Chapter Four

Draco rode to Fort Arundel early the next morning in the hope of questioning Driscoll’s friends. Viscount Brennan, who was the army major in command of Fort Arundel and the fairly new army hospital built beside the ancient fort, was to assist him. However, Draco would take the lead in their questioning. Driscoll’s friends must have seen something, even if they had not witnessed the actual murder itself. Perhaps now that he and Brennan were no longer in their ridiculous costumes of last night, they might be taken more seriously.

“Let’s start with Lord Hawes,” Draco suggested, for he sensed Hawes was someone who might break easily under questioning. “The dissolute lord is used to his lavish comforts. More important, he is a sot and will need a drink to calm his nerves. Of course, that drink will be denied him until he tells us all he knows about last night.”

The viscount nodded. “You are fairly well acquainted with these lords, Woodley. Approach them however you think best.”

It did not take long for the soldiers on duty to bring Lord Hawes to Brennan’s office. Draco made certain to keep a bottle of aged scotch in plain sight of the man whose hands were already trembling for want of a drink. Draco felt sorry for him, but was not about to show him any mercy yet. “Make this easy on yourself, Hawes.”

The man scowled. “You have no right to hold me here.”

“Your friend died last night. You are all suspects in his murder.” Draco motioned for him to take a seat around the small table in the fort commander’s office. He and Brennan sat as well. “Tell us what you saw. Just tell us the truth so we can rule you out. Besides, does his family not have a right to know what happened?”

“They won’t care. He was a miserable person. We all knew it.” But Hawes shook his head and moaned. “I didn’t see anything. None of us did. I need a drink.”

Draco nodded. “You shall have one after you answer our questions. You were with Driscoll throughout last night’s affair. You must have noticed something. Did anyone approach him?”

“Other than your staff? No.” Hawes set his hands on the table to show how badly they were already trembling. “I need that drink.”

“And I need answers. Why did Driscoll go down to the pirate caves?”

Hawes groaned. “He was handed a note. One of your footmen delivered it. Driscoll read it and laughed, then headed down the cliff walk to meet whoever it was who sent it to him. We did not see him alive after that.”

“Did he tell you who he was to meet?”

“No, he merely tucked the note in the breast pocket of his costume and said he would be back shortly.” Hawes began to rub his temples. “I need that drink.”

Draco nodded. “You will have it, but first you must tell me more.”

“There is no more to tell. When he failed to come back, a few of us went down to see what was taking him so long. I mean, if he was with a woman, how long does it take to lift up her skirts and spread her legs so he can stick his—”

“Got it.” It made Draco ill to think those men had been leering at Imogen. “Was he with a woman?”

“I have no idea. He simply laughed when he read the note, then said to wait for him because it wouldn’t take long. The supper dance was in progress, and we knew the guests would soon unmask and then be called in to supper. We were hungry. We shouted down to him and got no answer.”

“Is that when you went in search of him?”

Hawes nodded. “We found him on the rocks at the mouth of the cave with a knife in his chest. Suddenly, eating did not seem important. We just wanted to get away.”

“You were going to run and not report his death to anyone? Why would you do this if you had nothing to do with killing him? He was your friend.”

Hawes regarded Draco through bloodshot eyes. “Would you have believed us if we proclaimed our innocence? And you know our group. We are not friends so much as disillusioned lords, each with our own demons to conquer. Not that we shall ever conquer them, for they have already taken possession of our souls.” He stared down at his trembling hands once again. “Only death will allow us to escape. Woodley, I really need that drink.”

Draco rose to pour a little of the scotch into a glass. “Here.”

Hawes grabbed the glass from his outstretched hand and gulped the dark amber liquid down fast. “More. I need more.”

Draco nodded. “Finish your story first.”

“There is nothing more to tell. Your dog came bounding out of the house, and we just wanted to get away. That’s when you saw us. We didn’t kill Driscoll. He was already dead when we found him, and there was nothing more we could do for him.”

“Did any of you search his pockets for that note?”

Hawes shook his head. “No. None of us thought to do it. We just wanted to forget any of this had happened.”

“Did you see anyone climb up or down that cliff walk while you were standing there?” If this murder had been planned, Draco doubted the killer would have been so brazen as to use those cliff steps down to the beach and caves. It would have meant passing in front of Driscoll’s friends and possibly being recognized. No, a smart killer would have approached from the meadow, which was a slightly steeper climb down the cliff side but still quite easily managed, and not have been seen by any of them.

“Not a soul passed us. It was getting dark, and we were the only ones still out there.”

“What about earlier?”

Hawes laughed. “I wasn’t paying attention. None of us were. We were too busy watching that pretty butterfly walk around your garden. You know the one I mean. You were eyeing her for dessert, as well. Driscoll was going to approach her, but then you showed up and would not leave her side. Did you get lucky, Woodley?”

Draco wanted to grab the boor by the throat and knew the viscount wished to do the same. “She is a lady, not that any of you miserable curs would know the difference. Rest assured, had Driscoll set a hand on her, it would have been my knife found sticking out of his chest. Same for any of you who ever dare approach her. My guests are under my protection.”

“Driscoll obviously wasn’t,” Hawes shot back.

“Driscoll wasn’t a guest of mine. I never invited him or any of you. Why did you show up?”

“Someone invited us…in honor of our friendship with your brother, Nolan. That’s what the note tucked in our invitations said.”

Draco exchanged a glance with the viscount. Could Driscoll’s death be related to Nolan’s untimely demise?

He concluded the interview with Hawes, poured the wretched man another glass of scotch, then had one of the fort’s soldiers escort him back to his room. “Wait,” Hawes said. “Aren’t you letting me go?”

Draco cast him a hard look. “Not before we finish interviewing all of you.”

Hawes was led out, and that gave Draco a moment alone with Brennan to discuss what they had learned. “Blast, if this is some plot to avenge Nolan’s death, then I am at a loss. I was not in England when my brother died and knew nothing of his friends or their misadventures. My brother was a pompous, selfish, drunken lout. Is it any wonder he consorted with Driscoll and his toady friends?”

“Hawes is a pathetic character,” Brennan remarked.

“They all are. So was my brother. I do not know how Nolan and I descended from the same bloodline. I was saddened by his death, but never considered it was anything more than an accident. Of course, I was told little beyond the fact he had broken his neck while out riding.”

“Obviously, there is a connection between his death and now Driscoll’s.”

“Or maybe no connection, but the killer wants us to think there is in order to throw us off the scent. I am not dismissing any possibilities. Perhaps the killer believes Driscoll was in some way responsible for Nolan’s death, but why wait a year to take revenge, and why all the way out here?” Draco rubbed his jaw in consternation. “Well, who the hell knows? I’ll have to ask my uncle what he was told about my brother’s accident.”

Brennan nodded. “Driscoll’s friends might prove more helpful. Did you sense Hawes was holding back on us?”

“Yes, for certain.”

Draco and the viscount spent hours trying to coax information out of the remaining dissolute lords, but they were no more cooperative, all of them lying through their teeth in claiming no knowledge of the circumstances surrounding his brother’s death or that of Driscoll’s. Not even Hawes would shed light when they called him back in for another round of questioning.

“We seem to have opened up a second possible murder instead of getting closer to solving the first,” Brennan muttered. “What next?”

“I’m not sure. Perhaps Constable Angel has learned something.” Draco rose and shook the viscount’s hand. “Let those bounders go. I’ll know where to find them if it turns out they were involved. They are lazy, useless slugs. I cannot imagine their expending the effort to get rid of their friend. They’ll run back to London now, I expect. I’ll arrange to have them watched there. Major Brennan, I am deeply grateful for your time and assistance.”

“Not at all, Woodley. Glad to be of help, as little as it turned out to be.”

“You were very generous. Well, I’m off to track down the constable, then I’ll speak to my uncle to see what he knows. I’ll also question my footmen to find out which one of them delivered that note to Driscoll, and if they had any idea of its contents, or knew the identity of the guest who handed it to him.”

“I’ll not delay you. Do not hesitate to ask for my help,” the major said, escorting Draco out of the fort. “We all want to see the murderer brought to justice, especially if he means to kill again.”

Since Constable Angel was not in his office, Draco rode off to Westgate Hall. It was shortly before noon, and he was eager to question his uncle. He was also eager to see Imogen again, for he could not deny his response to the kiss they had shared.

She had wanted to be kissed with love.

He had only meant to kiss her with heat—just heat, no hearts involved.

Somehow, she had gotten that love kiss out of him.

He was still reeling from it.

And not happy about it.

Imogen was standing in the front courtyard, playing with Parrot, when he rode up. Draco watched her toss a stick, which the dog then loped off to find and drop back at her feet. Parrot barked with glee upon noticing him.

Imogen did not appear overly pleased, but she greeted him politely. “Good morning, Lord Woodley.”

The sun chose that moment to appear from behind a cluster of tufted white clouds and shine down on her.

His breath hitched.

She had looked spectacular as a butterfly yesterday, and looked even more so now with her mass of unruly curls shining a deep, rich copper under the sun and her eyes sparkling like gemstones the color of tropic waters.

He had thought her body magnificent in that butterfly costume. Today, she wore a simple yellow day dress that somehow accentuated her exquisite features despite being modest. Well, it was just the way she was shaped and how the fabric seemed to pour over her body like warm honey over freshly baked bread.

Her every curve enticed and teased.

How was it possible this girl had not yet been claimed?

Or ever kissed before last night?

He dismounted and strode to her side, once again thinking of their kiss. He knew he had behaved unpardonably and was not certain how to make it up to her, especially since he wanted to kiss her again. “How are you, Imogen?” he asked gently. “For that matter, how is my cousin? Did she sleep all right? Did you?”

Parrot leaped up and down in front of him as he tried to converse with Imogen, so Draco took a moment to playfully tickle his dog while Imogen responded. “Deandra slept well. She shared my room. It was no inconvenience at all, since I am used to sharing quarters with my sister, Ella. But Ella is married now and resides with her husband in London. Do you know Caden Seaton? He goes by Lord Mersey. His grandfather is the Duke of Seaton.”

Draco nodded. “I know Caden. England’s hero? Everyone knows of him. Do not tell me your sister is the Society diamond who claimed his heart? It was quite the gossip at the time. She must be someone very special.”

“She is,” Imogen said with noticeable fervor. “No one ever had a better sister. Do not believe any of the nasty lies written about her in the gossip rags. She is an angel, and never had a cross word for me or anyone else.”

Draco smiled, liking how good these sisters were to each other. Too bad he and his brothers had never formed any such attachment. He might have done with Rafael, but his brother had joined the army while fairly young, and Draco, being a mere boy at the time, had seen very little of him throughout the years.

“She is a lady in every way,” Imogen continued, as though her sister’s reputation needed defending. As far as Draco was concerned, it did not. He never paid attention to gossip, since it was often distorted and maliciously spread. “Always kind and protective of me. She is not only a beloved sister but my best friend.”

Imogen’s eyes began to tear.

She blamed it on the sun and turned away from him to stare at the manor house. “I miss her terribly, so it was nice to have your cousin’s company. Deandra is a lovely girl, and I think we shall become good friends.”

“I’m glad, Imogen.” He gave Parrot a last pat, and then strode into the house with her. “Do you know where my uncle happens to be?”

“I expect we will find him in Uncle Cormac’s library. My uncle and Phoebe are down on the beach with their boys and Deandra. Parrot and I were with them, but he began whining, so I assumed he was hungry and came up here to feed him. Then he got distracted by that stick he wanted me to toss for him and forgot about eating for the moment.”

“Listen to him. He is whining again.” Draco chuckled. “He is always hungry.”

Despite her attempt to remain aloof with him, Imogen emitted a soft trill of laughter. “I figured that out rather quickly. Tending to him is like tending to an infant. Not that I’ve had much practice, but I did help Ella with her newborn.”

“You have the softest expression on your face. You must have enjoyed it.”

“I did, even though her little boy had us up at all hours. Parrot did the same, always pleading for food and drink. Tugging the sleeve of my nightgown to stir me out of my sleep. Then he wanted to run outside at the crack of dawn to chase birds and squirrels.”

“Forgive me, Imogen,” he said with a groan. “I thought he would protect you, not be an additional burden for you.”

“No, not at all. He is delightful. I enjoy having him with me.”

“He obviously enjoys being with you.” Draco cast her a tender smile. “Where is your kitchen? I’ll take him out back and feed him some scraps.”

“Oh, Melrose will manage that.” She turned to the butler who had greeted them as they walked into the house. “Do you mind terribly, Melrose?”

“Not at all, Lady Imogen,” the kindly butler said before summoning a footman to take over attending the front door, and then motioning for Parrot to follow him. The dog scampered after Melrose without a fuss, since he sensed there would be delectable scraps for him once they reached their destination.

“Let’s find your uncle,” Imogen said, her smile dazzling. “You seem eager to speak to him. Did those horrible lords reveal anything useful? I know you intended to question them this morning.”

Draco was about to give her a polite but dismissive answer, then thought better of it. Imogen was clever. She had been helpful in this investigation so far. “Walk out onto the terrace with me a moment. Can we talk in private there?”

She nodded. “Yes. Follow me.”

She led him through the elegant parlor that was decorated in shades of summer, lots of greens and floral fabrics tastefully interspersed throughout, and then took him through the open glass doors that led onto the terrace. They stood beside the balustrade that happened to be in partial shade at this hour and stared at the magnificent view of the cove with its azure waters. The quaint village of Moonstone Landing was also visible in the distance.

“What have you learned, Draco?” She gasped. “Forgive me, Lord Woodley.”

“Draco,” he corrected her. “I know I must endure being called Woodley by others. But not from you, Imogen. Draco will do whenever we are not in polite company and required to be formal.”

“Very well, Draco.”

He stopped admiring the view and turned to her, liking the sound of his name on her lips. It was a stupid thing to think about right now, but Imogen was quietly overwhelming his senses. He was not used to feeling this way about anyone.

That’s what it was—a knot of feelings all wrapped in a tight ball he dared not unwind.

He wanted to kiss Imogen and wanted to protect her, but he did not want to feel anything serious just yet.

Perhaps it was already too late.

Blessed saints. He had only met her yesterday.

“When you and I spoke last night, I mentioned that I had not invited Driscoll or his friends to the masquerade ball. I checked my lists again first thing this morning, and they were most definitely not on them. However, Lord Hawes told me they had each received an invitation with a little note tucked inside that mentioned my brother, Nolan. The note said the invitation was in honor of his memory.”

“Of course, that makes sense.” Her eyes rounded as though she had just realized something important. “Draco, did you know that Nolan died while attending a house party at Lord Driscoll’s country estate?”

“At Driscoll’s?” He frowned. “How do you know this?”

“Deandra told me yesterday while we were talking. She may be young, but she is clever and misses nothing. Your brother died while out riding with Driscoll and likely these same dissolute friends. Perhaps this is why they received forged invitations to your party.”

Draco’s heart slammed into his chest. “No wonder they would not answer my questions. They must have realized the connection and were desperate to hide it from me. All they admitted was to being friends with my brother and receiving invitations from me to commemorate him. But his dying at Driscoll’s house party puts an entirely new perspective on last night’s murder.”

“I’m sure your uncle will confirm what Deandra told me. If he cannot, there ought to be newspaper accounts of your brother’s death. Your uncle might have saved those articles. Shall we go ask him?”

Draco held her back a moment. “How did you know to ask this of Deandra?”

“I didn’t. I merely got her chatting about her life and family, and anything else she found interesting. I knew to ask more questions the moment she mentioned Nolan. A tingle ran up my spine, something that stirred my instincts. When she mentioned your brother had died at Driscoll’s house party, I knew there had to be a connection to Driscoll’s death at your party. I haven’t figured out what it is yet. But I was going to talk to you about it tonight when you joined us for supper. I’m glad you are here now.”

He rubbed a hand across his nape. “So am I. What else have you learned?”

“That is everything I am aware of, so far. But I sense you know something more. Will you tell me?”

“There isn’t much more to tell. Lord Hawes revealed that someone handed a note to one of my footmen and had him deliver it to Driscoll, who was still outdoors with all of them by the cliff walk. Driscoll laughed and tucked the note in his breast pocket, then went down to the old pirate caves to meet this person who had summoned him.”

“A note?” Imogen inhaled lightly. “Did you go through his pockets last night? Did you find it?”

“Your uncle was the one who searched Driscoll’s body, but he found nothing.”

“Nothing at all? He is thorough about these things,” she said, her disappointment apparent. “Well, since he lost his arm in the war, he cannot do everything as efficiently as he would like. But the two dukes were with him. I’m sure they looked for secret pockets, a tuck inside a seam or along a hem. Is it possible Driscoll’s friends took it?”

“They claim not to have taken it either.”

“Do you believe them?”

He nodded. “Yes, I think this is the only thing they were honest about. They were in a panic and just wanted to get away from the body as fast as possible. The killer must have taken it back after stabbing Driscoll. No note or other shred of paper was discovered on him.”

“Then you have to concentrate on your footmen, find out which one of them delivered the note to Driscoll. And you say Driscoll laughed when he read it, so the writer must have been someone familiar to him.”

“Someone he did not fear,” Draco muttered.

She met his gaze. “Let me know what the footman tells you. As an artist, I notice details. I was studying everyone last night, thinking to draw a few scenes of your party from memory. I may have noticed something about the killer or his costume… Well, it could be her costume. We don’t know yet whether the villain is a man or a woman.”

“I will share anything else I find out, Imogen. I’ve learned my lesson about protecting a lady’s delicate sensibilities.”

She laughed as he cast her a wry smile. “We have no delicate sensibilities, Draco. It is a myth invented by men who are afraid of being outdone by the ladies of their acquaintance. Speaking of ladies, I wonder if Nolan had a sweetheart. Deandra did not mention it, but we can ask her when she returns from the beach. The luncheon bell will ring shortly. Besides, my devil cousins will start howling soon because they need their naps. The clocks inside their little bodies run better than any of my uncle’s fancy clocks.”

In the meanwhile, they went in search of Draco’s uncle and found him in the library, just where Imogen expected he would be. “Uncle Albert,” Draco said as they entered the room that was filled with beautiful mahogany shelving, a massive desk in the center, an array of tufted leather chairs, and a settee to accommodate anyone wishing to pass the day in here reading. “I have some questions to ask you about Nolan.”

His uncle set aside his book and straightened in his chair. “What is it you wish to know, Woodley?”

Draco grimaced, for he much preferred to be addressed as Draco among family. Woodley was his father, or his brothers. Woodley was even his uncle, referred to as Lord Albert Woodley. But to be earl and the Lord Woodley, well that was not something Draco had grown used to even after holding the title for almost a year. “Did Nolan have a sweetheart?”

His uncle scratched his head. “Not that I am aware, but you are asking the wrong person. I never took interest in such matters, nor did I ever go about in his elite circles. Nor did Deandra or I see much of him even when your father was dying and we were practically living at his townhouse in those final few months. Your father and I were very close as brothers. I think he found comfort in my visiting him every day. I often read to him. Deandra must have been bored throughout, but the dear girl never complained. She spoke to Nolan more than I did. He used to come around sometimes, especially when your father was close to taking his last breath.”

He harrumphed before continuing. “He came around because he was eager to inherit the title. He did not show much care for your father. I’m sorry you and Rafael were not home at the time. You would have been kinder, genuinely caring for his comfort in his final days.”

“Rafael was assigned to India at the time,” Draco said, tamping down a surge of regret. He and Rafael had been keen to strike out on their own and make something of themselves, but in doing so, they let family matters slide. Now, he had lost them all and not been with any of them when they faced their last moments. “News of our father’s failing health must have taken months to reach Rafael.”

“As it did you. We had no idea where to look for you. Had you been commissioned in the Royal Navy, there would have been a record of the ship under your command and its location. But you were on your own private missions, and no one could tell us anything.”

“You were a privateer?” Imogen asked Draco, her gaze on him intent.

He nodded. “On special assignment. I am not at liberty to speak of my services.”

Her eyes widened. “As an agent for the Crown?”

“Imogen, do not pry. My vessel was available to anyone who wished to pay my price,” Draco said, purposely giving an evasive answer.

“Anyone?” She gasped. “Even those who wished to hurt the Crown?”

“No, Imogen,” he said with all sincerity. “I am no traitor to England. Even privateers operate by a code of honor. England is my home. I would do everything to protect her, never harm her. Were England ever in danger, I would offer my services. No fee required.”

“I am relieved to hear this.” She arched a soft eyebrow. “So you really are a pirate, after all.”

“Privateer.”

“Pirate,” she insisted, her eyes aglow with humor.

Lord, this girl made him smile. “Yes, Butterfly. Have it your way. My ship is called the Athena. She is a trim, three-masted barque, not rated because she does not have sufficient cannons, nor is she a fleet ship, but she can outrun any naval vessel built anywhere in the world and has taken down many enemy ships.”

“And you are her captain?”

He nodded. “Well, I was. Things have changed now that I have inherited the earldom. I’ve entrusted the Athena to my second-in-command, a reliable friend with considerable sailing experience. Battle experience, as well. His name is James Archer. I would not trust her to anyone else.”

His uncle beamed with pride. “Good thing someone in the family knew how to turn a profit. Thanks to you, Woodley, the family coffers are sound.”

Draco turned once more to Imogen. “As a privateer, anything I recovered from enemy ships was mine to keep unless I happened to be sailing under contract to a particular country, then they were entitled to a negotiated-upon share.”

“And if they did not negotiate a share for themselves?”

“Well, that rarely happened. It would all be mine, in that circumstance. Mine was always the lion’s share under any contract, a portion of which was then allocated to my crew. It works much the same in the Royal Navy, only a captain’s share is quite a bit less than what I earned while working as a privateer. Not that I need to work at this point. My fortune is made many times over. However, if England ever requested my service, I would answer the call. I still own the Athena and can take over the helm at any time.”

She cast him a delicate smile. “So you are an earl, a bachelor, loyal to England, and quite wealthy. You grow more appealing by the minute. Your wealth was obvious, since you did a magnificent job restoring Woodley Lodge.”

He arched an eyebrow and grinned. “Perhaps the expense put me deeply into debt and my earldom is teetering on the verge of ruin.”

Imogen shook her head. “No, not you. You are too arrogant, and very much need to be in control of everything you touch. You would not have embarked on the restoration unless you knew it was something you could easily afford. I cannot remember what Woodley Lodge was called before you took it over.”

“Peacock Hall,” Draco said.

Imogen clapped her hands. “Oh, yes. That was it. I wish you had kept the name. I shall dress as a peacock at your next masquerade ball.”

He tweaked her chin. “I can assure you, I shall never hold another such affair again. No costumes. No ton crowd. No mad crush. Never. Ever.”

They said no more as Burness, his wife and children, and Deandra returned from the beach. Burness’s boys were howling like wolves and sounded like a herd of elephants on the stairs.

Imogen’s eyes lit up once again. “Those imps are so little they could blow away like feathers in the breeze. But one would think they were mammoth beasts the way they stomp up and down those steps.”

Draco laughed. “I think I hear Deandra with them.”

Imogen scurried into the hall to summon her. “Your cousin is here and has questions for you,” she said, dragging Deandra into the library and shutting the door behind them. “Tell your cousin what you told me about Nolan and where he died.”

Deandra faithfully repeated her story.

Draco listened with interest. “Deandra, do you know if Nolan was courting anyone? Or if his name was attached to anyone in particular shortly before he died?”

“Do you mean Lady Trewick? It was in all the gossip rags, but veiled hints mostly. You know how these scandal sheets do it, merely referring to the misbehaving parties by their initials. She was married and having a wildly passionate affair with Nolan. Lord Trewick was livid about it. You see, he had not yet sired heirs, and must have been worried that any children she would bear him would resemble Nolan. Your brother was quite handsome, after all. Even if he was worthless in every other way. But I think you are handsomer, Draco.”

He gave a shrug to acknowledge the compliment.

What did his looks have to do with anything? “Thank you, Deandra,” he said. “What happened to Lady Trewick after Nolan’s death? Did Lord Trewick take her back?”

“I don’t know.” Deandra sighed. “I think she truly loved your brother, not that I ever found anything remotely appealing about him. He was going to be dead before thirty at the rate he was destroying himself. That he died at Lord Driscoll’s party should not be all that significant. He was bound to die somewhere soon. If the excessive drinking did not do it, then his opium-eating habit would have done him in. Not to mention the gambling debts he ran up in those copper hells. The men who run those gaming establishments are not the sort anyone should ever cross.”

Draco stared in amazement at Deandra. “How old are you?”

She sighed. “You know I am sixteen.”

“Which made you barely fifteen when Nolan died,” Draco muttered. “How do you know about opium and copper hells?”

“I read all the gossip rags. Besides, my friends have older siblings who tell them things… Well, they are not always aware their little sisters are listening in. But we hear things. Lady Trewick, it is said, went mad with grief after Nolan died. She was at Driscoll’s house party with Nolan at the time. I do not know what has happened to her since, but it cannot be too difficult to ask around London. Perhaps some of Imogen’s connections will know more.”

She turned to Imogen. “Your Aunt Phoebe’s sisters are Duchess Henley and Viscountess Chloe. Maybe they heard something while in London. Even Phoebe might know something, since she and the Marquess of Burness must spend some time there whenever Parliament is in session.”

Imogen pursed her lips. “I live in London most of the year and should have been the one most likely to hear gossip about Lady Trewick. Of course, I was so distracted by the flurry of hateful rumors spread about Ella at the time, I probably missed everything else. Also, I am not out in Society yet, so I was not privy to all that was whispered at parties. I could write to my sister and mother to ask them what they know.” She turned to Draco. “Would you allow me to do this? And have them ask their friends, too?”

“All right, but only ask them to tell you what they already know. Do not have them query their friends unless you trust their ability to be discreet.”

“They can be, especially Ella. She is very clever and can turn a conversation to get her answers without anyone realizing she is asking questions. I’ll write to her. Better leave my mother out of it.”

“As you think best,” he said, giving a nod of approval. “In no event is your sister to approach Lord Trewick or his wife. Those two cannot know they are suspects.”

“If Lady Trewick went mad with grief upon Nolan’s death, who knows if she ever came out of it?” Deandra mused. “That is terribly sad.”

“Do not turn her affair with Nolan into a romantic tragedy,” Draco warned his cousin. “She humiliated her husband, made a fool and a cuckold of him. Her actions were brainless and indiscreet. She might have blamed Driscoll all this time and finally decided to seek her revenge. I don’t see what interest Lord Trewick would have in killing Driscoll. He must have wanted my brother dead for stealing his wife, and would have been dancing a jig when it occurred. Why would he hatch plans to murder Nolan’s friend over something that served to his benefit?”

“Unless Nolan’s death was not an accident and Driscoll saw what really happened that day,” Imogen said. “What if Lord Trewick had been there and somehow tampered with Nolan’s saddle, or done something to knock Nolan off his horse at breakneck speed? A branch released to strike Nolan in the face? A rope stretched across the ground to trip his horse? Driscoll might have spotted Lord Trewick setting up a dirty trick and been blackmailing him ever since.”

Draco folded his arms over his chest. “So, Trewick now hatches a plan to attend my party and kill Driscoll?”

Imogen nodded. “Why not seize the opportunity? It was a costume ball. No one would know he was even there. All he had to do was steal someone’s invitation to use for himself, and send some fakes off to Driscoll and his crowd. Since we were all in masks, who was to know he was trespassing? Nor would he stay around for the unmasking. You are Nolan’s brother. What better way for Lord Trewick to exact revenge than kill his blackmailer and leave his body on the Woodley grounds?”

Draco liked the lively way Imogen’s mind worked. “So you have convicted Trewick?”

“All I am saying is that he is a suspect worth pursuing. I would put him at the top of my list, frankly. A gaming hell owner would not bother with anything so elaborate when he can send one of his men off to gut Driscoll on some foggy London street and toss his body into the murky Thames. You don’t seem to be suspicious of Driscoll’s friends, either. Why is that? They were at the top of my list of suspects until we came up with Lord Trewick just now.”

Draco shook his head. “These men are followers, not leaders. They have not had an independent thought in all their lives. I am not crossing them off my list yet, either. But I am ranking them low. They are too caught up in their own miserable lives to care about Driscoll beyond the drinks and opium he supplied them. Sorry, it is a very sordid side of life and not appropriate for gentle ears.”

“You are doing it again,” Imogen said with a chiding frown. “Don’t hide these truths from us. We do not wish to go through life ignorant.”

Deandra nodded. “Thank you, Imogen. I heartily agree. And I think it was quite splendid of you and your sister to visit the military hospitals and care for our wounded soldiers while you were in London and England’s hero, Caden Seaton, was courting her. I read about your good deeds in the daily newspaper accounts. Of course, the gossip rags tried to turn your kindness and compassion into something sordid.”

Imogen nodded. “They were quite cruel to Ella, at times. She did not deserve any of their malice.”

“The truth ultimately won out,” Deandra said. “Your aunt mentioned that you also volunteer your time at Moonstone Landing’s army hospital.”

“Yes, Ella and I have done so ever since it opened. It isn’t something we played at just because reporters followed us around.”

“I never doubted your sincerity,” Deandra assured her. “Just the other day, I walked through the village and stopped in at several shops. Every time I mentioned I was new to the area, that shopkeeper or a customer would comment about you and tell me how wonderful you are, and suggest I get to know you. Everyone adores you.”

Imogen blushed. “They have always been kind to me and Ella.”

Draco expected it was more that Imogen and her sister always showed genuine kindness to the local villagers.

“Would I be permitted to join you on your hospital visits?” Deandra asked. “I would love to do something useful.”

“We’ll speak about it another time,” Draco said, now curious to find out all he could about Imogen. He already knew she was beautiful, clever, and now had confirmation she was compassionate. Well, he hadn’t needed confirmation, since her compassion was also obvious in her treatment of Parrot.

She also told him she was an artist. He was eager to see her work.

As the luncheon bell rang and everyone straggled into the dining room, Draco held Imogen back a moment. “Would you show me your drawings before I leave?”

“Yes, of course. How about right after we finish our meal?”

He shook his head. “I can’t stay. I have to get back to Woodley Lodge and question my footmen. Would you mind showing me some of your sketches right now?”

She ran upstairs and returned with a folio in hand. “Here, a few of these were done this morning.”

They were drawings of Parrot romping on the beach, another of Deandra building a sandcastle with Imogen’s young cousins, and one of Draco’s uncle reading in the library. He drew in a breath. “Imogen, these are spectacular.”

“Thank you.” When she blushed again, Draco realized just how modest she was about her abilities.

“Really, you are incredibly talented.” His heart swelled with pride for her—not that he had any claim or even knew her at all, but it did explain why he was so fascinated by her.

She took the sketches back with a heartfelt smile. “Let me know if there are any you would like.”

“I will.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek, once again inappropriate behavior, but he did not care.

He could not get enough of this girl.

Again, terrible timing. He had a mission to complete, a dangerous one, and he could not have Imogen anywhere near him as it got underway.

Perhaps it was already underway, because despite Trewick and Driscoll’s friends being obvious suspects, there was another possibility having to do with his mission, although Draco thought it was most unlikely.

Still, the possibility could not be dismissed.

Imogen had pointed out that Driscoll may have been mistaken for him, that the wrong man in a pirate costume had been killed. When the assailant realized his mistake, as he was bound to do eventually, then he would come after Draco to rectify it.

Could his death have been ordered by one of the rebels he was attempting to bring down on charges of treason?

“I’ll see you tonight,” Imogen said, bringing him out of his thoughts. “You won’t forget your invitation to dine with us.”

“I won’t forget, Butterfly. I’ll see you tonight,” he said, and strode away.

He intended to question his footmen immediately upon his return to Woodley Lodge. But he would also hunt around the pirate caves again on the chance some clues had been overlooked last night and this morning.

Had his rebel contact arrived early? Had this traitor somehow realized he was no longer an active smuggler but enlisted to assist agents of the Crown?

What would have given him away? Or who could have given him away?

He had gained a reputation as a privateer and a reliable smuggler. No one but fleet admirals and the top echelons of the Home Office knew he had retired from his old profession and was now on secret assignment on behalf of the Crown. That information would remain classified until his mission was completed.

Had someone within the government ranks turned traitor and told these rebels about him?

He shook his head. It was not impossible.

Still, it seemed far-fetched.

Only a handful of men knew of this secret operation and all held the highest levels of trust. Besides, if those rebels were coming for him, they wouldn’t touch him until money had exchanged hands and the goods were secured for delivery.

They needed weapons. Only after receiving them would they shoot him.

In any event, none of these plans had been firmed yet.

Those rebel supplies were to be delivered by an acquaintance of his, an Irish gunrunner by the name of Sean McTavish who plied his trade mostly along the Irish Sea. These sorts of smugglers were fish out of water when having to operate on dry land, especially if venturing onto English soil. Trying to blend in and not draw attention to themselves in Moonstone Landing was impossible, since they would be spotted as outsiders immediately.

Draco doubted McTavish himself had killed Driscoll, whether intentionally or by mistake. Besides, where was his ship?

Draco frowned. This murder was growing more complicated.

Who was meant to die last night?

Him or Driscoll?