Andrea Kane (29 page)

Four heads jerked about, gazes riveted on the open doorway.

Rage emanating from every inch of his powerful frame, Slayde made his way across the salon, his steps taut with the control he was exerting to keep from exploding. Reaching the sofa, he nodded curtly at Ray-burn. “Thank you for your diligence.” He walked on.

Alongside Rayburn, Aurora held her breath, waiting.

For the first time, Slayde bypassed his sister, pausing directly before Courtney. His composure disintegrating, he seized her elbows, yanking her from the sofa to meet his gaze.

“What the hell were you thinking of?”

“D
ID YOU HONESTLY BELIEVE
Morland was going to unburden himself and confess to his crimes?”

Slayde was pacing about the sitting room, tossing infuriated looks at Courtney, who was perched on the settee, calmly watching him.

“No,” she replied. “And when you stop lecturing me as one would a small child, I’d be happy to provide explanations for both your questions—the one you’ve just asked and the one you fired at me prior to our discreet withdrawal to the sitting room.” Her lips twitched. “Poor Elinore. She looked as if she were trying to memorize the number of stones on her bracelet, that’s how intently she was staring at it. You might not erupt often, my lord, but you’re quite formidable when you do.”

“I’m not laughing, Courtney.”

“I know you’re not.” She sighed. “Very well. What was I thinking? I was thinking that Morland needed a good, old-fashioned scare. That if he believed someone—other than you—had tangible evidence of his crimes, it would induce him to act.”

“Act how? By harming you, too?”

“He’d hardly shoot me down in the middle of his home amidst a flock of servants,” Courtney reasoned. “No, I hoped he’d panic, rush over here, and react to my ultimatum.”

“Ultimatum?”

A nod. “I warned Morland that unless he made a full confession about his connection to Armon, the extortion of the black diamond and, indirectly, Papa’s death, I’d give Bow Street written evidence that he and his father murdered your parents.”

Slayde’s jaw dropped. “You warned…” A swallow, as he again sought control. “What evidence?”

“With regard to Armon, an alleged journal outlining names and details. With regard to your parents, I didn’t stay long enough to enumerate. Once I delivered that final blow, Morland lost his composure, and common sense insisted I bolt. But he knows who I am
and
at whose home I’m residing. I fully expect him to explode into Pembourne and do something irrational, something that could give us the very evidence we seek.” Courtney’s smile was impish. “I was extraordinarily convincing.”

With a muffled oath, Slayde sank down beside her. “I’m sure you were. Convincing and reckless. Damn it, Courtney, if anything had happened to you—”

“I wasn’t alone. I had an exceptional cohort.”

“How reassuring—Aurora,” he muttered dryly. “When I asked you to stay on as Aurora’s companion, I’d hoped you’d reform her, not outdo her.”

“I’m fine, Slayde,” Courtney said softly, slipping her hand into his, understanding far better than he that along with loving and needing came the fear of losing. “I’m sorry I caused you pain. But maybe, just maybe, my plan will work.”

His fingers tightened around hers. “How did you get by that sentry, Thayer?”

Courtney braced herself. “I implied I’d been…sent.” She licked her suddenly dry lips. “To tend to the duke’s needs.”

Slayde’s head whipped around. “ ‘The duke’s needs,’ ” he repeated in utter disbelief. “You masqueraded as a…”

“Yes,” she interrupted hastily. “More or less. Morland seemed pleased enough, until he learned my true purpose in coming.”

“I’m sure he did.” Slayde looked positively stricken. “I don’t know whether to shake you senseless, applaud you, or simply thank God that you escaped unscathed.”

“I’m not partial to the first choice. A combination of the second and third would be lovely.”

Groaning, Slayde pulled her to him, pressed her head to his chest. “You’re aging me. Miracles aren’t supposed to do that.”

She smiled, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart. “I love you. Miracles
are
supposed to do that.”

She felt him tense.
God,
she prayed silently,
let me help him. Let me heal him so we can have our future. Please.

“I found Grimes.”

Drawing back, Courtney studied Slayde’s taut expression. “And?”

“And he did his damnedest to avoid me. I literally had to corner him in his disgusting excuse for an establishment, then grab him as he tried to get by me.”

Courtney sat up straight. “Then he was Armon’s contact?”

“Not only his contact, but his forger. Evidently, Mr. Grimes is a man of many talents, all of them unlawful ones. But with enough coercion and two hundred pound notes, he gave me the information I sought. It seems that he and Armon did a great deal of business together. Several weeks ago, Armon approached him, saying he’d soon be getting his hands on the infamous black diamond and that he was looking for a buyer. Grimes is no fool; he knows how much that bloody stone is worth. So he agreed to pay Armon three hundred thousand pounds—a mere fraction of what the stone would bring—no questions asked. Armon told him there was one more catch to the arrangement; he needed Grimes to copy a note for him.”

“The ransom note,” Courtney supplied.

“Right. Well, Grimes didn’t mind—hell, it was the easiest catch to fulfill, given his skill at forgery. He copied the note, altering only the date, and gave both notes back to Armon. Oh, and he suggested to Armon that he not destroy the original, just in case it was needed again, such as if I didn’t comply with the terms of the note Armon did send, compelling Grimes to forge another.”

“That explains why the third note—the one Grimes calls the original—was in Armon’s pocket when he died.”

“Exactly. He probably intended to wait until the transaction was complete and the diamond in his possession before destroying the note Grimes used as a model.”

“Did Grimes tell you who his buyer for the diamond was?”

“According to him, he’d had several bites. Also, he had yet to contact his most promising potential buyer: the royal family who’d originally offered a fortune for the gem’s restoration. Believe me, Grimes knew what he stood to gain. But he never had the opportunity to reap that enormous profit. On the night he and Armon were to make the exchange, he arrived at the designated alleyway to find Armon dead and the diamond gone.”

Courtney drew a slow, inward breath, asking the most vital question of all. “Had Grimes any idea who Armon was working with? When they made their arrangements, when they exchanged the forged ransom note, did Armon ever mention the name of his mysterious employer?”

“Not according to Grimes,” Slayde replied. “He swore Armon never referred to his employer by name. And, trust me, I pressured him for answers—a dozen times, with my arm against his throat. Either he was telling the truth or he’s more afraid of the man he’s protecting than he is of me.”

“It could be the truth. Remember, when Armon was aboard the
Isobel,
he spent a great deal of time in my cabin, gloating. Yet never once did he use his employer’s name. Perhaps he was too shrewd to do so, even to Grimes.”

“Perhaps.” Slayde didn’t look convinced. “I could have persisted, but Grimes was sheet-white and trembling like a leaf as it was. If I knew for certain he was hiding something, I would have beaten him senseless, but my conscience refused to permit me to bodily harm a man I wasn’t sure knew any more than he’d already revealed. Moreover, I didn’t want him to flee to parts unknown. So I backed off, lulled him into a false sense of security. This way, he’ll remain in Dartmouth, should we need to question him at a later date.” With a resigned sigh, Slayde leaned back against the cushions.

“You look tired,” Courtney observed softly.

He gazed at her from beneath hooded lids. “Weary, not tired. I aged ten years when Siebert told me where you and Aurora had gone.” A regretful look. “I wish you’d have more faith in me. I vowed to find Armon’s accomplice, and I shall.”

Courtney leaned toward him, shaking her head. “I never doubted you, Slayde,” she countered, knowing it was time to reveal her true reason for descending on Lawrence Bencroft, to share with Slayde what she’d hoped to accomplish—and why. “Avenging Papa’s death wasn’t my motivation for confronting the duke. Nor was determining if Morland was, in fact, Armon’s accomplice. What I’d hoped was to provoke—”

“Lord Pembourne?” Siebert’s purposeful knock interrupted Courtney’s revelation.

Slayde came to his feet, recognizing the urgent note in his butler’s voice. “Yes, Siebert, come in.”

“Forgive me for intruding, sir. But you did advise me to summon you immediately if you received word from Mr. Oridge.” He held out an envelope. “This missive just arrived.”

“Maybe he’s found something.” Courtney, too, was now on her feet.

Swiftly, Slayde took the letter and tore it open, scanning its contents. “Oridge located the
Fortune.
The ship made its way down the Thames, rounded the coast, and passed Sandwich, heading south through the Downs. Evidently, Oridge waited for the right moment, then crowded the
Fortune
until it fell victim to the Goodwin Sands. The ship is being hauled back to London. Oridge wants me to meet him there.”

“I’ll pack.” Courtney headed for the door.

“Courtney.” Slayde caught up with her in the hallway.

“Don’t even consider asking me to stay behind,” she cautioned.

A twinge of amusement. “I had no intentions of doing that. I was merely going to suggest we leave for London today, rather than wait for morning. I know it’s after two, but we could travel five or six hours before darkness falls and, as a result, be that much farther on our way when we stop for the night. We’ll stay at an inn in Somerset and be refreshed and ready to begin anew at daybreak. Is that acceptable?”

“My bag is as good as packed.” Courtney turned to go.

Abruptly, she realized they had an audience.

Aurora, Elinore, Rayburn, and Siebert hovered nearby, all of whom, upon hearing Courtney and Slayde, began talking at once, beginning with Rayburn’s “Shall I return to my post, sir?” followed by Siebert’s “I’ll summon Matilda to assist Miss Johnston,” which was simultaneous with Elinore’s tactful “Courtney, might I be of some assistance?” and Aurora’s resounding “Why are you going to London?”

Slayde stared amazedly at all four of them. “You’re awaiting our emergence like a pack of sentries. Did you think I’d done Courtney bodily harm?”

Characteristically, it was Aurora who answered. “Can you blame us for being worried?” she demanded, planting her hands on her hips. “Slayde, you very nearly assaulted poor Courtney before dragging her from the salon—after having bellowed so loudly upon arriving that you doubtless incited a stampede in the stables. For a man who prides himself on his self-control, you behaved like a wild boar.”

There was a chorus of sharp inhalations as everyone awaited Slayde’s response.

To the amazement of all, he began to chuckle. “You’re right, Aurora. Although I find your analogy most unflattering. Still, I do see the similarities, now that you’ve called them to my attention.” Sobering, he shifted his gaze to Rayburn. “Yes. Return to your post. I want to know if Morland so much as blinks in the direction of my estate.”

“Yes, sir.” The investigator hurried off.

“Siebert, Mr. Rayburn will need some means of travel,” Slayde prompted. “A carriage perhaps?”

“Hmm?” The butler was still staring at Slayde as if he were a stranger. “Oh. Mr. Rayburn. Of course, sir.” He nodded crisply and complied, although he paused once or twice, glancing over his shoulder as if to confirm that the man who’d just successively shouted and laughed was indeed the earl.

“Slayde,” Elinore inserted, “has something significant happened? Is that why you’re leaving for London?”

“Armon’s ship was located,” Slayde answered tersely. “Courtney and I are going to London to recover whatever members of her father’s crew are aboard.” He frowned. “Will you excuse me? I must speak with my guards to prepare them for the possibility that Morland might make an appearance while we’re gone.” His silver eyes darkened, his gaze hard as steel as it fixed on Aurora. “I want you inside the manor until we return. No strolls, no lighthouse, nothing. Is that thoroughly understood?”

Seeing the familiar mutinous expression that flashed on her friend’s face, Courtney added her voice to Slayde’s. “We stirred up a hornet’s nest today, Aurora. If Morland is the criminal we suspect he is, my instigation will have rendered him more dangerous than ever. Please, don’t argue with Slayde or do anything foolish. Not this time. Your life could be at stake.”

Aurora’s anger cooled somewhat. “You’re right. Very well, I’ll stay snug—and bored—in the manor until your return. Unless,” she added hopefully, “you want me to accompany you on your trip?”

“Absolutely not.” Slayde shot that notion down at once. “As it is, I’ll have my hands full keeping Courtney out of trouble. At least knowing you’re safe will afford me some peace of mind.”

A resigned nod.

“Go, Slayde,” Elinore urged him. “I’ll assist Courtney until Matilda appears to take over.”

“Thank you.”

“I wish you luck,” she called after him. Brows drawn in concern, she watched his retreat, then took Courtney’s hands in hers. “Are you certain this ordeal isn’t going to be too painful for you, dear? You have no idea which of your father’s crew have survived, nor what kind of condition they’ll be in. Moreover, seeing them will doubtless evoke devastating memories.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Courtney conceded. “But ’tis something I must do.” Her chin set. “Not only do I want to rescue Papa’s crew, I intend to search every inch of Armon’s ship until I find a clue as to the identity of his accomplice. Surely there must be something: a note, a journal, a letter. I told Lawrence Bencroft I had written proof. Well, by week’s end, perhaps that boast will become a reality.”

The tiny Somerset village was shrouded in newly settled darkness when the Huntley carriage rolled in.