Chapter Six

Draco spent a restless night not only thinking of Driscoll and his brother, but also lost in thoughts of Imogen. He awoke the following morning in a state of arousal, his body in a sweat and aching. He was eager to see Imogen again, and it had nothing to do with a desire to inspect her drawings.

This desperate ache should not be happening, since she was not the usual sort of lady who caught his attention. Not to mention, he was also in the middle of breaking up an active rebel plot and did not have time for courtship.

“Bollocks,” he muttered, knowing he was lying to himself about Imogen not being special to him. He had never met a prettier girl, or one more perfect for him.

The women with whom he consorted, many of them considered ton diamonds in their day, were nothing to Imogen. He merely chose to entertain himself with these sophisticated beauties because they were not going to demand his heart in exchange for a night in bed.

Some of these ladies were married. Some were widowed and some betrothed.

None of them were innocent.

Most important, they all understood that a romp in bed would not lead to anything permanent. These late-night encounters were nothing more than meaningless tumbles in the sack, done and out.

No complications.

Imogen, on the other hand, was a huge knot of complications. She was the sort of girl who demanded his heart in exchange for something as small as a kiss.

“Bah,” he muttered, still irritated with himself as he failed to shake off thoughts of Imogen. “You’re a grown man, Draco. Just don’t kiss her again.”

He had already promised not to kiss her again unless he meant to marry her. That promise ought to have dissuaded him from pursuing her.

Unfortunately, it did not.

For the first time in his life, he thought marriage might suit him.

He ignored the wayward notion as he left Woodley Lodge in the late morning and rode to Westgate Hall. He’d spent most of his waking hours attending to estate matters and was now ready to continue his investigation of the murder on his property. As he neared the elegant Burness manor house, he reminded himself to keep to his purpose.

However, all common sense fled the moment he spotted Imogen waiting for him in the courtyard, Parrot dutifully by her side.

“Good morning, Imogen.” To be precise, it was shortly before noon. The sun was at its height and shining against a cloudless blue sky. Everything suddenly seemed beautiful, especially this girl before him.

That body of hers immediately put his thoughts in a roil—the shapely fullness of her breasts, the slenderness of her hips and long legs…

Her smile glittered through her eyes, and this was all it took for his heart to start thundering in his chest.

Bollocks.

Parrot ran to him and began jumping up and down the moment he dismounted. “Sit, you silly dog,” he said with a hearty chuckle. “Have you already forgotten everything I’ve taught you?”

One of the Burness grooms hurried over to take his horse. He thanked the lad before bending down to give Parrot a generous belly rub. Once his glutton of a hound was satisfied, he straightened and turned to Imogen. “How are you this morning, Butterfly?”

The wind blew lightly across the courtyard and caused the sheer overlay of fabric on her pretty tea gown to swirl about her body like butterfly wings.

“Frustrated,” she replied.

He arched an eyebrow as he rose to approach her. “May I ask why?”

It could not be frustration of an intimate nature, because she had never experienced anything beyond a kiss, and that was only the day before yesterday with him. Lord help me, that was a good kiss. She would be splendidly passionate and expressive if he ever got her into bed with him.

“Those drawings of your wizards are what have me so distracted. One was wearing a ring with a distinctive design that I am certain I have seen before, but I cannot recall where or when that was, or what it looks like exactly. So I’ve drawn him as well as I can remember and included a ring, but left off its design in the hope this elusive memory will eventually come back to me.”

He ran his thumb lightly over her furrowed brow. “Do not be too hard on yourself. You’ve done better on this investigation than any of us have.”

She barely acknowledged the compliment, her mind still straining to recall that lost memory. “It is there on the edges, but I cannot bring it forward.”

“No matter, it will come to you. Just be patient.” He offered his arm to escort her inside the manor.

Melrose, ever reliably at his post, opened the door as they approached. “Good morning, my lord.”

“Good morning, Melrose.”

“It is almost noon, Parrot’s feeding time,” the staid butler said. “Shall I take him to the kitchen?”

Draco grinned. “Yes, if he hasn’t eaten Lord Burness out of house and home already.”

One of the footmen took over duties at the front door while Parrot happily trotted off with Melrose.

Imogen motioned for Draco to follow her onto the terrace. “Phoebe and Cormac are down on the beach again today with their little boys and Deandra. Your Uncle Albert joined them, too. The weather is just too beautiful to spend it cloistered indoors. They are going to have a picnic on the beach, but Uncle Cormac said I should send for him if he is needed.”

“Sounds like a plan. I don’t think we’ll require his presence while I review these wizard drawings. Let me have a look at them. We can summon him if it proves necessary. I would also like to look at your other drawings. I did not get a chance to properly study them last night.”

This seemed to delight Imogen.

A light breeze blew several dark curls onto her brow and across her cheeks. He could not resist brushing them back. His knuckles grazed her soft cheek, and the silky tresses pinned at the nape of her delicate neck.

She blushed and turned away. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll have lemonade and cakes brought out for us and fetch my sketches.”

He stretched out on one of the long chairs that had been placed in the shade and took a moment to inspect the chair. He ought to purchase a few of these for Woodley Lodge, he mused. They were quite comfortable, and a man could properly stretch out and nap or read or just relax outdoors on a splendid summer’s day.

What a difference from the bustle of London and its ghastly smells. He could get used to this quieter life.

A refreshing breeze swirled around him. He inhaled deeply, taking in the familiar scent of the sea that had a touch of salt to it. As a privateer, he’d spent much of his time on the ocean and enjoyed the freedom of that vast expanse.

This was also the reason he’d chosen to settle in Cornwall. One had plenty of space for oneself here. A fresh sea breeze. No shrill noises. No London crowds or fetid odors. No bumping shoulders with anyone because so many people were on the streets one could hardly walk around without knocking someone over.

Unlike London, there were no darting carriages here that came at you from all directions.

Draco closed his eyes and placed his hands behind his head, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face. He stretched out on his comfortable lounging chair, feeling as though he had all the time in the world to think without interruption. This was so much better than sitting for hours in elegant salons listening to frivolous ladies with laudanum-induced pallor and overly indulged men who drank too much, all of them gossiping about the same tired things.

A servant set out lemonade and cakes on a nearby table at the same time Imogen returned with her hands full of books and drawings. Draco immediately rose to help her. “Show me your wizards, and then we’ll look at whatever else you’ve brought down for me.”

They sat with their heads bent close together as they discussed each drawing. Indeed, they were close enough that he caught the fragrant scent of peaches on her skin. Was it any surprise she was delectable temptation?

She was delightfully earnest, too. She did not even think to flirt with him, as most other young ladies would have done in her situation. She did not bat her eyelashes at him or cast inviting smiles. It was a shame, truly. He needed only the slightest encouragement to kiss her again.

Yes, that pledge to marry her if he kissed her should have daunted him.

It simply did not.

Imogen was concentrating on these works of art she had created and not thinking of him, other than to impress him by how diligent she was.

He was duly impressed. Imogen was uniquely talented.

She pointed out several items of interest in the first sketch she handed over for his perusal. “I started with this wizard because he seemed to closely fit the description your footman gave of the man who approached him and handed him the note. I do wish I could remember about that ring. I know it is important, but the reason eludes me.” She gave an impatient huff. “Why can I not remember?”

“It will come back to you.” The longer Draco studied her drawing, the more remarkable he considered Imogen’s talent. “Was the ring’s design of an animal? A unicorn, perhaps? Lion? Gryphon?”

She sighed. “I don’t know. I wish I could recall.”

“Perhaps a flower. A rose? Or fleur-de-lis? Thistle? What about colors? Were there any gemstones in it? Emeralds? Sapphires? Or was it more of a seal ring used to impress a family crest onto a document?”

Imogen shook her head. “Maybe it will come back after I sleep on it tonight. Sometimes, an elusive memory does that after a night’s rest. I’ll do my best to dream about it.”

He nodded. “Show me the other wizards.” He recognized two older, portly lords from Imogen’s drawings. “That is Lord Clement,” he said with a chuckle. “His cauliflower ears are unmistakable. The other is Lord Fynch. No one else has a triple chin quite like his. You’ve drawn them in remarkable detail.”

“This is how I remember my subjects,” Imogen said. “I pay particular attention to their distinguishing features, and this helps me capture their essence.”

“You have an excellent eye. This is a special gift, Imogen. Few people can do this.” He could not place the last two wizards, but he was less concerned about them, since neither resembled the wizard his footman had described. “May I take the drawing of the first wizard?”

She nodded. “Yes, take whatever you need.”

“Thank you. I’ll take the others, too. But I think this is the one my footman will recognize.” He set them carefully aside and reached for more of her sketches.

“I drew these landscapes and portraits over the course of this summer,” Imogen said as he opened the first book, which contained her most recent work. “The latest sketches are of Parrot, mostly. I also have a few of Deandra. The very last is that of your uncle snoring in his chair in the library earlier this morning.”

Draco laughed. “That would be just like him.”

She smiled and continued, “I couldn’t resist. The book he was reading was about to slide off his lap, and he was in too deep a slumber to notice.”

“Imogen, these are brilliant. I think I must commission you to paint formal portraits of my entire family. It is just the thing to display at Woodley Lodge. Of course, those family portraits must include Parrot. I will hang his painting in my library over the hearth and another in my study.”

The dimple in her chin deepened as she smiled. “And what about your portrait?”

He nodded. “Eventually. I don’t have time just now to sit for one. Let me see your other sketches.”

She picked up another book of her drawings. “These are from last summer. Ella wasn’t around much, so I spent most of the time here on my own. Of course, I had friends and activities to occupy my days. Mornings at the Fort Arundel Hospital, and then afternoon tea at Mrs. Halsey’s tea shop with Brenna, the Duke of Claymore’s wife, and Claymore’s young nephew, Matthew. Claymore’s mother often joined us. I met Phoebe and her sisters there, too. But all of them are married and have other obligations, so sometimes I enjoyed a cup of tea and strawberry tarts all on my own.”

He listened patiently, enjoying the soft lilt of her voice.

“I knew most of the shopkeepers and decided to make sketches of them, as well. I also drew portraits of the wounded soldiers who passed through Fort Arundel’s hospital. But those I gave to the soldiers to bring home to their families. One of my favorite scenes to draw was of the harbor area.”

Imogen had such a dreamy look on her face as she spoke of her art.

Lord, she was an ethereal beauty. A faerie maiden with sparkling eyes.

“One can find so many fascinating subjects right here in Moonstone Landing,” she continued, unaware of the effect she had on him. “Each day is different. Sunlight never strikes the water in quite the same way. Clouds are always different, too. Sometimes soft and mere white puffs, sometimes tendril-like wisps, and sometimes ominous swirls of gray during a gathering storm. I love to draw boats in the harbor at the shifting tides. Or dolphins swimming in at sunset when the tide is high. Birds are also a favorite of mine, especially the way they hop along the beach at low tide looking for their meals hidden in the sand. The colors of sunlight are different every day, the pinks and violets of our sunsets never quite the same.”

She glanced down at her sketches. “Well, not that you can tell about colors, because most of these are merely sketches in graphite, and all is gray on paper. But I hope these scenes evoke a sense of the life in this village, of the beautiful simplicity in everyone’s daily routine.”

This girl enthralled him. He could listen to her all day.

“Look, Draco. Here is one of fishermen on the beach repairing their nets. Here is another of their wives selling fish at the busy dockside fish market, boning the catch of the day and shaving off their scales.”

“What made you choose these particular subjects?” he asked, surprising even himself by how much he wanted to learn about her and the things she loved.

“I chose them because of their interesting faces. These are mostly of the locals, but some are of shoppers or visitors who were passing through the village. I sketched them just for fun.”

“Imogen, these are amazing. Truly.” Perhaps this was why he found her so beautiful. She was not a classical beauty in a cold, Greek-statue way. She was like a sunbeam upon the water, warm and radiant. She was like a soft breeze across his meadow, fragrant and soothing.

He could look at her face for hours and never tire of it, for she was as expressive as the tides, ever vibrant and ever changing, ever fascinating.

He turned the page to the next drawing and immediately sat up. His heart began to hammer within his chest. “When did you draw this one?”

She looked at her sketchbook. “Oh, last July. The twentieth, to be precise. See, I mark the date on the corner of each page. Why are you staring at that man? Who is he? You seem to know him.”

Sean McTavish, Irish pirate and gunrunner.

Of course, he could not tell her that.

What was the man doing in Moonstone Landing, of all places, last year?

He turned the page in the hope of finding another sketch of the Irishman. Imogen did not fail him. She had drawn several, including one of him talking to two well-dressed gentlemen he recognized as two wastrel lords of his acquaintance, Lord Healey and Lord Burke. They, along with the Irishman, were standing beside a ship in the harbor. It was a fine-looking schooner, perhaps a new addition to the Irishman’s fleet of smuggling ships, and just the sort to deliver guns to English rebels.

The ship was similar to his own, the Athena, a sleek vessel fast enough to outrun a Royal Navy frigate, yet small enough that its hull would clear most rocks or deep sandbars in the smaller coves along the Cornish coastline, including his own cove attached to Woodley Lodge. Indeed, Cornwall was a pirate’s paradise because of its plentiful hidden niches and naturally formed caves where one could hide contraband goods.

But Moonstone Landing was not the sort of place that would embrace serious smugglers. Lace, wine, and perfumes were the sort of contraband goods that a town constable or army patrol might overlook. Well, the Irishman smuggled those, too. But he had made a name for himself as a gunrunner. No, this sort of activity would not be tolerated in this quiet village.

What was the name of his ship? Draco could not make it out from Imogen’s drawing.

The question rolled around in his mind again. What was the Irishman doing in Moonstone Landing last year? And what were Healey and Burke doing with him?

He carefully turned the pages, hoping to find more sketches of this particular schooner and the dates it was moored in the harbor last July or at other times. But Imogen had only the one depiction of this ship—probably because the Irishman had only spent a few hours here that day, specifically to meet those men and then sail off immediately afterward.

But those hours were enough time for Imogen to make detailed sketches. And the harbor master would have a record of every vessel sailing in or out of Moonstone Landing around that day.

Imogen was staring at him. “What else did you find of interest?”

“Would you mind if I took this sketchbook?”

“You are welcome to it. What caught your attention?”

He shrugged. “I just want to take a closer look at it, that’s all. I will return it as soon as I am finished.”

She had poured herself more lemonade, and now took a sip before responding. “Take all the time you need. I went a little mad last summer without Ella around, so I drew constantly. Probably too much.” Suddenly, she gasped as he turned to the next page. “Draco, look!”

He did not know what she was pointing to. “What is it?”

“That man’s ring! That’s the ring I saw on the wizard. No wonder it was driving me to distraction. I had drawn it before and it jogged a memory, but I couldn’t place it.” She pointed to one of the men she had drawn talking to the Irishman, a much clearer depiction of these two lords McTavish had been meeting. “Do you recognize him, Draco?”

Yes.

Lord Healey.

Had he been the wizard at the masquerade ball?

Draco had to check the invitation lists again to see if Healey was on it. How on earth? He had only himself to blame for allowing others to plan that welcome party. He should never have let it get so out of hand.

How was Driscoll connected to Healey? For that matter, did Driscoll have any connection to the Irishman? Was this the true reason Driscoll had shown up at his party? Making up some fake excuse about receiving invitations in honor of Nolan, dragging his toady friends along as a cover for his true purpose, when all along he meant to meet up with Healey?

Blessed saints.

Was their meeting connected to the Irishman’s smuggling weapons into England for the rebel plot Draco had been assigned to break up?

He shook his head to clear his thoughts that were becoming clouded.

Driscoll would never get off his arse long enough, or ever care enough, to engage in a rebel cause. But he would not be above blackmailing Healey or Burke if he had somehow caught on to their rebel activities. Only something had gone terribly wrong, and instead of collecting his payment, Driscoll had been stabbed.

Draco silently cursed.

Was it possible this murder was connected to his assignment?

McTavish was not due to meet him for several more weeks, not until the end of July. Draco was now worried this murder would scare him off. Worse, did he, Healey, and Burke now think he was somehow involved in Driscoll’s blackmail plot? He and McTavish got along well, but being a privateer was a rough business, and the Irishman would kill him if he thought Draco was in league with Driscoll.

He groaned inwardly. This was getting too complicated.

“Draco, what is wrong?” Imogen asked, drawing him out of his thoughts.

“I’m not sure yet.” Why could he not be dealing with a simple murder, an angry husband seeking revenge? Find the proof, arrest the husband. Murder solved. But no, this was turning into something more intricate, and others could be killed if he did not handle the matter carefully.

His brother, Nolan, had been an opium eater. It was no stretch of the imagination to believe his friends were, too. Perhaps Driscoll had been involved in smuggling drugs, or had caught on to Healey and Burke smuggling those goods and wanted a cut of the profits to keep silent.

Draco did not believe McTavish himself was involved in any drug-smuggling operation, for he had been quite vocal about keeping away from it in the past. But who was to say he had not had a change of heart and expanded his business to include opium? Then had a falling-out with Driscoll and ordered one of his contacts, namely Lord Healey, to kill him?

Blast.

It seemed far-fetched.

Still, Draco may have been too quick in allowing Hawes, Middleton, and the other wretched lords to return to London. Were they merely Driscoll’s traveling companions, or part of a smuggling operation that involved bringing drugs into England? Were they also involved in bringing weapons in?

Imogen touched his arm. “If you tell me what you are thinking, perhaps we can talk it through.”

“Thank you, Butterfly. I would, but this is not something I dare mention to anyone just yet.” He had to find out more about McTavish’s schooner, discover where it had sailed and the cargo hauled. He needed to find out who McTavish’s shipping agents were. He had to gather as much information as possible before they were to meet.

This gave him two weeks.

It was not enough time to get word to the Home Office and have them send reinforcements or further instructions. Nor was it enough time for Home Office agents to undertake a London investigation and arrest all the rebels involved.

No, he would have to handle Driscoll’s murder, Nolan’s accident—which could have been a murder—and the rebel plot in which this Irishman was involved, not to mention the possible involvement of Driscoll and his friends, and now Lord Healey, all on his own.

But this also meant he would have to question Imogen further and hope she did not catch on to what he was doing.

Well, he could deflect her questions. Was he not trained for this?

He showed her the drawing of the schooner. “Have you seen it in the harbor this year?”

She pursed her kissable lips.

Bollocks.

This was serious, and he could not be thinking of kissing Imogen at a time like this.

“I haven’t, Draco. But I wasn’t paying as much attention to the harbor this year. It could have sailed here. I just don’t know.”

“Do you recall the name of this vessel?” It did not matter greatly if she did not. He would head to the harbor next instead of returning to Woodley Lodge. He no longer needed to show his staff the portrait of the wizard, since Imogen had connected the ring to the man in her drawing, and Draco had recognized Randolph Healey, an old classmate of his.

Healey had been a spoiled, wretched young man who grew into a spoiled, wretched lord. He was always one to take the easy way out, even break the law if it suited his purpose. But running guns and possibly smuggling opium into England were nothing to be shrugged off as misguided endeavors.

This was possible treason.

Draco knew that once he discovered the name of the Irishman’s vessel, something easily done upon review of the harbor master’s records, it would take little effort to plot out a pattern of visits, assuming the ship had sailed into the harbor more than the one time.

Yes, it would be most helpful to establish a pattern that he could then link up to others who visited Moonstone Landing whenever that ship sailed in. The harbor master would give him access to all his logbooks. Draco would ask the Kestrel Inn’s owner for permission to do the same with his guest registers.

Imogen was still studying the drawing she had made of the Irishman’s ship and thinking about her answer to his question. “I cannot recall the name of the ship. I should have marked it clearly in my sketches, but for some reason I did not. I’m so sorry, Draco. I feel as though I have let you down.”

He took her hand and gave it a light squeeze. “You have been of immense help to me. I cannot tell you exactly how just yet. You’ll have to take me at my word.”

“All right. But can you tell me anything? Are those men connected to Lord Driscoll’s murder?”

“I don’t know yet. All I can say is that it adds a more sinister dimension to the crime. I know I said I would share information with you, but this changes everything.”

“What do you mean?”

“I need to handle the investigation without your interference from here on out. If these men are involved in any way in Driscoll’s death, then you need to keep away from me while I accomplish what I must do.”

The color drained from her face. “Is it that dangerous?”

He nodded. “Yes. Extremely. You cannot be involved at all.”

“What am I to do if I find out something else?”

He raked a hand through his hair. “That’s just it, Imogen. I want you to stop looking. No more helping me out. Forget this investigation is taking place and go about your daily routine. However, you must never go anywhere on your own, and never speak of Driscoll’s murder to anyone. If you are asked, just say the men are handling matters and have not told you anything. Be very careful. Do not wander anywhere on your own, not even in the village.”

She frowned at him. “That’s twice in the same breath you’ve warned me not to go about on my own. You needn’t tell me again. I have learned my lesson. You’ve already shown me how easily someone can pick me up and carry me off in the night.”

“Good—remember that it took mere seconds for me to abduct you.” And mere seconds to kiss her breathless…or perhaps she had left him breathless. “I will call on you if I need more help.”

He rose and took the sketchbook as well as a few wizard sketches, including the one of Healey and his ring that interested him most.

She rose along with him, her lips pursed in disappointment.

Well, he would rather have her disappointed than injured. The thought that Imogen might be harmed made his stomach churn. He would turn into a vengeful beast if that were to happen.

No one touches my butterfly.

He considered what he would say to those who were helping him in this investigation. He needed to warn them without giving away too much. Yet he could not leave them completely in the dark. Burness would have to be told something, not only because he was the local magistrate, but because he needed to watch Imogen closely. She was like a daughter to this man. He adored his niece and would do everything in his power to protect her.

Viscount Brennan would also have to be advised because he was the Fort Arundel commander. The fort was perfectly situated to afford an elevated view of the town and its harbor. The viscount could set a watch on the harbor and notify Draco of any suspicious ships that sailed in or out, especially the Irishman’s vessel. The viscount also had several regiments under his command that could be called upon to assist him in rounding up rebels if the need arose.

He made no decision about how much to tell Constable Angel, although he expected the man would have to be brought in too.

As for the Duke of Malvern and the Duke of Claymore, he would hold off telling them anything for now. When the time came, these two dukes could be called upon to watch over the ladies and make certain Imogen did not enlist them in her nosing around.

For a sweet thing, she had a surprisingly stubborn streak. It would take everyone’s efforts to keep her from meddling and getting into serious trouble.

“Would you care to join us for a picnic on the beach before you go?” she asked, breaking into his thoughts. She still had a lovely pout that revealed she had not gotten over the disappointment of being thrown off the investigation. “You’ll have to eat sometime, so why not take a moment here and now?”

He shook his head. “I’m headed back to Moonstone Landing.”

“Oh, I thought you were on your way to Woodley Lodge.”

“Change of plans.”

“I see.” She tried to keep up with him as he strode through the parlor on his way out.

He did not stop walking until they marched out the front door. Melrose had summoned a groom to bring his mount from the stable. He hoped the lad would not take too long, because he could see Imogen had more questions for him, and he did not want to reveal too much to her. “Yes, it’s back to Moonstone Landing for me.”

“You’re going to follow up about that ship, aren’t you?”

He frowned at her. “I know you will think me rude, but must it be pounded into your inquisitive head to keep out of this from now on?”

He could see the frustration in the downward curve of her mouth—that beautifully lush mouth—and the narrowing of her eyes that were still stunning in the way they shimmered. He saw it in the tight curl of her slender hands as they rested at her sides. Finally, she nodded. “You are extremely irritating. I expect you know this.”

“I do. I’m sorry for this abrupt turnabout.” He glanced down at the sketches in his hands. “I meant it when I said Driscoll’s death could be a far more serious matter than any of us realized. Please, Imogen. Do not tell anyone what I am doing, or where I am going, or what you have given me. I will talk to your uncle tonight and tell him as much as I can about what is going on.”

“But you won’t confide in me.”

He ought to have just shut up instead of opening up that raw wound inside of her. She wanted to help, but he simply could not allow it. “Trust me, Imogen. This must remain our secret.”

“It is hard to trust you when you are so mysterious about everything. And how is it our secret when you haven’t shared anything with me?”

“I am not being mysterious, just cautious. A man died on my property. Something is going on…was going on between Driscoll and the man who killed him. I do not think it was an unplanned, heat-of-the-moment incident. We now know he meant to go after Driscoll, and I am determined to find out the reason.”

“Yes, figure out the motive and we will likely find the culprit. Which leads us back to Lord and Lady Trewick, doesn’t it? Did we not move them up in our list of suspects?”

He nodded. “Yes, but they are not the only ones who need investigating.”

“Driscoll’s wastrel friends, too.” She studied his face, trying to discern what he was thinking, but he had mastered the art of hiding his feelings from an early age. “And now you have added someone new, someone connected to this ship you are so interested in learning more about. Someone dangerous enough to frighten even you.”

“Imogen, did I not warn you to stop asking questions?”

She emitted a breathy sigh of frustration. “I wasn’t asking a question. I was trying to puzzle out what you pieced together after looking at my drawings.”

“Then stop puzzling things out.” The sun shone down on the courtyard as the groom trotted out Draco’s horse, a beautiful gray built for battle. Then Parrot suddenly came barreling at them from the side of the house.

Draco secured the wizard sketches and Imogen’s sketchbook to his saddle pouch and then bent to pet Parrot and give him playful scratches behind his ears. “I’ll be back for you later, you big baby. Take care of Imogen for me. And do not let her go anywhere on her own. Best if she stays right here at Westgate Hall with her aunt and uncle. Got it?”

Parrot barked his assent.

Imogen eyed Draco doubtfully. “Are you suggesting he understands what you say?”

“Yes, every word. Rest assured, he will tug on your gown to hold you back if you attempt to run off on your own.”

“Parrot, you mustn’t hold me back,” she said, petting him as Draco had done a few moments ago. “You’ll ruin my gown. You spit drool everywhere.”

Parrot barked indignantly.

Draco laughed. “Send the cleaning bill to me, but then I will know you disobeyed my orders. Stay put, Imogen. Can you not do this for a couple of weeks?”

“Weeks? I will go mad if I have to do this for an hour.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You cannot tell me what to do, Draco. We are not related in any way, nor are we betrothed. You are merely one of my uncle’s neighbors. I am nothing to you.”

He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Now that is an utter falsehood, and you know it. How can you doubt you mean something to me? Do you think I go around kissing just any butterfly?”

She blushed.

He loved this innocence about her. She had wanted that first kiss so badly, felt guilty about receiving it, then thought she was wanton because she had enjoyed it thoroughly, and despite thinking what she had done was sinful, she wanted him to kiss her again.

He sure as blazes wanted to kiss her again, too.

He rubbed her shoulders lightly. “Please, Imogen. Stay close to your family and do not ask me any more questions. I will tell you everything once this investigation is over.”

“I am not happy about this, Draco. But I have one more question to ask you before you go.”

He sighed. “What is it?”

“Should my aunt and uncle invite Deandra and her father to stay with us the entire week? Parrot, too.”

He liked this about Imogen. No matter how irritated she was with him, she still was concerned about his family. “Yes, except for Parrot. I will take him back with me this evening after supper.”

“Then you’ll be joining us tonight?”

“Yes, that is my plan for now.”

She placed a hand lightly on his forearm. “Draco, please be careful.”

“I will. I promise.” Truly, she was a sweet butterfly. His butterfly. And he was going to do something about it as soon the Irishman and the English rebels were hauled off to prison. Well, he wasn’t certain what he was going to do with the Irishman yet. Yes, he was a rogue and a scoundrel, but there was also a grudging morality about McTavish. Draco respected him, and indeed felt they were quite similar in this regard.

However, that respect would be lost if McTavish was directly involved in the plot against the Crown.

“Imogen, will you also promise me to be careful?”

Her lips pinched together in a tight, thin line.

Bloody blazes.

Was she not going to give him that promise?