Chapter Fourteen

“See to her first, Dr. Hewitt,” Draco said, refusing to allow the doctor to tend him before treating Imogen’s injured hand.

Imogen was not pleased by this at all.

Draco did not care.

He was not going to allow her to suffer a moment longer than necessary. This was his fault. His assignment and Driscoll’s murder on his property were to blame. Yes, all his fault for being in Imogen’s company when he should not have been with her today.

He’d thought it was safe, since the Drogheda was not in port yet and no one had set eyes on McTavish. Nor did it matter that the constable’s men and Major Brennan’s soldiers had been on alert and looking for Healey, Burke, Driscoll’s companions, or any strangers all week long. Obviously, these precautions had not been enough.

Imogen reluctantly held out her hand, and was about to take a deep breath to renew her protests when the doctor pulled out two tiny shards, then dabbed a salve on the two spots. “There, that ought to do it.”

“You’re done?” she asked incredulously, having gotten out not a single complaint.

Dr. Hewitt smiled. “Yes. All done. Elmer, wrap a bandage around Lady Imogen’s hand. Her wrist appears to be mildly sprained, so wrap it over her wrist as well. Lady Imogen, I’m sure it will be better in a day or two.”

“Then do I really need a bandage?”

The doctor nodded. “Just a precaution. Come by here tomorrow or the day after and I’ll remove it. If the hand is still red in those spots, then I’ll apply more salve.”

“All right.” Imogen glanced at Draco, who was seated on a stool beside one of the two beds in this private room, his shirt a bloody mess. “Now you must tend to him, doctor. He’s still bleeding. I’ll be right outside the door with Deandra.”

Draco watched as Elmer walked her out. “Wait right here, Lady Imogen,” he heard the lad say, since the door was open and he could hear all that was going on in the hall. “I’ll fetch a chair for each of you. Treating Lord Woodley’s injury will take a little while. The doctor has to clean out his wound, make certain nothing is lodged inside, then stitch him up. That gash is going to require at least a dozen stitches, if not more.”

Deandra, who had been standing by the doorway, staring at him and quietly weeping, now began to swoon.

Imogen cried out, “Oh dear! Elmer, help me get her back into the room. I noticed a second bed in there. May we use it? Oh goodness. She’s going to faint.”

Draco was about to leap to his feet to assist, but the doctor sternly held him down. “Elmer and Lady Imogen have this in hand. I do not need you fainting, too.”

Draco was not pleased, but obeyed, since the lad and Imogen did have matters very much under control without his interference. The two of them set Deandra on the empty bed. “Lie still,” Imogen said, gently brushing Deandra’s hair off her cheek. She then turned to Elmer and whispered, “I’ll fetch some apple cider. Keep an eye on her to make sure she does not try to climb out of bed.”

“I’ll fetch it,” Elmer volunteered.

Imogen shook her head. “No, Dr. Hewitt needs you to assist him with Lord Woodley.”

Deandra’s eyes fluttered open. “What happened?”

“You fainted,” Imogen said.

“I did?”

“Yes, but it is understandable. You’ve gotten yourself too worked up.” Imogen left her side a moment to grab a fresh cloth from the long table beside the window, dip it in the ewer of water beside the pile of cloths, and then twist the excess water out. She placed the cloth over Deandra’s brow. “Just rest comfortably until I return. I won’t be long.”

“Where are you going?” Deandra grabbed Imogen’s wrist, the one that had been injured and was now bound.

Draco expected Imogen to cry out, but she remained stoic. “Just running to the kitchen for refreshments that you and Draco will both need. I’ll be right back.”

Deandra nodded weakly. “All right.”

Imogen hurried off.

Draco felt so proud of her. Out of all of them, she had remained the calmest and was most efficient. He had noticed her rubbing her wrist lightly when Deandra finally released it. Grabbing her like that must have hurt, but she did not make a single complaint.

From the moment that shot was fired and he was struck, Imogen had shown incredible resolve and patience in dealing with him and Deandra.

“Ready, my lord?” The doctor’s question brought him back to attention.

“Yes, do what you must.”

The doctor nodded. “Elmer, help him remove his shirt.”

“No need for delicacy,” Draco said as the young lad proceeded slowly. “The shirt is ruined. Just help me rip it off. But I’ll need to borrow a clean one, if the hospital has any to spare.”

“Elmer will find one for you after I’m done stitching you up,” Dr. Hewitt assured him, and then proceeded to work with quiet efficiency. Elmer also appeared to be experienced, for the doctor and the lad merely exchanged nods at every step while they worked on him, each one knowing exactly what needed to be done.

Imogen returned while the doctor was applying the last of his stitches. The tray she carried held a pitcher of cider and three glasses. She set it down on a small table beside Deandra’s bed, sighed softly, and then sat down beside Deandra’s prone form. “Shall I pour you a drink?”

Draco’s cousin, who had been lying quietly with the damp cloth over her eyes, uttered a barely audible “yes” and sat up.

Draco watched Imogen pour a glass for each of them, then saw no more as Elmer drew a curtain between the two beds. “You are shirtless, my lord. It isn’t appropriate for the ladies to see you this way.”

He nodded.

Imogen had already seen him without a shirt, but it was not something to be announced to others unless he meant to ruin her reputation.

Of course, he would marry her and put an end to any scandal.

But this was not what Imogen wanted or deserved. She deserved to be courted with roses and waltzes and strawberry tarts. She deserved to be kissed in a moonlit garden and told he loved her.

She deserved moonstones glowing.

He would give her all of it as soon as his assignment was completed.

The doctor did not take long to finish sewing him up. The wound hurt like blazes, but it could have been worse. The ball had torn clear through his arm and not lodged in the bone or between ligaments.

“There, all done.” Dr. Hewitt also applied a salve atop the stitches. “Elmer, bandage him up, then find him a shirt. My lord, in the meanwhile, lie back and rest. You’ll need some laudanum for the pain. I’ll give you a dose in a few minutes and provide a vial of it for you to take home with you. Take some tonight before retiring to bed.”

“No, it will knock me out.”

The doctor shrugged. “As you wish, but you’ll feel much better in the morning if you use a little of it tonight.”

Elmer did not take long to bandage his arm, then he hurried off to find Draco a shirt to wear.

Once the lad and doctor were gone, Draco drew aside the curtain and silently made his way toward Imogen. He wanted to make certain she and Deandra were all right, and was especially worried about Imogen, who had been a pillar of strength throughout.

Deandra was lying down again, her eyes closed and the damp cloth on her forehead. Her bout of tears seemed to have drained her, and she must have drifted off to sleep. Perhaps she had been given some laudanum for her nerves, for she lay quietly and did not make a sound. Imogen was seated beside her, lost in thought. Her head was bowed and her hands were shaking as she held a glass of cider that was still full.

He watched her take a sip, raising a shaky hand to her lips.

Draco’s heart tugged, for his little butterfly looked so forlorn. The incident had scared her. Knowing how deeply she felt things, he realized she was only now allowing her feelings to come out.

He made not a sound as he reached her side.

When she looked up, he gave her cheek a light caress. But one look at his bandaged arm brought tears to her eyes.

Wordlessly, he set aside her glass and took her in his arms, swallowing her up in his embrace. He held her for a very long while, his arms protectively circled around her slender body. He held her as though she meant the world to him. She did mean everything to him. He hoped she understood without the need for words.

He stroked her hair and ran his knuckles gently along the line of her jaw. “Butterfly,” he whispered.

She gave a silent sob and melted against him.

There was so much he wanted to say to her, but he dared not speak and ruin the moment. Instead, he kissed her soft lips. The kiss was deep and filled with longing, for his heart was hers, and nothing on heaven or earth would ever change that.

She gave back with equal fervor, her response a sweet surrender. She leaned into him and drew him closer, pressing her mouth to his with similar passion and yearning.

But it was over all too soon. He drew away upon hearing Elmer’s voice in the hallway.

After giving Imogen a final, brief kiss on the nose, he returned to his bed and slid the curtain between them closed again.

Only then did he speak to her. “I’ll escort you and Deandra back to Westgate Hall as soon as I am decent.”

“All right,” she said, her voice achingly soft. “What will you do afterward? The doctor told you to rest.”

“I will.”

“Promise me, Draco. I will never forgive you if you ride off after Parrot and the constables. They will catch the culprit without your assistance.”

He chuckled. “I am not going to ride off after Parrot. But I must do a little investigating of my own. Someone in the village must have seen something.”

“Attend to it tomorrow. You are in no condition to be running around today.”

“I’m not going to run around, just walk along the high street and ask the shopkeepers if they saw anything.”

“If you are up and walking about, then you are not resting as the doctor ordered.” She sighed. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll help you.”

“Not a chance. I’m taking you straight back to Westgate Hall, where you are to stay until I tell you otherwise. And don’t call me an ogre. You know I am only trying to keep you safe. Was today’s incident not frightening enough for you? I’ll share with you whatever I find out.”

“All right,” she replied after a long moment, no doubt because she did not want to argue with him while he was injured. “Do you have any idea who did this?”

“Not a clue.” After seeing them safely to the Burness residence, he planned to return to Moonstone Landing and question the Kestrel Inn’s stable master, Matchett. The assailant’s horse was of the finest bloodstock. No ordinary knave could ever afford such a beast.

No one knew those beasts better than Matchett. The man talked too much, but few could dispute his impressive knowledge of horseflesh. If that horse had ever been stabled here, Matchett would remember it and hopefully be able to identify its owner.

Imogen must have had a similar thought. “We ought to question Mr. Matchett. We can do so when we pick up your rig.”

Draco laughed. “Yes, Imogen. He’s the first one I will question once I see you safely home.”

“Would it not be more efficient if we asked him now?”

“Yes, but Deandra needs to be put to bed as soon as possible. She’s in no fit state for us to be stopping anywhere.”

“I suppose,” she muttered. “Do you think the horse belonged to one of Lord Driscoll’s friends?”

“Possibly. Imogen, let’s talk about it later, all right? Deandra is going to cry again.”

“Oh…yes. I’m sorry. I did not think.”

Deandra was not stirring, no doubt because she had been given something to calm her. To Draco’s eye, she looked exhausted, a bit disoriented, and sorely in need of a good night’s rest. She was unaware of rebel plots and Crown assignments, and Draco wanted to keep it that way. Seeing him with a mere flesh wound that required nothing more than a few stitches had undone his young cousin. She was in no fit state to be told anything, or listen in on anything…not now or ever.

Elmer hurried in with shirt in hand. Major Brennan strode in shortly after the boy. He went immediately to Imogen’s side to make certain she was all right. “I’m fine, Fionn. Truly. So is Deandra, but she worked herself into a state, so Dr. Hewitt administered a dose of laudanum. Lord Woodley required a dozen stitches. He’s the one who was hurt and ought to be taking the laudanum, but he has refused.”

“Yes, Dr. Hewitt told me,” the major said, shaking his head at Draco.

Imogen rose from Deandra’s bedside. “I’ll wake Deandra and take her for a walk in the garden while you speak to Lord Woodley. Let him tell you exactly what happened. The doctor ordered him to rest, but he wants to investigate. I think it is something best left to you while he recuperates, don’t you agree?”

Draco growled. He did not want her interfering.

“Don’t wake Deandra yet,” he said. “Major Brennan, you and I ought to take that walk in the garden.”

“As you wish. Are you sure you are—”

“I am fine,” Draco insisted.

“He always says that,” Imogen muttered.

Draco left the ladies in the private room with the able Elmer to look after them while he strolled in the hospital’s garden with Brennan. He quickly told him about the incident in the tea room. “I would beg that favor and ask you to take the ladies home,” he said, “but I fear my cousin will not calm down unless I attend to the task myself. Imogen was remarkably helpful,” he admitted. “But Deandra completely fell to pieces.”

The major nodded. “She is young and no doubt has led a sheltered existence. Your uncle is a very mild-mannered man.”

“Gentlest man I’ve ever met, and completely absent-minded,” Draco replied with a wry smile. “Completely useless in such situations, too.”

The major paused to look out over the harbor. “Well, we cannot all be heroes. Imogen surprised you, didn’t she?”

“Yes.” Draco joined him in staring out over the glistening waters.

“She is all heart, that girl. We often forget how truly smart she is because the side of her she usually shows us has everything to do with feelings and little to do with practicality. She is a bundle of compassion and kindly spirit. But she is also talented, sharp as the crack of a whip, and soaks up knowledge like a sponge.”

“I would add brave, loyal, and sensible under duress to that list of her virtues,” Draco said. “I knew it already, but to see her today… And she is so humble about herself. I behaved like an ass. She handled me rather well.”

“Are you going to continue to behave like an ass and refuse everyone’s help? I could talk to Matchett for you.”

“No, I want to do it myself. I suffered a flesh wound, that’s all. One would think I was at death’s door the way everyone is fussing over me. All I intend to do is ask questions, and then I must talk to Thaddius Angel to look at his guest registry, as well as see if any mail came for me today.”

“Yes, I suppose you must be eager for word from the Home Office, especially since you are to meet with that gunrunner tomorrow. Just say the word, and my men will swoop in and take him and his crew into custody.”

“You and Burness will be the first to know if my instructions change. Truly, I will not hesitate to call upon you if I feel the need.”

They soon parted ways.

Draco had driven Imogen and Deandra into town in a rig that was now waiting for them in front of the hospital. One of Brennan’s soldiers was in the driver’s seat. “I’ve got this, my lord. You just sit back and enjoy the company of those pretty ladies.”

Lord, he hated being patronized.

But he was not going to win this round, and he did not particularly mind having another able-bodied man with him on the ride back to the Burness residence. He did not expect trouble, but neither had he expected to be attacked in a tea shop.

Imogen climbed in, sitting opposite him with her hands primly folded on her lap. Deandra was beside him, clutching him and refusing to let go. He indulged his cousin, since he did not know what else to do to keep her calm.

Imogen smiled in approval.

He tossed back a sloppy grin, wishing it was her that he was holding. But she seemed content and rather relieved they were out of the hospital now. He did not mind sitting opposite her and staring at her lovely face.

There was just something about this girl.

She really did look like a butterfly with those big eyes and lovely mass of hair that framed her heart-shaped face. Her neck was swanlike, long and slender. He would enjoy planting kisses along its smooth arch and kissing the tempting hollow of her throat. Her shoulders were small, which probably accentuated the size of her nicely rounded bosom.

He looked his fill, since he had nothing else to do as the rig jounced its way up the high street and out of town.

He had not thought to ask about the extent of her uncle’s authority over her, but he would make a point of finding out when he spoke to Burness. Did he have the authority to consent to Imogen’s marriage? Or would Draco have to write to her father in order to seek permission?

Bollocks.

That would delay matters possibly for another month, if not longer if they insisted on a London wedding.

Imogen nudged his foot to regain his attention. “Draco, you were smiling, but now you are frowning. Is something wrong?”

“No, Butterfly. Just thinking of certain matters that require my attention. Important Woodley matters. One in particular that I must address as soon as…” He could not mention his Crown assignment with Deandra listening in. “Just an important item on my list of things to do now that I am earl.” Did Imogen not count as such? Acquiring a wife was rather an important Woodley concern.

The ride to Westgate Hall was surprisingly pleasant and quiet without Deandra’s howling to shatter his eardrums.

Melrose hurried toward them as soon as the conveyance approached. Since Major Brennan had insisted on assigning one of his soldiers to drive them here, Draco would take advantage of the man’s services on the ride back. Knowing he was not taking the reins would quiet Imogen’s protests, because he knew by her look that she was going to mother him.

Not that he minded. His arm did ache like blazes. He was slightly nauseated, too. His stitches were fresh, and he would hear no end of chiding if the slightest trace of blood seeped through his bandage and onto his borrowed shirt.

“My lord, news of what happened just reached us,” Melrose said with sincere concern. “Lord and Lady Burness are at St. Austell Grange at the moment, but I’ve sent a man to inform them of the shooting on the chance they have not heard.”

Draco gave an arch laugh. “I’m sure the town criers have spread the news far and wide.”

Melrose cleared his throat. “Yes, it is likely. His lordship and her ladyship should be back soon.”

“But as you can see,” Imogen said, hopping eagerly out of the rig, “we are all well.”

Melrose obviously did not agree, for his eyes rounded and he cried out in alarm. “Dear heaven! Lady Imogen, your gown!”

She glanced down, noting the bloodstains that looked quite awful. “Oh, that. Dear me, it isn’t any of my blood, I assure you. Lord Woodley is the one who got shot. But as you can see, he is on the mend. My gown is ruined, however. I don’t think these stains will come out. Perhaps we can boil the gown and then dye the fabric.”

Melrose regarded Deandra, who was next to step down. Her gown was lightly stained, only a few red drops on the fabric, since Imogen had been the one holding him and tending him, while Deandra had been mostly crying beside him and doing nothing to help.

Imogen put an arm around Deandra as soon as she stepped down. “She’s still a little overset and wobbly on her feet, Melrose. I’m putting her straight to bed. Have Betty bring up some warm milk and biscuits for her in our bedchamber.”

“Very good, Lady Imogen. And for you and Lord Woodley?”

Imogen ordered lemonade and cakes to be served on the terrace, and then told the young soldier who drove them to go to the kitchen, where the Burness cook would serve the same for him. “Thank you, Lady Imogen,” the soldier said, and hopped out of the driver’s seat.

“Imogen, do not pamper him. I cannot stay long,” Draco muttered, hopping down last.

“I won’t hold you up, but surely you can spare a few minutes for me. Wait for me on the terrace. I’ll be right back.”

“All right.” Draco settled in one of those long chairs he found so comfortable while Imogen bustled his cousin upstairs, quickly washed up and changed out of her own bloodied gown, and then returned wearing a mint-green confection that had him aching to taste her because she looked simply delicious, like a refreshing sprig of amuse-bouche on a plate.

Before he had the chance to rise, she sank into the chair beside his and released a lengthy sigh. “I hope I did not keep you waiting too long. Deandra will be fine. Our maid, Betty, is taking good care of her.”

He nodded. “Thank you, Imogen. You’ve been wonderful to us both.”

She cast him a sweet smile and blushed. “I expect Deandra will fall asleep now, because this incident has completely drained her.”

He sat up and leaned close to her. “And you, Imogen? How are you feeling?”

“Shaken,” she admitted. “Quite a bit spent. But I will calm down now that your wound has been treated and you appear fit.”

“I am fine. You mustn’t worry about me.”

“Draco, you always say this. But you are not fine. You were shot.”

“Flesh wound, Butterfly. Your gown suffered worse. I’ll pay for a new one.”

She laughed softly. “Why? Because it was your blood on it? You are not to worry about that.” He started to protest, but she laughed and cut him off. “You are turning into a protective ape again. You must stop insisting on paying for everything for me.”

“All right.” But he was going to do exactly that. He would talk to Burness about it later.

“Draco, who do you think tried to shoot you?”

He arched an eyebrow. “I don’t know. The assailant could have been aiming for anybody in that shop.”

“But he hit you,” she pointed out. “And I hardly think some dastardly villain was coming after the ladies in the tea shop.”

He closed his eyes and allowed the sun to warm his face. “I suppose not, but I had my body over you at the time. That shot was going to hit you if I had not pushed you down. I truly have no idea who would have done this to either of us. I suppose the likely culprits are Healey or Burke.”

“So, you would rule out Driscoll’s friends?”

He opened his eyes and studied her as she sat close beside him, a light breeze blowing off the water and gently stirring her curls. Truly, he could not wait for the day to unpin that silky mass and slide his fingers through her beautiful tresses.

“Yes, Imogen. They are ruled out. Those toadies came here in carriages. None of them rode here on horseback. Nor could they afford a horse so fine as that chestnut Friesian when their families have cut off their allowances and they are all left scrounging from month to month to support their profligate existence. It is possible one of them borrowed the mount to ride back here, but to what purpose? And who would ever trust any of them with a horse as fine as that one?”

She stared up at him with her big eyes that never failed to ensorcel him. “Perhaps they sought revenge for your having them locked up overnight in the Fort Arundel barracks?”

“All that effort for an uncomfortable night?” Draco shook his head. “No, they are stupid men, but not that stupid. Their friend had just been killed and they were seen fleeing. They are fortunate we did not clap them in irons and hold them here as suspects. No, it wasn’t them. They are creatures of comfort…or should I say, creatures of indulgence. To ride back here just for the pleasure of shooting me? And risk getting locked up again? Not those wastrels.”

“But Healey and Burke? Why would they do such a foolish thing?”

“I don’t know, but my wager is on them. No one else makes sense.”

“Nor do they make sense,” Imogen insisted. “What motive would they have?”

“I don’t know,” he said again. “They don’t know I am aware of their activities or that I suspect them in the murder of Driscoll. Perhaps they did mean to shoot me, but their aim was quite far off, and they would have shot you instead. I wonder if you were their target.”

She frowned. “Why would I be? I’ve done nothing to gain their notice.”

“Haven’t you? Perhaps they overheard you as you questioned Thaddius, or saw you looking about.”

“I was as discreet as you were,” she said with a guilty blush.

“Imogen, you are a little spy, and everyone knows it. But assume their actions were aimed at scaring me. They might have decided to target you knowing I would not be deterred if they only came after me. But to harm an innocent…one that I care about? It could have been you or Deandra they meant to hit. You were seated beside me. They might have aimed for Deandra had I not sent her off to tend Parrot.”

Imogen clutched her stomach and inhaled lightly. “Oh, heavens. Thank goodness she was out of the way.”

He gave her cheek a light caress. “But I’m sorry you were close by. I wish fortune had kept you safe.”

“You were my fortune, Draco. Who knows what would have happened had you not pushed me out of the way? None of this is your fault. You were protecting me.”

He shook his head. “You’re a little thing, and I was afraid I had squashed you.”

“No, you felt nice.” She cast him an impish smirk.

“Do not encourage me,” he said with a groaning laugh. “I have a hard enough time keeping my hands off you as it is.”

Her smile broadened. “You do?”

“Of course. You are beautiful, Imogen. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I helped you down from your carriage on the night of the masquerade ball. But we are not going to talk about this right now. Help me puzzle out this latest mystery. If Burke and Healey are to blame, then what is their purpose? Why anger me when they desperately need my caves?”

“A warning to ensure your cooperation once those crates are delivered to you?”

He frowned. “Threatening me will never work. And I was already cooperating.”

“But as you said, threatening to harm someone you care about? That would get you to think twice about creating problems for them.”

“Before I had ever created a problem? Then they do not know me at all. If anything, threatening a loved one would make me more determined to go after them. I would come at them like a god of vengeance, raining fire and brimstone down on them.”

“Would you do this before you accomplished your Crown assignment?”

“Yes,” he said, obviously surprising her. “I agreed to put my life at risk, not risk the lives of those who are dear to me.” He reached out and took her hand. “I include you in that group. I’ve grown quite fond of you, Imogen. I hope you know that.”

“I do, Draco. It took me a while to be certain because you confused me, blowing hot one moment and then cold another. But I think you’ve decided not to fight your feelings for me anymore. I’m glad. If we are meant to fall in love, then let it happen.”

If?

There was no “if” about his affection for her.

She shook her head and laughed lightly. “I’ve placed your gift atop my bureau and will open it later. Or should I bring it down and open it now?”

“Save it for later.” He gave her chin a light tweak. “You’ll turn mawkish and weep if you open it now.”

“Oh, is it that beautiful?” Her expressive face glowed with pure delight. “Draco, thank you. I shall run up and fetch it right—”

“No, Butterfly. I’d rather finish talking to you before your family returns and interrupts us. Besides, I really need to get back to town and ask questions.”

“Oh, yes. That is important. What were you saying about Healey and Burke?”

He raked a hand through his hair. “I cannot think of what their motive might be.”

“Perhaps we are wrong to accuse them,” she said, her lips now pursed in thought. “What if they had nothing to do with the incident?”

“Then who else do you suspect?”

She shook her head. “I have no idea. That’s the problem, isn’t it? Healey and Burke make the most sense, but we cannot figure out their motivation. How does harming any of us help their cause?”

“It doesn’t, but they might not see it the same way.”

“All right, let’s try looking at this situation through their eyes.” She poured him a lemonade now that Melrose had brought out a tray for them. “They’ve just killed Driscoll on your property.”

Draco nodded as he took the glass from her. “And now they have to be worried I might link them to the murder. They also have to be worried the Irishman will come after them for trying to do business behind his back.”

“The rebels would be angry with them, too. But assuming they are square with them and still working as their agents…still doesn’t make sense. They have to deal with you, because you are the new middleman for the shipment of goods. They have no choice but to pick up their weapons from you, and this means they must return to your property.”

“Maybe this has them worried.”

Imogen nibbled her lip. “So why heap more suspicion on themselves? If I were those two, I would slink in and slink back out as fast as I could, talking to nobody, and certainly not drawing any attention to myself. What happened to the caves they were using before yours? Have you discovered the reason for the sudden change of location?”

“No. All I have ever been told is that it was a stroke of luck, and the Home Office took advantage of the opportunity to attempt to plant me in their rebel group.”

“Perhaps not luck so much as manipulation?” She continued to nibble her lip, paying no heed as the soft flesh turned a darker pink.

But he noticed. He ached to kiss her.

“Who would do the manipulating? Healey and Burke?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe your Irishman. Oh, Draco. I’m sorry, but I do not see how Healey or Burke, or even your Irishman, are involved in today’s incident. It makes no sense from our perspective or theirs.” She leaned back and sighed. “But let’s talk about the Irishman. Is it possible he panicked? But how is he even involved when his ship is still out at sea?”

“Cross him out as a suspect. He has ice flowing through his veins and would never panic.” Draco had encountered McTavish often enough to know he would remain calm, no matter how tense the situation. In this way, he and the Irishman were similar. They knew each other and understood each other. More important, they respected each other.

As for trust…he did not quite trust the Irishman yet, but neither did McTavish completely trust him. No, firing a shot into a tea shop was not McTavish’s style.

“What will he do if the plot falls apart?” Imogen asked.

“The Irishman?” Draco shrugged. “He doesn’t want to be sitting with a shipload of guns no one has paid for, that’s for certain. Since he is not likely to receive payment until he delivers those weapons to me, there is no way he was involved in this incident. However, once he has his money, I have no idea what he will do.”

Imogen’s eyes widened. “Is this all he is waiting for? Payment? And then he will harm you?”

“No, I will remain on my guard, but I doubt he will do anything to me. If he goes after anyone, it will be Healey and Burke. They certainly have made him angry enough.”

“But he won’t touch them before you get the guns to the rebels, right?” Imogen studied his expression intently. “Oh dear. Will his desire for vengeance ruin your plans?”

“I don’t know. It might. Of course, he has no idea I am working for the Crown and need Healey and Burke left alone until I find out who the big players are behind this rebel plot. Nor will he particularly care even if he knew.”

“Then all your work will be for nothing, Draco. Can you talk to him? Give the Irishman an incentive to hold back once he has his money? But what incentive can you offer him without giving yourself away?”

“Imogen, you are thinking too hard. I’m meeting him tomorrow and will try to get a sense of what he is thinking. He won’t do anything rash. He has no incentive to interfere with the rebel plot. If the rebels are caught, they’ll turn him in, too. That should be reason enough for him to keep quiet. He’ll know how to make Healey and Burke disappear at the appropriate time without disrupting anyone’s plans.”

“Or casting suspicion on himself,” Imogen remarked.

“That’s right. He isn’t stupid. He will do whatever it takes not to hang alongside those conspirators.”

“I hope so.”

So did he.

Imogen had made an interesting observation, and he wanted to give it some thought. The way matters looked, with supply lines disrupted and all the players on edge and distrustful of each other, there was bound to be shooting.

But there might be a way to turn things around. McTavish was the key to unraveling the rebel plot. However, Draco had no idea yet how to get him to cooperate.

He was not going to say anything about it to Imogen. She would pounce on the idea and he just needed her to keep safe.

Imogen was giving him a compassionate look again. “I will look through my drawings again to see if anything else leaps out at me. Perhaps there is a fourth person no one has considered. What if this villain on horseback was Lord Trewick? Or Lady Trewick?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Back to them, are we?”

“Why not? Must every incident be connected to the rebel plot?” She paused and tipped her head toward the door. “Oh, I think I hear my uncle coming. Draco, you really ought to go home and rest. Getting answers can wait until tomorrow. You’ll be in town anyway to meet with the Irishman.”

He raised a hand to stem her protest. “That’s the soft-hearted Imogen speaking. I’ve already wasted too much time. At a minimum, I need to question Matchett and also find out if the mail coach has arrived.”

“I do not like this at all, Draco.”

“I’ll sleep for a month once this assignment is over.” He cast her a wicked smile. “If fortune shines on me, I’ll have you with me in my bed.”

She gasped.

“All proper, Imogen. I am not suggesting anything naughty…even if you were willing.”

Her face turned a bright shade of red.

Yes, she was willing.

“I thought you might be.” He smiled and kissed her on the tip of her pert nose. “I’ll see you later.”