Chapter Nine

Imogen awoke the following morning worried Draco would never speak to her again.

She resolved to apologize to him as soon as she arrived at Woodley Lodge, even though she did not believe she was at fault. In fact, it seemed quite unfair that she and Deandra should not be permitted to enjoy an afternoon exploring those caves. Where was the harm if he and Parrot were down there with them?

But he was still fuming over the incident. He refused to speak to her or look at her for the rest of the day.

He would not even come out of his study to bid her farewell when the Burness carriage came around to pick her up in the early evening. She had not allowed her disappointment to show. Deandra would have made too much of it, meddling again and accusing Draco of leaving her heartbroken.

Imogen was not heartbroken over this very confusing man.

“Not at all heartbroken,” she muttered, drawing her covers aside and rolling out of bed to start the new day. “The very idea is absurd.”

Well, perhaps her heart was a little bruised. Dented.

But not broken.

Ordinarily, Imogen would have washed, dressed, and hurried off to the army hospital to read to the wounded soldiers, as had been her morning routine. However, the outbreak of fever in the wards was still going on, so all volunteers remained barred from the premises.

Perhaps it was for the best.

Imogen clutched her stomach as a tight knot had formed when she awoke the following morning. Something felt wrong, but she could not put her finger on exactly what had her so queasy. It wasn’t a fever, for her forehead was cool. Yet something was decidedly amiss.

She nudged her drapes aside to peer out the window and soak in the morning sun, hoping this might help her shake off this unexpected sense of foreboding.

The mist had already burned away, and the sun was glistening upon the waves. This signaled another typically beautiful Cornwall day in the offing. Of course, it would be hot. But the heat never grew unbearable because there was always a soft breeze sweeping off the water to cool the air.

Imogen washed up and then donned a meadow-green muslin gown that was sturdy and fit for outdoors. It was also the perfect color to hide grass stains, should she get any while seated in the Woodley garden. Her maid helped her style her hair in a soft chignon secured at the nape of her neck. “That should hold you for the day, Lady Imogen.”

“If the wind doesn’t get to it,” Imogen remarked with a light laugh. “Thank you, Betty.”

“Oh, there won’t be much of one today,” Betty said. “Perhaps the breeze will pick up by afternoon.”

“Yes, let’s hope so.” Feeling only a little bit better, Imogen joined her aunt and uncle for breakfast.

“Are you headed to Woodley Lodge again today?” Uncle Cormac asked, the question loaded because he was obviously not pleased to have her spending so much time there while Draco was around.

“Yes, and in response to the question really on your mind that you did not ask… No, I do not see anything of the Earl of Woodley whenever I am there. He spends all his time tending to other matters, and most days does not even speak to me.” She did not mention the pirate caves or the escape route he was carving out for himself.

Draco would tell her uncle when he was ready.

“Does he ever join you for tea?” Phoebe asked.

“No, not even that.”

Phoebe took a bite of her eggs and then set down her fork. “What takes up all his time, not even to have a moment for tea?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t tell me or Deandra anything. Her father, the dear man, hasn’t a clue either. Not that he is asking any questions. He spends all his time in Draco’s library and is oblivious to everything going on around him.”

Her aunt frowned. “Cormac, do you know what is going on? Why is he behaving so mysteriously?”

“I am not at liberty to tell you, love. But I am glad he is keeping away from our niece.” He turned to Imogen. “I think this ought to be your last visit there. Invite Deandra here going forward. I’ll send our carriage around to pick her up if Woodley cannot send her over in his own. All right?”

“Yes, I’ll let her know. Uncle Cormac, is the earl in any serious danger? He is so aloof… Well, his behavior just feels odd. He’s sent more letters off to the Home Office and his Bow Street man.”

His fork clattered onto the plate, and he frowned at her. “Imogen, what has he told you about these letters?”

“Nothing. He will not speak to me.”

“Then how do you know about his correspondence? Did you sneak into his study?”

“No!” Imogen cleared her throat. “Thaddius told me.”

Her uncle pounded his fist on the table. “Thaddius!”

Imogen inhaled softly, realizing she should not have said anything to get the innkeeper in trouble. “But he did not mean to let anything slip. We were just talking, and…he begged me not to say anything, so I promised I would keep mum.”

“A broken promise, since you have now blabbed to me and your aunt,” her uncle growled.

“Only because you are the local magistrate and ought to be told what is going on. And Aunt Phoebe is your very heart and completes you, so it is the same as telling you.”

Her aunt emitted a snorting laugh.

Her uncle groaned.

“But I have no intention of confiding the news to anyone else,” Imogen assured him. “Not even Chloe or Henley or their husbands. Certainly never Deandra, since she is already worried enough thinking it is a simple murder investigation.”

Phoebe was still grinning like a contented cat and casting adoring looks at her husband. “Did you hear that, Cormac? I am the missing part of your heart.”

“My heart is intact,” he grumbled. “It is my arm that is missing.” He glanced at his empty sleeve before pressing on with his lecture. “Imogen, how I feel about Phoebe does not relieve you of your misbehavior. Who else has Thaddius told about Woodley’s letters? Must we worry about the whole village learning of them?”

“No one else knows, he assured me.” Truly, Imogen ought to have kept her mouth shut, because her uncle appeared quite angry over Thaddius’s loose lips. “Uncle Cormac, you know how good I am at coaxing information out of even the most reluctant sources. What truly worries me is that this morning I awoke with a knot in my stomach that I cannot attribute to any obvious malady. I fear this sensation of foreboding is about Lord Woodley. I am terribly concerned for him.”

Her uncle placed his hand over hers. “Woodley can take care of himself, Imogen. His years as a privateer have honed his fighting skills. He’ll fight like a beast if it proves necessary.”

“Yes, beast is an apt description. I always thought there was a hard edge to him.” Imogen’s eyes rounded in surprise. “Do you think he will have cause to fight?”

“Only as a last resort. He does not go around looking for trouble. He is a hard man, but he also happens to be very protective of you and Deandra. I would not let you anywhere near him if I doubted his honor. If there is a hint of danger, he will see you safe. But why place this added burden on him, especially now that you are sensing something in the air? How about we invite them over here, starting today?”

“All my art supplies are there, and I would really like to finish my painting of his garden today. I’m sure everything will be fine.” She patted her stomach. “It could be something I ate last night, that’s all. Truly, Uncle Cormac. It’s probably a mild indigestion.”

He nodded. “Still, let this be your last day there. Deandra can stay over here whenever she wishes. Her father, too.”

“Sounds like a good plan.”

Should she tell her uncle about Draco opening up that secret escape tunnel in the cave? She wanted to, but was it fair to break Draco’s trust?

She would bring up the subject with Draco today. He should be the one to mention it to her uncle.

After spending an hour playing with her cousins, something she enjoyed even though those twin boys were little beasts themselves and did not know how to sit still for a moment, she left the nursery and popped into her uncle’s study. “I’m leaving now, Uncle Cormac.”

He came around his desk to escort her to his waiting carriage. “Still having that queasy feeling?”

She shrugged. “A little. It is going away, I think.”

“Even so, be careful,” he said as they stepped outside. “Come home immediately if you sense something is wrong.”

“All right, but you mustn’t fret about me. I am not ill.”

“I know, Imogen.” He watched the carriage pull up in front of them. “But you have keen instincts. I was going to have the driver return here after dropping you off, but should he stay with you?”

“No, that is absolutely unnecessary. Besides, the Woodleys have several carriages on hand.”

“All right. But if you sense something amiss, toss Deandra and her father into one of his carriages and come back here straight away. Forget your supplies. Forget everything and just come home.”

She nibbled her lip. “Are you that worried? Has Lord Woodley warned you about a specific danger?”

“Nothing of present concern, child. But that murder took place on his property and remains unsolved, so why take any risks?”

She hopped into the carriage and peered out the window on the ride to Woodley Lodge. The disquieting churning of her stomach never left her. She had a light meal at midday with Deandra and Deandra’s father, hardly eating a bite. Draco had not joined them, a fact once again commented on by all of them.

“He is in the pirate caves again today,” Deandra muttered, even though Imogen had not asked about his whereabouts.

She shrugged. “Oh? Well, he can do whatever he pleases. I’m here to visit you, not him.”

Deandra cast her a dubious look. “You are a terrible liar. Disappointment is written all over your face. Come on, it is time for you to give me an art lesson. What do you think? Do I show promise?”

“You are perhaps the worst student I have ever taught,” Imogen said with a merry laugh. Not that she was trained to teach art, but she did instruct the local villagers from time to time. Men, women, children, anyone who wished to learn. Vicar Trask had organized art classes at his church that she and Aunt Phoebe led. Phoebe was a talented artist in her own right and had taught Imogen everything she knew.

Imogen and Deandra walked out of the house to the Woodley garden, and, as she had done yesterday, Imogen set up her easel and art supplies amid the glorious array of flowers. She did the same for Deandra, helping with her easel, brushes, and pencils.

The lesson had barely started before Deandra’s eyes glazed over and she stopped paying attention.

“Honestly, Deandra. How will you learn anything when you are concentrating on everything but the task before you?”

Deandra set down her pencil and turned to Imogen with a pout. “Why must I draw nothing but circles?”

“Because circles are the most basic tools in drawing.”

Deandra sighed, and then made up an excuse to leave her easel and run inside. “I’ll be right back.”

“But where—”

Too late, Deandra had scampered off muttering something about reminding Mrs. Angel to set out their afternoon tea and cakes on the terrace. This was completely unnecessary. Not only had this been their routine all week long, but Mrs. Angel was one of the most efficient people Imogen had ever met.

Now alone, she set her own brushes and pencils aside.

She and Deandra had placed their easels in the shade, but Imogen now took a seat on a nearby stone bench that was in full sun. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths, smiling as the sun warmed her face and the subtle lemon scent of roses wafted in the air.

“Good afternoon, Butterfly,” Draco said, startling her out of her thoughts.

Imogen opened her eyes and scrambled to her feet, smiling at Parrot when he barked a greeting, too. She gave him a loving scratch behind the ears. Now appeased, the dog curled up in a shady spot beneath the stone bench and yawned to indicate he was ready for a nap.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Lazy dog,” he said, tossing the mutt an affectionate grin.

Imogen stared at Draco, wondering how he had managed to sneak up on her without making a sound. Nor had she noticed him walking up the cliff steps. Had he climbed out of the pirate cave using his newly opened, secret escape path? She dared not mention it, since he had yet to forgive her for sneaking into the cave the other day.

“Imogen, need I point out that you are alone again?”

And need she point out his shirt was not properly buttoned? She sighed. “It isn’t my fault. Deandra keeps running inside. I am not purposely trying to irritate you.”

“How hard is it to obey a simple request? Do not be out here alone.” He arched an eyebrow. “I think you ought to stop coming over here.”

She ignored the persistent knot in her stomach because her heart suddenly felt much worse. His words were a knife through her heart.

“You will have to take that up with Deandra.” She tried to keep her voice steady as she struggled to maintain her composure. “She invited me to spend the day here, and I accepted. Is this not her home as much as it is yours? We have become inseparable friends, as you well know.”

“Inseparable spies is what you are. Do not even pretend your coming over here is completely innocent. What else have you found out?”

“Since yesterday? Absolutely nothing,” Imogen insisted. “You are so secretive about everything you do. It is extremely irritating, Draco.”

His lips twitched in an almost smile that she knew would never turn into an actual smile because he was never going to admit he was pleased to see her. His muscles flexed as he raised his arm to rub a hand across the back of his neck.

Dear heaven.

“This will be your last day here,” he repeated.

“You are banishing me? Really? What is this about, Draco? Are you still angry that I know about your escape route? It is a very intelligent step, and I’m glad you have done it. You ought to tell my uncle about it.”

“I will.”

This admission caught her by surprise. “You will?”

“Yes.”

“When? Today?”

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

“May I tell him?” This knot in her stomach was growing tighter, and she wanted to speak freely to her uncle about whatever was going on with Draco.

He frowned at her again. “No. I will tell him.”

“Why are you still angry with me? Are you insulted that I would not accept jewelry from you?”

A flicker of surprise flashed in his eyes. “No, Butterfly. I am not insulted.”

“Because, much as I appreciated the offer, I am not one of your women, and I will not be bought.”

“Not be…” He shook his head and laughed heartily. “Seriously? I would never mistake you for one of my bought women. First of all, I do not pay to entice women into my bed. They come of their own accord. Eagerly, I might add.”

She made a sound of disgust.

“Second, I would have to be out of my senses to consider luring you into my bed. That would be a monumental mistake on my part, don’t you think? Besides, I do not deflower innocents such as yourself.”

Heat shot into her cheeks.

Why did he have to find her lack of experience so amusing? “I refused the offer of butterfly jewelry mostly for your sake, Draco. Uncle Cormac would have pounded you to dust had he ever found out.”

“Over a simple butterfly clip? It is hardly a diamond necklace.”

“It is still jewelry. Something as intimate as that had better come with a marriage proposal… That is what Uncle Cormac would tell you as his fist landed on your nose.”

To her annoyance, he laughed again. “Then I had better behave around you, hadn’t I? Especially since I have no wish to forfeit my life or my nose. But that does not excuse your behavior. Stop trying to divert my attention from the subject. You are here because you are meddling.”

“You needn’t berate me.”

“Obviously, I do. When did Deandra run off? I’ll wait for her to return.”

Imogen rolled her eyes. “She will never come out if she sees you out here with me. You know she is desperate to push us together.”

“That nonsense again,” he muttered.

“Falling in love is not nonsense. I think Deandra should be commended for obeying your wishes and not sneaking down to the cave to spy on you, which she could have done at any time if she were not so respectful of you. Do you plan to spend more time there? Is there something else you need to do? Or wish to tell me? Or some information I can relay to my uncle?”

He ignored all her questions. His lips were now pinched and his eyes no longer held any warmth as he stared at her. Oh, those silver eyes. Why did he have to look so handsome even when infuriated? His dark hair, slightly too long to be considered fashionable, blew gently in the afternoon breeze that always swirled around these coastal cliff sides. Cornwall was full of little coves, and his private one just happened to contain the best pirate caves in the area.

Gusts of warm wind swirled around her legs and caused her gown to flutter.

In the distance, she noticed the waves picking up in intensity, their white crests breaking to shore with greater force. Gulls hunted over the water and caught the wind, hovering in place without the need to flap their wings to remain aloft. “You ought to put some proper clothes on, Draco. You look too much like a pirate.”

Indeed, an irresistibly handsome pirate with a finely sculpted body and a gorgeous face that warned he might look handsome on the outside, but beware of what lurked inside of him.

“Do I?”

“Yes, in fact, you do.” His clothes were not fashionable, which was no surprise, since he had spent much of the day in those caves working on that escape tunnel, and whatever else he had going on that he was not telling her. He had clearly been engaged in physical labor again today, because his skin had a delicious sheen of sweat across it.

His shirt was damp in spots and clinging tightly to his muscled torso. She noted the spray of dark hair across his chest as the shirt fell open. His dark breeches hugged his powerful thighs, and were clearly of a fine, sturdy quality.

She cleared her throat. “If you will excuse me, I’ll go see what is delaying Deandra.”

To her surprise, he suddenly held her back.

“What?” she asked in a huff. “You asked me to go. You were quite clear you did not want me around. So I am going. Why are you holding on to me?”

“Imogen, I know things have appeared quiet in this investigation, but they are not. Why is this so hard for you to understand?”

“I am trying, but what am I to think when you tell me nothing? I hate that, Draco. I truly do. You make me feel so inconsequential, like a silly goose who cannot be trusted for anything.” She bit her lip the moment the words slipped out. Why had she mentioned her feelings? It would only give him more reason to scoff at her.

Still keeping hold of her hand, he reached behind her and grabbed her sketchbook. “These are going to get you into trouble. You have to stop traipsing about my property making sketches of everything you see. I know you love your art, but put it on hold for a little while. Take up embroidery instead.”

“I am going to punch you if you utter another word about my drawings. And I do not traipse.” She tried to snatch the sketchbook back, but he simply raised it over his head. “I wasn’t…” She jumped up and down, trying to grab the book. “I wasn’t…” Again, she tried to grab the book.

“Stop hopping up and down like a frog. I will give you back your sketchbook once I am done with it. I need to see what you have drawn.”

She frowned. “They are just harmless sketches of the pirate caves and… Well, never mind. They’re not very good. Nothing to interest you. I like to draw rocks and water.”

“And me,” he said with a growl as he thumbed through her latest works. “Bloody hell, Imogen. What were you thinking? I am confiscating these.”

She gasped. “What? Why?”

“Because you have drawn me. Me. With a shovel in hand coming out of one of those caves. What are you thinking? Do you know what will happen if the wrong party sees these?”

She shrugged out of his grasp and crossed her arms over her chest. “Who is going to see them? These are my private sketches. I show them only to my closest friends and family, and only if they ask to see them, which nobody ever does.”

“You carry a pad with you everywhere you go,” he said, hot embers in his gaze. “What if you set it aside a moment while in town? How dense can you be? Anyone can get their hands on it. Don’t you realize those drawings will get me killed if the wrong people see them?”

“How are they any danger to you?” Imogen stared at his long, slender fingers as he turned each page. “They are just drawings of you, mostly studies of your face.”

He growled low in his throat. “You’ve drawn the copse where the exit to the tunnel leads.”

“Amid a dozen other sketches of rocks and trees. So what? I haven’t drawn the actual tunnel. I was careful about that.”

“Gather the rest of your things. I am taking you back to the house now. You and Deandra can have your tea, then I am going to escort you home. Do not come to Woodley Lodge again until I invite you.”

She wanted to toss back an irreverent retort, but her heart was hurting too badly to form the words. He was banishing her from Woodley Lodge and his life. It did not matter that her Uncle Cormac had suggested the very same thing or that she had readily agreed. Nor did it matter that her stomach was still in a knot that had tightened throughout the day.

“Blast it, Imogen. Are you going to cry?”

“No. I will never cry over you,” she insisted as a tear rolled onto her cheek. Ignoring him as best as she could, she gathered her supplies.

“You are crying,” he said, his voice raspy with concern.

She sniffled and attempted in vain to hold back a sob. “I’ll take the easel in later. Or is this not good enough for you? I only ask because I cannot seem to do anything right in your opinion. You must think I am the most hapless, helpless—”

“Come here, Butterfly.” He drew her into his arms when she burst into tears.

She allowed herself only a moment of indulgence before pulling away.

He sighed and gently ran his thumb along her cheeks to wipe away her tears. He then took the bundle of art supplies out of her hands in order to carry them into the house himself. “It is best you don’t cry over me, Imogen.”

“A little too late for that,” she shot back, then sniffled, and her chin wobbled because she was about to cry some more. “Believe me, I don’t want to like you.”

He drew her back into his arms. “I know. I wish the same. You are so achingly soft. The last thing I ever want to do is break that lovely heart of yours.”

“Then why do you disapprove of everything I do?”

He inhaled lightly. “You think I disapprove?”

She nodded.

“Oh, Imogen. I do not. I shake with fear every time I see you.”

She wiped her cheeks to clear them of any remaining tears and looked up at him. “Why?”

“Because someone might hurt you just because you are standing close to me. I worry that you are poking your nose in this investigation and might discover something important that will get you killed. I am in agonizing fear that I won’t be around to protect you. I want to hold you tight and keep you close, but mostly I want to push you away because the killer might see us together and decide to harm you instead of me.”

Imogen tried to find reasons not to like him, but it proved hard to do now that he had made this surprising confession. He had been rude to her all week long until this very moment. Suddenly, everything changed. Had she misunderstood his feelings all along? Did he like her more than he cared to let on?

She dared not free her heart to allow him in.

Well, it was too late for that. He had stolen her heart on the night of the masquerade ball.

But it did not mean she had to acknowledge her feelings for him. He had not actually said he liked her, only that he was afraid for her safety.

Besides, how could she allow herself to fall in love with a man who did not even know how to dress properly? What other earl in England walked around looking like a pirate? Many dressed like peacocks in colorful silks, which she did not like at all. But it did not mean she liked men who dressed as pirates.

Yes, these were merely his work clothes, and he looked good enough in them to make her heart flutter, but she was still not going to make too much of his declaration. He did not even have the decency to lace his shirt that fell open just short of his navel. And those beads of sweat… Dear heaven.

She refused to think of how he might taste if she put her lips to his hot skin.

The thought of him in a masculine sweat also made her wonder what else besides the escape path he was working on. That path looked finished. But he had been back in the cave with shovel and axe doing something more.

Was he preparing the cave to store shipments of goods? For what purpose?

He was so self-righteous, she could not imagine he intended to smuggle contraband merchandise.

But what if he was? And what if his declaration of fear for her safety and desire to protect her was just a ruse to scare her away? He was not above manipulating her feelings.

She licked her lips, uncertain what to do.

Finally, she decided to keep out of his business for now. Deandra would tell her if she thought anything odd was going on. As for the sketchbook he had just confiscated from her, it was not worth fighting over just to protect a few sketches she could re-create from memory once she returned to Westgate Hall.

The shading and play of light might not be quite the same, but she was not drawing them for their artistic qualities to be put on display. In truth, no one other than her family would ever see them.

Draco had now gathered her materials, all but the easel. “Since you have everything else, I can take this,” she muttered, reaching for her easel.

He stepped in front of her. “No. Leave it. I’ll come back for it.”

“I am not a delicate violet,” she grumbled, even though she had been crying like an infant not five minutes ago. “I carried it out here on my own and can carry it back inside.”

He tensed once again and frowned at her. “I will do it.”

“Why are you being such an ape about this? Just because a few tears rolled down my face? I am not helpless.”

“A few tears? The entire front of my shirt is soaked.” He leaned in close. Goodness, he smelled nice, that mix of bay spices she always found appealing as it mingled with his masculine heat. “I said I would do it, and I shall do it. End of discussion, Imogen.”

“Ha! You call this a discussion?” She knew that tender moment had been too good to be true. “We are not talking. You are spewing edicts at me again. Imogen, don’t do this. Imogen, don’t do that. Imogen, go away because I cannot abide being around you.”

“I never said any such thing. Did I not just explain to you why I needed to avoid you?”

“Never mind, I hate fighting with you.” So why was she arguing with him? If she had any sense, she would merely nod, smile sweetly, and walk away.

But she simply could not do it.

“We are not fighting,” he replied. “Is this what you think we are doing? If nothing of what I said has penetrated that lovely head of yours, then let me spew some more edicts. Imogen, I am serious about your not coming around here again. I don’t want you to seek me out or talk to me. I don’t want you poking around, which is the only reason you are coming around here in the first place. Yes, you like Deandra. But this is not the reason you run over here every chance you get.”

“How dare you say such a thing? I am here because Deandra invited me. Do not impute sinister motives to me.” She frowned at him. “You are the one who approached me. You are the one who is apishly insisting on carrying my things inside. It is completely unnecessary. So, kindly put those things down and let me attend to them. Kindly keep away from me. Do not seek me out or talk to me. As for my investigating—”

“Do you dare deny it? Are we going to argue about this again?”

“No, you’ll only make me cry because you are so mean to me.”

“Blessed saints,” he said with a groan. “I am not being mean to you. Is it not obvious I am trying to protect you?”

“From what? All our suspects have fled Moonstone Landing. So what are you protecting me from? Your delightful family? This tranquil garden? This lovely view?” She turned to look across his private cove. “There’s nothing to see here but…”

She stopped talking as her heart shot into her throat. “Oh, dear heaven.”

Draco stared at her with marked impatience. “Blast it, Imogen. What now?”

She swallowed hard and pointed into the distance. “Is that a pirate ship sailing into your cove?”