Andrea Kane (2 page)

“Name…” She wished she knew who this man was. Cracking open her eyelids, she could make out only his powerful frame, which seemed to fill the entire length of the vessel on which she lay. Then again, that wasn’t so impressive a state of affairs, considering how small a vessel it was. Small and unfamiliar—with an equally unfamiliar, though anything but small, captain. “Who are you?” she managed.

“A victim. Just as you are.”

Victim.
That one word opened the portals of Courtney’s memory, spawned a deluge of unbearable images. Her father…being attacked by that filthy pirate, torn from the quarter-deck, bound and gagged…wrested from his rightful place at the helm. And Lexley…complying at pistolpoint, tying a huge sack of grain to her father’s leg, looking anguished as he ordered Greene and Waverly to take Courtney below. Oh, how she’d kicked and fought as they dragged her off. Then…her father’s scream, followed by that sickening splash.

He was gone.

“No!” With an agonized shout, Courtney sat upright, then fell back with a strangled cry. Blinding pain merged with waves of nausea, and she felt the oncoming sickness an instant before her stomach emptied its meager contents.

Evidently, the signs of nausea were visible, for the man standing at the wheel pivoted and snatched her up, carrying her to the side of the boat and holding her while wracking spasms seized her, her eyes blinded by tears.

“Papa.” She fought the dizziness, the memories, the unalterable reality. “He’s dead,” she choked out as the roaring in her head intensified. “That monster—he killed him.”

With that, the world tilted askew and everything went black.

Where the hell was Aurora?

Slayde slammed down the pile of ransom notes, having reread them a dozen times and learned nothing in the process.

Bitterly frustrated, he prowled the length of his study, trying to fit the pieces together. It made no sense. Every one of the notes made reference to the black diamond. Yet, if all the kidnapper wanted was the stone, why hadn’t he contacted Slayde and made the exchange, stated his bloody demands? What was he waiting for? Why was he playing with Slayde like a child with a toy?

Unless it wasn’t just the gem.

The prospect crept into Slayde’s mind like an odious insect.

Could all those notes be fake? Could whoever had Aurora want something more than just the diamond—something more menacing, like vengeance?

There was only one man who hated Slayde’s family enough to exact such cruel revenge, a man whose thirst to uncover the black diamond
and
to seek retribution was twisted enough to spawn an action as ugly as this.

Lawrence Bencroft.

Rage surged through Slayde’s veins. The elderly duke was drunk more often than he was sober. Still, that wouldn’t preclude him from…

“Lord Pembourne?”

Slayde snapped about, facing the slight, graying man in the doorway. “Gilbert—how is she?”

The physician removed his spectacles, wiped them with his handkerchief. “Lucky to be alive,” he replied. “Had you reached her any later, she might not have been so fortunate.”

Slayde scowled. “Her injuries are that severe?”

“It’s not her injuries alone, or even the amount of time she spent under water. Her condition prior to the”—Dr. Gilbert cleared his throat discreetly—“accident was deteriorated, to say the least.”

“Stop talking in riddles. Tell me what you found when you examined her.”

“A severe concussion, numerous damaged ribs, several deep lacerations, and a wealth of cuts and bruises. She’s also terribly weak and severely lacking in both food and, most particularly, in water—ironic as that might seem, given the circumstances. In short, she is one very ill young lady.”

“But she’ll recover?” Slayde demanded.

“With the proper food, attention, and—most of all—rest, yes, I believe she’ll recover.” A frown. “Although I’m troubled by the fact that she reverted back to such a deeply unconscious state, despite the fact that I gave her only enough laudanum to dull the pain. It’s almost as if she doesn’t want to awaken.”

“That might very well be the case,” Slayde concurred, recalling the girl’s agonized state of mind.

“Well, periodically, she must be roused. Just to ensure that she’s lucid. I explained this to Matilda, who will awaken her in a few hours—unless, of course, she stirs on her own.” The physician shoved his spectacles back into place. “I’ve done all I can, my lord. The rest is up to nature.”

“Please, don’t whimper, child. Whatever it is, it’s over now.”

The crooning female voice seemed to come from far away.

With the greatest of efforts, Courtney’s lashes fluttered.

A heavy-set woman with a neat gray bun was perched at her bedside, leaning forward and frowning as she checked something white that lay directly across Courtney’s brow. “Whatever agony you’ve endured is far more painful than even these wounds,” she muttered, evidently unaware that her patient was conscious. “Poor child.”

“Where am I?” The question emerged in a croak as, once again, Courtney struggled to regain mastery of her body. For the life of her, she couldn’t seem to overcome the pain or clear the fog from her mind.

The woman started. “At last. You’ve awakened.” She sprang to her feet. “His lordship will want to know at once.”

“His lordship?” Courtney repeated vacantly. But her attendant was already dashing out the door.

Groggily, Courtney lifted the bedcovers, wondering why she still felt as if there were an oppressive weight on her chest. She glanced down and surveyed herself, blinking in surprise. She was clad in a nightdress, beneath which she could make out the outline of a thick bandage. More bandages decorated both her arms and legs—
and head,
she added silently, discovering the last as she reached up to touch her pounding skull.
So that’s what that nice lady had been tending to,
she deduced.
My head.
The man in the fishing boat had said something about a concussion. She frowned. What else had he said? And how had she sustained all these injuries?

The water.

Abruptly, more flashes of memory ensued. She’d fallen from Lexley’s shoulder. There had been sharp pain, then a deluge of water.

And then that man in the boat. Clearly, he’d rescued her, brought her…where?

With great care, she inched her head to one side, enough to get a glimpse of her surroundings without heightening her discomfort. The room was a palace…ten times the size of her cabin, with furnishings that could be no less grand than those belonging to the Prince Regent himself. The desk and dressing table were a rich reddish brown wood—mahogany, if the descriptions her books had provided were accurate, the carpet thickly piled, as was indicated by the deep indentations made by the bedposts, and the ceiling high and gilded.

Whoever “his lordship” was, he was indeed a wealthy man.

Not that it mattered.

A surge of emptiness pervaded Courtney’s heart. Her father was gone, murdered by a bloodthirsty pirate who had usurped her home, bound and starved her, and used her for bait in his obsessive quest.

Why couldn’t she have died, too?

Tears were trickling down her cheeks when the bedchamber door opened.

“Ah. I see Matilda was right. You are awake.”

Courtney recognized the voice at once, her dazed mind making the connection that “his lordship” and her rescuer were one and the same man. Valiantly, she brought herself under control. After all, this man had saved her life and, whether or not that meant anything to her any longer, she owed him her thanks.

Dashing the moisture from her face, she eased her head slowly in his direction.

He was as tall and broad as she’d initially perceived, his hair as black as night; his eyes, by contrast, were an insightful, silvery gray as they bore into hers. His features were hard and decidedly aristocratic, and there were harsh lines etched about his mouth and eyes that made him look both older than he probably was and cynical—as if life had robbed him of youth and laughter.

Somehow she sensed he would understand her suffering.

“Yes. I’m awake,” she murmured.

Crossing over, he took in her pallor, the dampness still visible on her lashes, the torment in her eyes. “What pains you so, your injuries or the events that preceded them?”

She swallowed. “I would gratefully endure ten of the former if I could erase the latter.”

With a nod, he pulled up a chair and sat. “Do you recall Dr. Gilbert’s visit?”

“Who?”

“My personal physician. He tended to your injuries several hours ago. Luckily, no bones appear to be shattered. Your lacerations are varied, the most severe being the gash on your brow. That one is deep and bled profusely throughout our excursion to shore. Since you also have several damaged ribs and quite a concussion, there will be a fair amount of pain—more so in a short while when the laudanum has worn off.”

“Laudanum?” Courtney murmured vaguely.

“Dr. Gilbert put a dose in the brandy you drank.” A faint smile. “The brandy you apparently don’t remember drinking. In any case, it helped you sleep and numbed the effects of your injuries. When it wears off, the pain will intensify. So you’ll need continual doses of laudanum over the next several days, and complete bed rest for a week.” Her rescuer’s smile vanished. “It seems your body is badly depleted of food and water. You’ll need to replenish your strength by consuming a great deal of both. In short, you’re going to have to stay abed and let others minister to you until you’re well enough to take care of yourself.”

“I—” Courtney wet her lips, his lordship’s words grazing the periphery of her mind. Stay in bed? Let others take care of her? Terrified realization struck. She had no bed, no home, no one to treat her wounds. She also had no money, no worldly possessions, and nowhere to go.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“I—yes, I heard.” Shattered or not, Courtney was determined to retain the one thing she still
did
have: her pride, that wondrous pride with which her father had gifted her. “You dived in after me…when I…”

“Yes.”

“I thought so.” She spoke slowly, in breathy fragments that caused minimal movement to her chest. “Thank you. For risking your life. For bringing me here. And for fetching…your physician…to treat my wounds. I realize it must have been…a great inconvenience…to you and your family. I also realize you saved my life.”

One dark brow rose. “That sounds more like regret than appreciation.”

“If so…the fault is certainly not yours.” Courtney rested a moment, her fingers clenching as she fortified herself to go on. “I’m sorry,” she managed at last. “But the truth is…I have nothing to offer you in return. Nothing at all.”

“All your belongings were on that ship?”

Her lips trembled. “My belongings, and a great deal more.”

“So I gathered.” He cleared his throat. “May I ask your name?”

“Courtney…” she whispered, wondering why the pressure in her head and chest seemed to be intensifying. “…Johnston.”

“Well, Miss Johnston, one of your belongings did, in fact, survive the ordeal. In fact, I only wish your transfer to my vessel had been as smooth.” He reached over, lifting a gleaming silver object from the nightstand. “I believe this belongs to you.” He pressed it into Courtney’s palm.

She stared, her eyes brimming with tears. “Papa’s timepiece.” Instinctively, she tried to sit up—and whimpered, the resulting pain too acute to withstand.

Instantly, his lordship rose and strode across the room, stepping into the hall. “Matilda,” he summoned in a commanding tone, “bring some brandy. Miss Johnston needs another dose of laudanum.”

“Yes, m’lord.”

Courtney fell back weakly, needing to find the words to thank him, to try to explain how much her father’s timepiece meant to her.

“I…Papa gave me…”

“Later,” he replied, returning to her bedside. “After you’ve rested, and the next ration of laudanum has had a chance to work.”

“It hurts,” she managed, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“I know. Just lie still. The medicine is on its way.”

Courtney hadn’t the strength to respond. It seemed an eternity before Matilda delivered the requisite brandy, supporting Courtney’s head so she could sip it.

“Drink the whole thing,” her rescuer’s voice instructed from a distance. “Every last drop.”

She did.

“Poor lamb,” Matilda murmured, settling Courtney in and drawing up the bedcovers. “She’s as weak as a kitten. Well, never you mind. A little care and attention and she’ll be good as new.”

“Care…” Courtney whispered, her lashes fluttering to her cheeks. “I have…no one…nothing…” Her voice trailed off, and she sank into a drugged sleep.

The timepiece fell from her fingers to sleep beside her.

“My ship, the
Fortune,
is just inside that cove. We’ll anchor alongside her.”

Sewell Armon propped his booted foot on the deck of the brig and pointed. “There.” He scowled as Lexley ignored his orders, instead glancing anxiously out to sea. “You’ve done that a hundred times,” the pirate captain growled. “The bloody girl is dead. Stare all you want, but unless your eyes are good enough to see clear to the bottom of the English Channel, you won’t find her.”

“Thank you for that assessment,” Lexley replied bitterly, the past week having rended his soul, extinguished his hope—and, as a result, sharpened his tongue. “But a conscience is not always amenable to reason.
If
one has a conscience, that is.”

“I’ve had just about enough of your defiance, you rebellious old man,” Armon spat, whipping out his sword. “You’ve been nothing but trouble since your captain and his precious daughter drowned. Well, you’ll soon be joining them. Now anchor. You’re wasting time—mine.” He nudged Lexley purposefully with the tip of his blade. “My crew is waiting.”

“And what will happen to
our
crew?” Lexley asked, wincing. “Do you mean to kill everyone on the
Isobel,
or only me?”

“You’ll find that out soon enough. But if it’s leniency you seek—for any of your men—I’d suggest you comply with my instructions. Or else…”

Armon’s attention was diverted by a welcome sight, and a broad smile supplanted his irritation. As the
Isobel
rounded the next jagged inlet of the Channel, the
Fortune
came into view, tucked away and awaiting her captain’s return. Armon’s smile widened as a whoop of recognition erupted from the deck of his ship and, in response, he whisked the black stone from his pocket and waved it triumphantly in the air.