Chapter Five

Imogen was glad Draco had been emphatic about his loyalty to England, because his being a ruthless pirate would have been the nail in the coffin for them otherwise. She would never allow herself to fall in love with someone who could betray the Crown.

But she had seen the truth in his eyes.

Indeed, the eyes never lied. His were the most beautiful she had ever seen.

Deandra burst into the bedchamber they were now sharing, a big smile on her face. It was shortly before supper, and they would be called down soon. “Draco’s back, Imogen. He is very handsome, don’t you think? And he likes you, I can tell. He turns soft whenever he sees you.”

Imogen laughed. “Deandra, do not push me at your cousin. He does not strike me as being shy, and he is most definitely not soft. If he is interested in me, he will let me know.”

“No, he won’t. He’s funny that way. Well, not really funny, but exceptionally cautious. Women are always chasing after him, and he will never make a move until he is completely certain he can trust you.” Deandra rolled her eyes. “That could take forever. He needs to be nudged.”

Imogen had been relaxing on her bed with sketchbook in hand, absently drawing Draco at various angles from memory. Most people had a weak side, but he did not. No matter which side of him she drew, he was handsome. Solid jaw, deep-set eyes, beautiful mouth. A sleek nose with one slight bump where it must have once been broken.

She dared not draw his body, because she would never hear the end of giggles out of Deandra. Also, Uncle Cormac would ban Draco from Westgate Hall forever if he saw how closely detailed she had memorized his muscled form.

So she kept her work safe. Not a single sketch of Draco’s body. She drew her impish cousins, and Deandra’s smiling face, and Parrot in all his big-pawed awkwardness.

She gathered up several books containing her sketches, and the two of them hurried downstairs. “Go on into the parlor, Deandra. I’m just going to drop these in Uncle Cormac’s study for now. I’ll be along in a moment.”

“All right.” Deandra skipped off.

Imogen ran into the study and immediately bumped into Draco standing just inside the door. “Whoa,” he said with a gentle laugh, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close to keep her from falling. “Where are you headed at full tilt, Butterfly?”

She smiled up at him, in no hurry to step out of the arms that now enfolded her. “I brought down some more of my work and thought to leave it here until after supper. What are you doing in my uncle’s study?”

“Your uncle sent me in here,” he said with a shrug. “I expect he wants to hear news about the investigation.”

Imogen’s eyes widened. “I would love to hear it, too.”

Draco nodded. “Perhaps after I speak to your uncle.”

She frowned. “Why would he not include the ladies? It really is not fair. Aunt Phoebe is very smart.”

“So are you,” he said most emphatically.

“Oh.” She smiled, not expecting the compliment. “Thank you.”

He cast her one of his rakish grins that simply melted her insides. “I’m not sure why he wishes to see me alone first. Perhaps it is about concerns over your safety. Men can speak more freely to each other when there are no ladies present.”

“Oh, you mean include curse words in your conversation?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Yes, among other things. You are aware by now that Driscoll and his friends are slime. They were ogling you all night, and your uncle has to be concerned about what they were thinking or if they might try something again.”

“But they must have all fled Moonstone Landing by now. Did you not release them after questioning them?”

“I did, but that was mere hours ago, and there’s nothing to stop them from returning.”

Her eyes rounded in dismay. “Do you think they would?”

“No, but the possibility has to be foremost on your uncle’s mind. He’ll have questions for me, most of them not appropriate for your innocent ears. He knows I was also worried about your safety, since I gave you Parrot for protection during yesterday’s party.”

“Ah, my valiant guard dog.” She could not contain her giggle. “Frolicking on the beach and then fetching the sticks I tossed him has completely worn him out. He curled up beside my bed right after Melrose fed him. In fact, I think he is still asleep.”

Draco smiled again, one arm still protectively around her waist as he took the books from her hands and tucked them under his free arm. “He will do his job, I promise you. You look beautiful, by the way.”

Heat shot into her cheeks. “You needn’t flatter me.”

She had worn a simple sun dress while on the beach earlier, but now had on a more formal gown, a blue muslin with a pretty lace collar and a bit of silk trim. The gown was quite finely made, since her mother only took her to the best modistes, but it would hardly be considered sophisticated by London standards.

Draco tweaked her chin. “You are terrible at accepting compliments. I’m surprised. You ought to be used to men falling at your feet.”

“That is nonsense. I had never experienced a kiss until you kissed me last night.”

He sighed and released her. “Do not remind me, Imogen. I am never going to forget that kiss.”

“Yes, you were quite clear about what a mistake it was.”

He growled softly. “It wasn’t a mistake. It was perfect and unforgettable.”

Her eyes widened and she let out a soft breath, for he spoke as though he’d liked it very much. “Truly?”

“Yes.” He placed a hand over his heart. “You are no ordinary young lady, and I find you far too tempting. The problem is, I should not have started something I have no intention of pursuing. I should have known that even one kiss with you would be dangerous.”

“Dangerous for me?” She crossed the study with him as he placed her books of sketches atop her uncle’s desk and then turned back to her.

“No, for me,” he said, his gaze quite hot upon her. “It was an incredible kiss.”

She laughed, but was utterly confused. “Are you flirting with me, Draco?”

“Pirates don’t flirt.” He folded his arms over his chest, inadvertently drawing attention to his powerful muscles and finely sculpted torso. “They take what they want.”

She blushed again. “And what do you want?”

“Nothing suitable for your delicate ears, Butterfly. Perhaps I shall tell you at a later date, once you are in your debut Season.”

“Why not now?”

“Because I dare not say anything more to you.”

She nodded. “For fear I will expect a marriage proposal. Honestly, Draco, it was a wonderful kiss, but it was just a kiss. And you were very clear about not wanting anything more. Can we not leave it at that?”

His expression was surprisingly pained. “Yes, we ought to leave it at that.”

“Yes, we ought. You kissed me, and then you could not leave me fast enough. Message received. You needn’t make more of it than it needs to be.”

He caught her hand as she started to turn away. “Imogen, that is not the message I was trying to send you.”

“Well, that is the message I received. Care to clarify?”

He raked a hand through the beautiful waves of his dark hair. “I need time, that’s all.”

“Fine, take all the time you need. But if you ever kiss me again as you did last night, it had better be because you love me and wish to marry me. You cannot trifle with me, Draco. I feel things too deeply and will be terribly hurt. Agreed?”

“Agreed, Butterfly. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.” He caressed her cheek and then paused a moment before grinning wickedly. “Not another improper kiss until I am ready to claim you as mine. Try not to fall in love with me before then.”

She gave him a playful shove, which hardly budged him because he was built too solidly. “Oh, I’m sure I shall manage that quite easily,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Honestly, Draco. If your head were any larger, it would not fit through the door. Must you always be so full of yourself?” She tipped her chin up and gave an unladylike snort as she left the study and started down the hall. “Men are such fools.”

She left him grinning at her while she marched into the parlor where her aunt, Deandra, and Albert were seated. Her uncle must have entered the study soon after her departure, for she heard male voices in the hall and then the study door closing behind them.

Knowing she would never be able to hear what they were talking about while that door was closed, she took a seat beside Deandra on the sofa and resigned herself to waiting. Deandra immediately scooted closer and took her hand. “Did my cousin say anything to you, Imogen?”

She shook her head. “No. He’ll report to us about the investigation later, after he and my uncle have conferred.”

“Oh, that too. But I wondered if he had said…you know, something special to you. Told you how lovely you were.”

Imogen blushed. “Don’t be silly, Deandra. Why ever would he?”

“Because he would not give Parrot to just anyone,” Deandra insisted. “He gave him to you at the party and has yet to take him back.”

“For my protection, that is all.”

“Yes, exactly my point. Isn’t it wonderful how apishly protective he is of you?”

Imogen was relieved when they were called to the dining room. Since her uncle would not allow discussion of the investigation over supper, Imogen was forced to wait until they had finished their meal to begin asking questions.

What utter agony!

She could not recall what they had been served, only that the courses kept coming out one after the other in an endless stream. “Uncle Cormac, we shall all explode if you order another course brought out.” She had taken a spoonful of onion soup, nibbled on a fish pie, and pushed around some peas and potatoes on her plate.

“Patience, Imogen,” he said with a parental look of admonishment.

How could she be patient with an unsolved murder hanging over their heads?

Finally, they all retired to the parlor, where tea was served for the ladies and her uncle poured the gentlemen his best port wine. Imogen was glad he did not stand on formality and insist the men remain seated around the dining table with their drinks. She would have expired from impatience.

Draco was studying her again, as he had done throughout the meal, his gaze as cool as ice and sharply assessing. He had the ability to pierce through her layers and make her tingle. She was glad to have met him, and at the same time wished they had never met because he was too much for her to handle. She was too inexperienced for someone like him. He knew about life, the elegant and the seedier parts, and had seen so much of the world while sailing the high seas.

Making her Society debut would not magically turn her into a sophisticated debutante or gain her any worldly allure, but it was something.

Right now, she was little more than an ignorant goose.

“What have you learned about last night’s murder?” she asked, fairly breathless in anticipation of Draco’s answer.

He sipped his port, in no hurry to end her grueling wait, and then ambled to her side. His hand casually rested on the back of the sofa where she and Deandra sat as he began his response. “As I mentioned to Lord Burness earlier this evening, the footman came forward and identified a man in a wizard costume as the one who handed him the note.”

“A wizard?” Imogen racked her brain to recall the wizards she had seen last night.

“Yes. He was also certain the man had asked him to deliver the note to Lord Driscoll, so this rules out any mix-up regarding the intended victim. Driscoll was always the target.”

Imogen breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m glad. I mean…not that he’s dead, but that you were not the one in danger.”

“So am I.” He cast her a wry grin.

Despite the icy reserve she always saw in his eyes, he still had a way of making her body tingle and turn warm whenever he looked at her. She found his ability to do this most disconcerting. “Lord Woodley, we—”

“Gad, I hate that title. Call me Draco. We are among friends here. Burness, any objections?”

Her uncle glanced at Aunt Phoebe, who gave an imperceptible nod, then shook his head. “No objections.”

Imogen sighed. “Fine, Draco. Now that we are certain of the intended victim, we can concentrate on the relevant clues. Driscoll’s friends ought to be questioned further, but they have all scampered to London by now. How will you get them back? Well, they cannot be more than a few hours ahead of you. They’ll probably stop overnight at an inn and drink themselves into a stupor, so it should not take you very long to catch up to them.”

“I am not bringing them back here,” Draco said with surprising insistence. “I’ve discussed this very matter with your uncle.”

“That’s right,” her uncle muttered. “We don’t want them anywhere near you. In fact, there’s no need for them ever to set foot in Moonstone Landing again.”

Imogen felt confused. “There isn’t?”

Draco was the one to answer her. “No. I’ll send word to my London contacts and have those lords investigated there. Major Brennan and his men will also keep an eye out for them and alert me should they be foolish enough to return. I have not struck any of them off my list of suspects, but we are better served by not holding them here. Their prominent families, despite detesting them, will never permit them to be locked up, and we don’t want them freely walking around the village, for your own safety and that of the other young ladies.”

Imogen nodded. “Draco, are you looking at one of them in particular as the culprit?”

“I believe that it is an all-or-nothing proposition with these men. Either all of them are involved in Driscoll’s murder or none of them are. They are weak-willed toadies who do not act independently of each other. Who knows what Driscoll was doing? He might even have been blackmailing his friends.”

“And they’d finally had enough?” Deandra gasped. “How cold of them to plunge a knife into his chest and leave him on the rocks to drown.”

Draco finished his port and set the glass on a small table beside Imogen before responding to Deandra’s comment. “Personally, I do not think they did it. As I said, they are all wastrels, and must have been easy marks for Driscoll to abuse. I’m sure they all have plenty to hide. But they are weak men and too dependent on him to ever rebel. Still, Constable Angel and I will send whatever information gathered here to the London magistrate.”

“And his constables will take over the investigation?” Imogen asked.

“Partly, yes. But the murder occurred on my property, so I must insist on keeping a hand in it. Also, Malcolm Angel, as Moonstone Landing’s chief constable, and Burness here, as its magistrate, have seniority in this investigation. Anything the London magistrate discovers would be reported back to us. Unfortunately, as it is a crime that occurred outside of their jurisdiction, they might give it a low priority.”

Imogen stared at Draco in dismay. “Then we might never find out who killed him.”

“We will, Imogen. I am not letting the matter drop. Driscoll, as worthless a specimen as he was, still came from a well-to-do family. The London investigators may be slow to get on the task, but they will not dismiss our request for assistance.”

Imogen pursed her lips. “However, this crime may not be given the urgency it deserves.”

“That is a risk. I know of an excellent Bow Street man that I will also put on the task. He and his team of runners will dig up every dirty secret to be found on Driscoll and his friends. He’ll check with their bankers for any deposits that cannot be properly accounted for, follow them around, ask about bad blood possibly existing between them, or any disputes with others. If there is a hint of blackmail or other sordid activities going on, these runners will sniff it out.”

“What about the Trewicks?” Imogen asked.

“I haven’t forgotten them, either. I’ll have my Bow Street man look into them, too.”

Phoebe glanced at her husband, then turned to Draco. “Who is this investigator you plan to use? We know of an excellent man. His name is Homer Barrow.”

Draco chuckled. “One and the same. He is the one I had in mind.”

Imogen breathed a sigh of relief. Everyone spoke highly of Mr. Barrow, so she hoped he would be able to get to the bottom of this mystery and identify the killer. But her mind was also still racing about the wizards she had seen last night. The wizard who had handed Draco’s footman the note was not one of Driscoll’s friends, because none of them had worn that costume.

Perhaps she would make some sketches from memory for the footman to identify.

She offered, and Draco seemed pleased by the idea. “Yes, that would be very helpful. Do you think you might have a few drawn for me by noon tomorrow? Or is it too much to ask? I’m afraid I have no artistic inclinations and have no idea how long it would take you.”

He sounded quite sincere and not at all condescending or dismissive. “I’ll start on them tonight and finish them in the morning. They won’t be masterpieces, mind you. But you might notice something in them. I counted five wizards at your party. I think that was all of them, but it is very hard to be sure because there were so many people there. I suppose an unmarried earl is going to be quite popular and always draw a large crowd to any party he hosts.”

Deandra groaned. “My goodness, I hated that party. I’m so sorry I botched it so badly, Draco.”

He shook his head. “No, it was my fault entirely.”

“I’m sure it was mine,” Deandra insisted, and turned to Imogen. “You see, Draco left the planning to me and my father, but we had never planned a party of this importance before. So we turned to one of my father’s widowed cousins, Lady Claudia Needham, who married a baron and seemed to know about such things. She is quite prominent in Society and presently holding court in Bath.”

“She takes the waters there,” Albert explained.

Deandra nodded. “Before we knew what was happening, she had turned a simple welcome reception into an extravagant costume ball and sent invitations to every noble family within a day’s ride of Cornwall.”

“Oh, and well beyond a day’s ride, Deandra,” her father said. “We had well-heeled guests from as far as London. Many from Bath and Exeter, as well. If they had unmarried daughters, she invited them in the hope they would be introduced to our Draco.”

Deandra winced and then continued, “It was not what we intended at all. By the time we realized what she had done, it was too late to stop her. We were left scrambling to stock enough food and spirits, and hire a full orchestra and extra staff, especially bakers to prepare desserts for our Viennese table. I was certain Draco would disown me and my father. But he has been an angel about this disaster and does not blame us at all, not even after the added disaster of a murder.”

“Driscoll’s death was in no way your fault.” Draco cast his cousin a reassuring nod. “Nor was the matter of the party. The blame is mine entirely. I shoved the duty onto you when I should have attended to it myself. I meant to have a quiet affair to introduce myself to my neighbors and the Moonstone Landing village leaders. An afternoon tea in a relaxed atmosphere, enjoyable for us all.”

“But my cousin, Lady Claudia,” Albert intoned, “decided it was to be the party of the summer, never mind that it was to be held in the wilds of Cornwall, and never mind that she had no intention of traveling here to attend.”

Deandra cast Draco another look of dismay. “I will never enlist her in anything again. What she did was awful, and she knew it.”

To Imogen’s surprise, Draco truly appeared to feel no anger toward anyone in his family, not even the high and mighty Lady Claudia. “She meant to show me off to the finest families, hoping I would impress everyone by holding this lavish affair and make an advantageous match for myself.”

A sudden thought crossed Imogen’s mind, and she turned to Draco in dismay. “Does this mean you will now return to London?”

“And go about in Society?” He laughed and shook his head. “No, I intend to remain right here. Making an impact on that aimless lot has never been my dream. Besides, if I return now, I shall be accosted by every scheming mother and unmarried daughter. I am in no rush to fall into their anxious hands. The last thing I wish to do is be caught in the parson’s mousetrap.”

“But you should consider marriage,” Deandra said in all solemnity. “The Woodley earldom is hanging by a slender thread. If it snaps—meaning something happens to you—we are all doomed. You ought to marry right away and start siring sons. Don’t you think so, Imogen?”

“Oh, I doubt your cousin is interested in my opinion.”

“But he should be,” Deandra insisted. “You would make him a perfect wife. Don’t you think so, Lady Burness? Is it not obvious to everyone?”

Imogen had taken a sip of her tea and was now choking on it.

“Good grief,” Draco muttered. Since he was closest to her, he immediately knelt beside her to take the cup from her hands, and then grabbed a table linen to wipe the droplets of tea dribbling onto her chin. “Deandra, the ridiculous things you blurt. How did the topic turn to this? We were talking about a murder investigation.”

“And all the while you were looking at Imogen.” Deandra smiled at both of them.

Quite embarrassed, not only for her coughing fit but for Deandra’s obvious hint that Draco should marry her, Imogen leaped to her feet. “Excuse me.”

Since Draco had been kneeling beside her, she inadvertently knocked him over as she tore out onto the terrace. Night had fallen and the air was cool and pleasant. Imogen put her hands to her cheeks because they were in flames, and so was much of her body.

She needed to calm down.

Did Draco believe she was another of those scheming debutantes who wished to marry him? Well, she had given him that ridiculous ultimatum about never kissing her again unless he wished to marry her. What else was he to think? How humiliating!

She closed her eyes as a shudder rippled through her.

As much as she wanted to dismiss him, she could not. What could be nicer than to be his wife and have the right to fall asleep in his arms each night? It was an impossible dream, of course.

Besides, she did not know this man at all. “Heavens, what a thought.”

It was dark outside, nothing but moonlight and a sky full of twinkling stars. She took a deep breath and inhaled the familiar scent of the sea, but it did little to calm her.

Someone came up behind her as she fixed her gaze on the water and the moon shining over it. “I am not going back inside until he leaves, Uncle Cormac.”

“Sorry, Butterfly. I am not your uncle. Until who leaves? You cannot possibly mean me.” Draco’s voice was laden with humor, since he knew this was exactly to whom she referred.

She turned to frown at him. “Who allowed you to follow me out? Certainly not my uncle. He will eat you alive if he finds you with me.”

“Everyone is watching us from the parlor. No one is going to eat me alive. I’m sorry if Deandra embarrassed you. She adores you and has apparently decided that I must adore you, too.”

“Do not feel obligated. I know I am nothing more than a little goose to you. Innocent. Inexperienced. Not even had my come-out yet.”

“First of all, you are my butterfly and not a goose. You are extremely clever, and I admire all your ideas. You are also refreshingly honest and compassionate, although a bit too sensitive, if you wish for my opinion.”

She nodded. “It is the artist in me. I cannot help feeling everything.”

He rested his elbows on the balustrade as he joined her in looking out over the water. Not that there was much to see of it beyond the moon’s crystal reflection upon the waves. “Ah, yes. Your feelings do seem to rule you.”

“Not always. I use my brain from time to time. See, you do think I am a goose.”

“I assure you, I do not.” He sighed. “You are taking offense again where none is meant. I happen to think you are one of the loveliest and cleverest people I have ever met. I find you surprisingly endearing, if you must know. Will you draw those wizards for me? I think you have been extremely helpful in this investigation, and I fully intend to discuss all clues with you.”

“You do?”

“Yes, Imogen,” he said, his voice deep and soft.

“Thank you.”

He took light hold of her elbow. “Come back inside and join the rest of us as we finish the conversation. Ignore Deandra’s matchmaking fantasies. She means well, but I will have a word with her later and tell her to stop. I am not ready to marry, as you well know. I do not want her pushing ladies at me, most of all you. She has to be made to realize it.”

“I will talk to her. We are sharing a bedchamber and will chatter well into the night. Go back inside, Draco. I’ll be along in a moment.” She needed a little more time to steady herself after his words. Most of all you. Yes, now that he had kissed her, he did not want to be bothered with her.

Oh, he had assured her that he was not dismissing her now that he had satisfied his curiosity with the one kiss. He also said he valued her opinions on this investigation. But was he merely saying those things to let her down gently? The truth of his feelings came out in unguarded moments. He wanted no commitments.

Most of all, not with her.

“Butterfly,” he said with an ache to his voice, “what has you still overset?”

“Artistic temperament, that is all. Please go away and leave me alone.”

Instead, he wrapped his hand around hers. “No.”

“My uncle is going to come at you with a battle axe if he realizes you have taken hold of my hand.” But his touch was delightfully warm and enveloping, conveying not only strength but confidence and protective assurance.

“I’ll risk it. Pirates are daring that way. I am not going to leave you while you are obviously distressed.”

“Why? What do you think I will do?” She frowned at him. “I assure you, I am not some dotty peahen who will wither away and live with cats into her dotage because the only man she has ever kissed will not have her.”

“Good grief, Imogen.”

“Please go away. I shall be fine once you do. You really ought to leave, because I need to start on those sketches, assuming you truly want them and are not just pretending in order to make me feel useful or to keep me distracted and out of your hair.”

“I want them,” he said with surprising insistence. “Draw every detail you can remember of each wizard, his size, weight, curve of his mouth, rings on his fingers, any jewelry on him, any distinguishing marks or facial features. Moles, discolorations, anything prominent that jumped out at you.”

“Got it.”

He sighed again. “I’m sorry I have made you angry. I’m not sure what I have done. But I’ll leave you now and come by tomorrow shortly before noon.”

She said nothing until he reached the parlor doors. “Draco,” she called out, “be careful riding home. The paths are very dark at night.”

He smiled at her, his handsome face appearing even handsomer in the glow of the parlor lights. “Will do, Butterfly. I am always careful.”

Imogen did not return to the parlor until Draco had bidden everyone farewell and left for Woodley Lodge. Perhaps she ought to have insisted he take Parrot with him, since they now knew Driscoll had been the intended victim and the killer was not likely to return. Nor had any of Driscoll’s dissolute friends remained in Moonstone Landing to bother her. They had all run back to London like scared rabbits.

Just thinking of those leering louts sent a shiver through her.

Well, she would offer to give Parrot back to Draco tomorrow. Deandra and her father could return, too, since the house and grounds would have been thoroughly searched for clues by then. There was no reason for them to stay on at Westgate Hall once the constable and his men had finished investigating the area of the crime.

Phoebe was the only one left in the parlor when she walked back inside. “Imogen, are you all right?”

She nodded.

“Why did you run off like that? Because Deandra was trying to match you with Lord Woodley?”

She nodded again. “Yes, that and the fact he made it painfully clear to everyone that he does not want me.”

Phoebe surprised her by laughing. “You think he does not want you?”

“He said so quite plainly. Did you not hear him? He told Deandra to stop pushing ladies at him. He repeated as much when he and I were alone on the terrace, making clear he wanted no one special in his life, most of all me. Most of all me. Am I that horrible? I cannot figure him out. One moment I think he likes me. Oh, not in an amorous way, but as a woman to admire. Then he says that low thing about my being the last woman he would ever want.”

“Imogen, dear.” Phoebe wrapped an arm around her and laughed lightly. “You have misinterpreted his words. You are most important to push away because he is most attracted to you. He could not stop looking at you all evening. The man was practically devouring you with those gorgeous silver eyes of his. Yes, even happily married ladies like myself notice such things. Do you know how many times I had to grab hold of your uncle’s hand to keep him from leaping across the table and stabbing his fork into Lord Woodley?”

Imogen shook her head and laughed. “Seriously? I can imagine Uncle Cormac doing just such a thing. He has always been so protective of Ella and me. Although he is hardly one to be incensed when he was one of the worst hounds ever to prowl around London. He was completely wicked until he met you. Even once he had reformed, he would kiss you every chance he got and did not care who saw him do it.”

Phoebe laughed again. “Oh, he was irresistibly wicked. But he loved me and was determined to marry me. That made all the difference. I felt his love. I knew he wanted me by his side forever.”

Imogen had to agree. Her uncle had fallen in love with Phoebe at first sight and would have died to protect her from that very moment on. The looks he shot Phoebe always held promise that he would be faithful to her, that he would love and cherish her to his dying day, and that he would always be a good husband to her.

But this was not how Draco looked at her, Imogen mused. Perhaps she had misunderstood and he did like her, but it was nothing to the depths of what Uncle Cormac and Phoebe shared. “I owe him some drawings. I had better get started on them. Thank you, Aunt Phoebe.”

“Feel better now?”

Imogen nodded. “Yes, very much. I love you.”

“Oh, Imogen. I love you too.” Phoebe gave her a kiss on the cheek, and they walked upstairs arm in arm.

Uncle Cormac was waiting for them on the landing. “Everything all right?”

Phoebe nodded. “Yes, my love. All is perfect.”

He arched an eyebrow and awaited a word from Imogen.

“Yes, Uncle Cormac. All is well. Draco has not said or done anything untoward. It is just… I like him. And I really don’t want to like him as much as I do, because I hardly know him. Then I became overset because he said he did not like me.”

“That’s not what he said,” Phoebe insisted and quickly repeated their conversation.

Imogen sighed. “Aunt Phoebe explained what he meant. It does not make me feel any better. Well, no matter. I am not going to pine over someone I have known for a day. Goodnight.”

Her uncle bussed her cheek. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

Imogen walked into her bedchamber feeling better. Deandra had already undressed and donned her nightgown. She sat atop her covers, obviously fretting. “I’m so sorry if I embarrassed you.” She then hopped off the bed to assist Imogen out of her gown and into her nightclothes. “I did not mean to hurt your feelings.”

Imogen gave her a hug. “I know. But you really must not meddle in your cousin’s love affairs. He does not like it, nor does he need anyone’s help in meeting eligible young ladies.”

“But those others flutter around him like bees to a honeycomb, which is why I felt compelled to push you to the forefront. I do not want you to get lost in the crush. Wouldn’t it be awful if he let you slip away?”

“Deandra, you cannot decide these things for him. He is a grown man who knows what he wants and when he wants it. He isn’t interested in marrying anytime soon. You have to respect his wishes and not meddle.”

“All right, but it still does not seem fair when you are clearly what he needs.” Deandra looked completely deflated.

Imogen could not resist giving her a hug. “I am honored you feel this way about me. You and I shall become good friends, but you cannot impose your choices on your cousin.”

“All right.” Deandra flopped onto her bed and snuggled under her covers. “Goodnight, Imogen.”

“Sweet dreams, Deandra.” Imogen took a moment to check on Parrot, who was already soundly sleeping at the foot of her bed and emitting little dog snores. Stifling a grin, she picked up her sketchbook, climbed into bed, and began to draw the first wizard by the light provided by her candle. She hoped to get at least two of the sketches done tonight and work on the others in the morning. The party had only been last night, but already details were starting to fade, and she did not want to overlook anything.

Draco had mentioned identifying marks. The first wizard she decided to draw had worn a distinctive ring on his finger. What was its design? While most guests wore gloves for an evening out, a masquerade ball was somehow different, and many chose not to wear gloves at all. Perhaps it was the opportunity to hide behind an intricate mask and be risqué, touch another’s hand or feel the softness of another’s skin.

She returned her attention to that wizard’s ring.

What was familiar about the design? And why could she not remember where she had seen it before?