Chapter Eight

More than a week had passed since the murder of Lord Driscoll that now felt like an ugly dream to Imogen. The flurry of activity in the days since his death had dribbled to nothing, and everyone’s daily routine seemed to return to normal. Deandra and her father had returned to Woodley Lodge, and Imogen missed having Deandra’s chatter at night. However, they had become fast friends and continued to see each other every day.

Having the company of a friend helped Imogen tremendously, because she missed her sister so much. Ella was enjoying married life and a new son. Imogen was not even on the Marriage Mart or ready to have a baby, but holding that precious little boy had felt wonderful. Sadly, this new responsibility kept Ella too busy to write to Imogen more than once a week, although Imogen wrote to her almost every day.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” she muttered as she sat in the Woodley Lodge garden with her easel set up, painting the lovely flowers in afternoon sunlight.

She had also brought along her sketchbook and pencils, prepared to give Deandra lessons in drawing. Well, that was the excuse Deandra gave Draco for inviting her over each day. In truth, his cousin was still hoping to make a love match between them, a task Imogen knew was futile, since Draco avoided her as much as possible.

Besides, they had made that silly marriage pact neither of them had forgotten.

If he kissed her again, he would have to marry her.

No mere kiss on the hand or polite kiss on the cheek, but a steamy, passionate, devouring kiss like the one he had given her the first time.

She ached for a second kiss such as that one, but had resigned herself to the fact it would never happen. She and Draco were not a match, and no amount of wishing on her part would make it so. However, she was happy to be in Deandra’s company, even though the girl’s supposed interest in art was an obvious ruse.

“Imogen,” Draco said, surprising her by coming up beside her as she sat alone in the garden painting. He had a pouch slung over his shoulder. It looked heavy, but he was quite strong and carried it as though it weighed nothing. “You do know the investigation is still quite active. You shouldn’t be out here on your own.”

She shot to her feet and tipped her chin into the air, already feeling defensive. Why had he not come upon her a few minutes sooner, when the garden was full of activity? His gardeners had been toiling amid the flowerbeds for hours. Also, Deandra had been with her throughout the day, save for these few minutes. Not to mention Wescott and the footmen under his command had taken turns popping their heads out to see if she and Deandra required anything.

She frowned at this big, gorgeous man who made her heart flutter.

He frowned back.

And still, her insides tingled.

What was wrong with her?

“Deandra was with me all the while. She ran inside for a moment to remind Mrs. Angel to set out our afternoon tea on the terrace.”

Draco did not appear mollified in the least. “That is no excuse.”

“I am not making excuses.” Oh, how she hated Draco sometimes. Well, not really hated him. He was too handsome for words. She liked him, even though she tried very hard to resist his appeal. “Nor am I going anywhere near your pirate caves, so why are you scowling at me? What’s in your pouch?”

“None of your business.”

She sighed. “Ever the polite gentleman.”

His expression darkened. “If you must be here, make certain you always stay close to the house.”

She glanced around and held out a hand, motioning about the garden in which they stood. “Isn’t this close enough? Why won’t you tell us what you are doing in those caves and why we are not allowed to join you?”

She knew something was going on because Draco was behaving more mysteriously than ever. He had sent more letters off to his Bow Street runner and, more importantly, to the Home Office, something she learned by prying information out of Thaddius Angel, because Draco was telling her nothing.

All seemed quiet, but he was obviously tense as he spent much of this past week exploring caves in the Moonstone Landing area. Mostly he concentrated on the pirate caves on his own property, heading down there almost every morning with Parrot at his heels. Occasionally, he carted down supplies. The pouch presently slung over his broad shoulder was full, but she could not tell what it contained. However, she knew he had already brought down lanterns, a shovel, an axe, lengths of rope, and some old and quite rickety tables, and then spent hours every day doing heaven knows what inside those dank, cavernous hollows.

“Stop asking questions, Imogen. You know I am not going to tell you.” He stepped around her to see what she was painting, and his expression softened. “You put your heart into your work, don’t you?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

Smiling, he gave her chin a light tweak. “Keep out of mischief.”

As soon as Deandra returned, he whistled for Parrot to follow, and then strode off once again toward the cliff steps.

“I’m going to follow him,” Imogen muttered, setting down her paintbrush and preparing to remove her apron.

Deandra emitted a soft cry. “Oh, no! You mustn’t. It will anger Draco.”

Imogen did not care. “He is already angry with me. You needn’t come with me if you’re scared.”

Deandra tipped her chin into the air. “I am not scared… I am respectful of Draco’s feelings. That is all. I cannot risk his disowning my father and me if we disobey him.”

Imogen felt a tug of remorse, but she knew Draco would never treat Deandra so cruelly. His every instinct was to protect his family. “Very well. You stay here while I sneak a peek. I won’t stay long, I promise. Just a quick look, and I’ll come straight back. He will never know I was there.”

She scooted away before Deandra could stop her, hopping over the stone wall between the garden and the meadow. She and Ella had enjoyed many picnics in this meadow, often with Phoebe or Chloe before those two married and had children. She did not bother with the cliff walk, for there was another path down from the meadow to the caves. It was a little steeper than the steps, but not all that difficult when one was prepared as she was, having worn her sturdy walking boots instead of dainty slippers.

The tide was out and the wind gentle as it swirled around her body.

She carefully made her way down the last rocks and hopped onto the beach. The sand was soft and warm, and her boots sank in as she scurried toward the cave. Draco was working in there, for she heard the sharp clink of an axe striking rock as she crept in.

She paused a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. But it did not take long before she was on the move again, making her way toward a faint amber glow that emanated from the cavernous hollow and grew brighter as she made her way deeper in.

Parrot let out a joyful bark that resounded off the stone walls. In the next moment, he bounded toward her. “Hush, Parrot. Don’t give me away,” she whispered, knowing it was futile, since her voice also echoed off those walls.

The clink of the axe stopped.

She did not need to hear Draco’s footsteps to know he was striding toward her. “Imogen, bloody hell,” he said with a growl. “I might have known.”

He held a small pistol in his hand, and now slipped it back in the lip of his boot. She knew he had a knife hidden in the lip of his other boot. What other weapons were hidden on his person?

And why should she not feel safe when he was a walking arsenal and she knew he was always going to protect her?

He held a lantern above them while he frowned at her. The light cast shadows over his face so that he appeared quite sinister, but still incredibly handsome. He was not wearing a shirt, and she could not help but stare at the masculine contours of his body.

Huffing in disgust, he turned away and strode to one of the tables set up in the cavernous opening. He had piled his supplies atop it, along with his shirt. He donned the shirt, the sort a workman would wear, made of coarse cloth that plunged open at the front in a V shape and had lacings from the middle of his chest to his throat to properly close it up.

He did not bother to lace it up or tuck the shirt in before returning to her side. He had looked spectacular without it on, but even more so with it on. That coarse fabric strained against his muscled contours. He looked dangerous and divine. “Go away, Imogen.”

She might have obeyed if her body had not been in spasms over the sight of him. His scent was all male and held the hint of refreshing bay spices.

Oh, he looked so much like a pirate.

“What are you doing in here?” she asked as he turned away and stalked back to the table. She followed him, but dared not get too close, because he was frowning like the devil and obviously seething.

Not that he would ever hurt her.

She knew he wouldn’t.

She cast him a pleasant smile. “Now that I am here, why don’t I help you? Is that the old escape tunnel you are opening up again back there? That is an excellent idea. I know just where it lets out. And will you pile these crates in front of the tunnel to keep it hidden from view? I noticed you carrying crates down earlier. Is this what you intend for them?”

“Lord,” he moaned.

“Everyone in Moonstone Landing knows about this escape tunnel. But it was sealed up years ago, so I have never been through it myself. Now you have opened it up.” She followed him as he made his way through the opening to the other end, which had not yet been unsealed.

This was what he must have been working on these past few days.

The air was hot and stifling. She watched as he began to chip away at the sealed outer door. No wonder his gorgeous body had a sheen of sweat on it.

Dear heaven.

She had no idea a man could be so beautifully formed…or so magnificently muscled.

“You cannot tell anyone what I’m doing in here, Imogen.”

“I never would. It might put your life at risk. I know that.” She cleared her throat. “Might I suggest that you chip away at this escape door from the outside? You will suffocate if you don’t get some air.”

“I’ll be fine. Leave if you are uncomfortable.”

“I’m just sitting here watching you. You are the one expending all the effort. And using up all the air that’s fit to breathe. You’ll have an easier time if you break this blocked door down from the outside,” she repeated. “At least the air will be fresh and cooler.”

“No.”

“Oh, but I suppose you don’t want anyone to see what you are doing. Yes, that makes sense. No one should know that you have devised a secret way out. Well, now I know. But I won’t tell a soul—you have my word of honor.”

“Are you quite finished?” He approached her again, his scowl fiercer than she had ever seen.

She licked her lips. “Um…Draco…it isn’t as though I am unfamiliar with this cave. I’ve been in here many times over the years. I—”

She yelped as he lifted her up and hauled her over his shoulder, then marched out of the tunnel, through the cave, onto the beach, and up the cliff steps. Parrot was scampering behind them, panting happily and wagging his tail. Of course, the sweet dog was happy they were all together and thought they were merely having fun.

Imogen felt the sun warm her bottom, which was embarrassingly close to Draco’s face. The slightest turn and his lips would be… She refused to consider where his lips might land. “I am not a sack of potatoes.”

He placed a hand on her bottom. “Be quiet.”

Oh, heavens.This was much worse than a little sunshine beating down on her. “Honestly, Draco! Your behavior is outrageous!”

He laughed heartily, a deep, resounding chortle. “My behavior? You are jesting, aren’t you? I am not the one who trespassed in the cave. Did I not warn you to keep away?”

“You know I was not going to listen to that ridiculous and quite highhanded edict. Speaking of hands, will you kindly remove yours?”

“Stop squirming and I will.”

“Remove it and I will stop squirming.”

He laughed again. “No, you won’t.”

“You should not be hauling me around as though I am a sack of potatoes.”

“If I set you down, will you promise to stay out of the cave?”

“Forevermore? That is quite a Draconian demand.” That would require her to obey him, and she was not about to do that. He had no right to treat her like the enemy and spout unreasonable orders, even if it was his property and he was the earl. Did it not make sense for someone to know what he was doing? Why could it not be her? This was for his own good and his own protection. “We are almost at the top of the stairs. Everyone will see where you have put your hand.”

“That is your problem, not mine,” he muttered.

“You are insufferable.”

“And you are reckless, Butterfly. I do not want you involved in this investigation.”

She stopped struggling and tried to look at him, but all she managed to see was the back of his head and the sinful waves of his dark hair that curled becomingly at his nape. “How is your digging in the cave in any way related to Driscoll’s murder?”

“I’m not answering that.”

“So you are leaving me no choice but to figure it out for myself.” She knew she was riling him, but he was not truly angry with her, because he had called her Butterfly. He did that whenever he felt protective of her.

He set her down beside her easel. “Don’t figure it out, Imogen. Just leave it be.”

He did not sound angry so much as aching and worried for her safety. This made her feel terrible. She really did not wish to be difficult. “Draco, I just want you to be safe.”

“I will be. Do not meddle.” He turned on his heels and strode back down the steps toward the cave.

Parrot had followed them up and now followed Draco back to the cave, his little tail wagging as he pattered behind his master.

Deandra rushed toward her. “Oh, Imogen! Was he furious? I was sure I saw steam shooting from his ears. What did you say to him? What did he do to you? He had you slung over his shoulder… Oh, what a brute! Did you find out anything?”

Imogen kept her gaze on Draco’s retreating form. “No, Deandra. I wasn’t in there long enough to see much. It could have gone worse for me. Your cousin was irritated, but held his temper in check.”

“Except for his hand on your bottom.” Deandra suddenly giggled. “Oh, Imogen. I’m sure he likes you. He would never take such liberties otherwise.”

“Don’t start that again, Deandra. Even if he did like me once, he doesn’t now.” Imogen might have pushed him too far this time. Yes, she surely had done so. But why did he consider her actions so outrageous? All she had done was walk into a cave she had visited half a dozen times over the course of her summers here.

Carving an escape route was obviously important to him.

How did it relate to Driscoll’s murder?