are you going to scowl at me when I try to nurse you? I did promise Deandra I would stay by your side.”

“I would be delighted to have your hands on me, tucking me in or feeling my heated brow. I just don’t want anyone else’s hands on me.” He awkwardly climbed into the wagon on his own and heaved himself onto the aged wooden bench.

“Oh, elegantly done,” Imogen said.

“But done on my own.” He had no doubt he’d aggravated his injury but was never going to admit it to her. “See, I did not require anyone’s help after all.”

Imogen rolled her eyes. “I am going to hit you over the head with one of Mrs. Halsey’s baking spoons if you utter another ridiculous word. Stubborn man.”

She tsked at him, then turned to assist Deandra, who must have decided she still had tears to shed and was going to shed them all the way to the hospital. “Blast it, Deandra,” Draco said. “I am not dying, but I might if you do not stop howling in my ear.”

Wrong thing to say to the already overset girl.

She cried harder. “You mustn’t die! What will Papa and I do without you?”

“I am not going anywhere. Calm down, Deandra. Get in the wagon already or I will bleed to death right here.” He wasn’t sure which was worse, the injury or having to endure Deandra’s histrionics.

Imogen helped Deandra in, and then settled by his side. “Muttonhead,” she mumbled. “She’s already scared out of her wits, and you had to mention death.”

Well, he’d said it, and it was too late to take it back.

Imogen, thinking to calm Deandra, made the mistake of trying to explain what the doctor was going to do to treat his wound. That might have worked to soothe someone who was thinking clearly, which Deandra was not.

“It is just a flesh wound, Deandra. But Dr. Hewitt will make certain there are no metal fragments lodged—”

“Metal fragments!” Deandra resumed her wailing. “Oh, Draco! You cannot die! Papa will be a disaster if he becomes earl. I’ll be left destitute.”

“You will never be left destitute, Deandra. I’ve already seen to your provision. Nor am I going to die. I give you my word of honor.”

“But the hot metal! And all that blood!” Her face turned ashen and she began to swoon.

Imogen caught hold of her to keep her from falling out of the wagon.

He was of no help, since his arm was still bleeding and he needed to keep pressure on the wound.

Imogen cast him an exasperated glance before returning her attention to his cousin. “Deandra, he will require stitches, but that is all.”

“Why is there so much blood, then? So much blood. It terrifies me.”

“I know,” Imogen responded with sympathy. “But your stubborn cousin is to blame for that. He strained himself while climbing into the wagon on his own instead of accepting help. I expect he is feeling a bit dizzy now. Are you feeling dizzy, Draco?” She tried to look sternly at him but merely looked adorable.

“I am fine,” he replied. “In the pink.”

He knew he was behaving like an oaf, but frustration did that to a man.

Deandra’s behavior was irritating, but she was young and had never seen anyone hurt before. Also, she looked upon him as a savior for her and her father, who was a scholar but truly incompetent at handling any financial matters.

What frustrated him were these mysteries that seemed to be piling up and remained unsolved. Was it not enough that Driscoll had been killed on his property? Why was someone now trying to shoot him? Or had Imogen been their intended target?

He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her thoroughly, but she already had his blood on her gown, and this was not an appropriate time to be feeling amorous. In his own defense, having to endure the fires that swept through him every time she ran her soft hands over his body was punishment enough.

Although he should not be thinking such wayward thoughts, the feel of her body beneath him as he’d shielded her from the falling glass still had him hot and lusting. That sweet body of hers, so soft and yielding…and him atop it.

He emitted a breath of relief when they reached the hospital.

Had he any doubts about his feelings for this girl—which, in truth, he did not—he’d be left with none now.

She was his.

He wanted to share a lifetime with her.

“Are you going to be a stubborn clot and refuse assistance again?” she muttered as the wagon drew to a halt and people started rushing toward them.

He hated having everyone fuss over him. So, yes. He was probably going to behave like a stubborn clot.

However, he kept the thought to himself and merely ignored the question.

Imogen hopped off and began issuing instructions to one of the young men who had rushed forward to assist them. “Elmer! Thank goodness! Find Dr. Hewitt right away. We need to help Lord Woodley into the private ward. He’s been shot. Be careful when you remove his clothes—there may be glass shards still in them.”

Elmer was nodding, but his eyes suddenly widened. “Lady Imogen, your hand is also bleeding.”

Draco growled. “Why did you not tell me?”

He cursed himself for being so caught up in his own injury that he did not look closer at Imogen. She had assured him that she was fine. Obviously, she wasn’t.

She glanced down. “It is nothing, a tiny shard easily plucked out with tweezers. Your injury is far more serious.”

“Have the doctor see to Imogen first,” Draco insisted.

She gasped. “Absolutely not. You are the one who was shot. Elmer, ignore him. He must be attended to first.”

Elmer, now obviously bemused, shook his head and hurried off.

Draco was ignoring everyone and trying to descend from the wagon on his own when Elmer returned with another young lad. “Back off,” Draco said with a growl.

Elmer motioned to the others to stay back. “I’ll see to Lord Woodley.”

“I can walk,” Draco barked, knowing he was being unreasonable when these boys were merely trying to help him. Perhaps he had been too much on his own all these years and gotten used to taking care of himself.

Everyone was making too much of a fuss over a mere flesh wound. It was nothing compared to other wounds he’d received in the heat of battle, and he had survived those under much rougher conditions.

“Put him in a pushchair,” Imogen ordered Elmer. “The man is ridiculous. He’s lost too much blood. His eyes are glazed, and I am certain they are out of focus.”

“My eyesight is perfect,” he grumbled. She shoved him lightly so that he fell back in the chair, and then asked him how many fingers she was holding up. “How would I know? Stop moving them in front of my face.”

“I am not moving them. You are the one who cannot see straight because your eyes are swimming around. Why will you not admit you are dizzy?”

“I am not dizzy. I am an earl.”

“I would not boast about it when you are behaving like a stubborn idiot.”

He laughed. “Imogen, stop kicking my arse. I’ll be fine once the doctor cleans out the wound and puts in the stitches.”

The handkerchief she had been pressing to his arm had fallen to the floor, and he saw that it was soaked with blood. His shirt sleeve was also soaked, the elegant white lawn fabric now covered in crimson all the way down to the cuff.

No wonder Deandra burst into tears again.

And no wonder his head was spinning.

What a turn of bad luck.

Not only was he worthless in his condition and unable to chase the villain who had fired that shot, but he needed to be in shape for tomorrow’s meeting with McTavish.

Well, one problem at a time.

Parrot, Constable Angel, and his men were already on the trail of this assailant. They would eventually find out the villain’s identity even if the constables never caught up to him, for a man with such a fine horse would be noticed, and someone would be able to put a name to its owner. There could not be more than a handful of chestnut Friesians in all of England.

First problem solved… Well, soon to be solved.

Draco was deposited in a surprisingly well-appointed private room that held only two beds, both of them neatly made up and unoccupied. The lad called Elmer assured him Dr. Hewitt was on his way to tend to his flesh wound. That solved the second problem.

The third problem was his meeting with McTavish. However, Draco did not think it would become an issue, since they were merely going to sit at a corner table in the tavern to discuss terms. How difficult could sharing a drink with a fellow privateer be?

Still, Draco was frustrated.

He could not put Parrot back to the task of protecting Imogen because the animal was off tracking the assailant. Nor could he properly look after Imogen while in his condition. Most troubling was that all had seemed quiet in the village until the very moment of the shooting.

Obviously, someone had been lurking and no one had noticed.

Who had fired the shot?

Why had he fired it?

And who was he aiming for? Him or Imogen?