Andrea Kane (3 page)

The whoops transformed to shouts of victory. “ ’E got it! ’E got the black diamond!”

The instant the two vessels were close enough, Armon swung over to his own deck, flourishing the diamond for all to see.

“What about
them?”
his next-in-command muttered, jerking his thumb in the
Isobel
’s direction.

“Grab the cargo. Sink the ship.” His black eyes flickered dangerously. “Take the crew.”

“Take ’em? Why not just kill ’em?”

“Because the useful ones, we’ll keep. And the others—the ones who’ve been a constant thorn in my side—” Armon flashed a venomous glance in Lexley’s direction.
“Those
I have plans for, plans that’ll make them pray to die.”

“What kind of plans?”

Armon rubbed his bristled jaw. “Can you still navigate the waters around Raven Island?”

“Ye know I can,” the stout pirate answered proudly. “Not in the
Fortune,
of course—I wouldn’t risk damaging ’er on the rocks. But in a longboat? I’m the only one who can whip Raven’s currents and come out alive.”

“Good. In that case, don’t sink their ship—yet. Transfer all but the troublemakers onto the
Fortune.
Then, board the
Isobel.
A handful of our crewmen are still there, awaiting instructions. Have them tie up our unwanted
passengers.
Sail out to Raven.” A malevolent leer. “At which point, toss the bastards into the longboat, row them out to the island, and leave them there—to starve and rot.”

“I get it.” An admiring nod. “In the meantime, ye and the
Fortune
will be headin’ to Dartmouth to make yer exchange.”

“Exactly. Once you’ve disposed of your cargo, sail to Dartmouth in their ship.
Then
sink it, reboard the
Fortune,
which will be in the cove we agreed on, and await my arrival.” So saying, Armon held up the black gem, pivoting it slowly in order to admire all its facets. “I’ve waited a long time for this day. And no one and nothing is going to stand in my way.”

“Good morning.”

That deep baritone penetrated Courtney’s haze, and she blinked, taking in the sunlit room, the disheveled bed—and the man who stood at its foot.

“How do you feel?” he inquired.

“You changed clothes,” she murmured inanely, assessing his fine waistcoat and polished boots, a sharp contrast to the rolled-up sleeves and muddied breeches of the man who’d rescued her.

Startled, he glanced down at himself. “I customarily do at the onset of the new day. Is that unusual?”

“No. But before you looked like a fisherman. Now you look like a…” Her brow furrowed. “What is your title anyway? Duke? Marquis?”

His lips twitched slightly. “Sorry to disappoint you. A mere earl.” A penetrating look. “You haven’t answered my question. How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been beaten, inside and out.” Speculatively, she glanced at the tangle of sheets surrounding her.

“You had a restless night,” the earl explained. “Each time the laudanum started to wear off, you became fitful. I hope you’ll have an easier time of it today. In any case, you must begin replenishing your strength. When Matilda advised me you were coming around, I sent my housekeeper, Miss Payne, to fetch some tea. Perhaps later you can manage some toast. It’s the only way you’re going to improve.”

As the earl spoke, bits of memories trickled into Courtney’s mind in ugly, measured increments.

Abruptly, she grabbed at the bedcovers, sifting through to find the treasure she’d been holding during her last conscious period.

“Your timepiece is safe,” her rescuer assured her. “I placed it in the nightstand drawer. I was afraid you would break it when you began thrashing about.”

Courtney stilled, emotion clogging her throat. “Thank you. As for sparing the watch, your efforts were for naught. ’Tis already broken. It broke the day Papa died.” Turning her face into the pillow, she confessed in a trembling voice, “I prayed I’d awaken to find this was all a horrible nightmare.”

“I understand.”

Slowly, she lifted her head from its protective nest, pivoting until her anguished gaze met his. “I’m not sure why,” she whispered, “but I believe you do.”

A heartbeat of silence.

The earl cleared his throat, clasping his hands behind his back. “Miss Johnston, I realize you’ve been through an ordeal, one you’d prefer to forget. Nonetheless, I must ask you some questions—if you’re physically able to answer them. Are you?”

Before Courtney could reply, a willowy woman of middle years entered the chamber, carrying a tray. “The tea you requested, my lord.”

“Thank you.” He indicated the nightstand. “Leave it there. Miss Payne, this is Courtney Johnston, the young woman I spoke of. She’ll be staying here while she recuperates.”

“Miss Johnston.” The housekeeper nodded. “I know Matilda has been tending to your needs. You couldn’t be in better hands. Still, as I am overseer of the female staff, please let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”

“Thank you, Miss Payne. You’re very kind,” Courtney managed awkwardly.

“Tell Matilda to get some rest,” the earl advised. “I’ll administer Miss Johnston’s next dose of laudanum. Once the medicine takes effect, she’ll sleep until midafternoon, so neither you nor Matilda will be needed. However, once Miss Johnston awakens, perhaps the two of you could entice her to eat some toast.”

“Of course,” the housekeeper agreed immediately. “ ’Twould be a pleasure, my lord.” With a polite smile in Courtney’s direction, she took her leave.

The earl gave Courtney another probing look. “Is the pain severe?”

“I can bear it, if that’s what you mean. Ask your questions. The laudanum can wait a few minutes.”

“Damn, I feel like a cad,” he muttered.

“Don’t. Obviously your concerns are serious.”

“Serious? Yes. Or I wouldn’t be pressuring you like this.” A pause. “My sister’s life is at stake.”

“Your sister?” It was the last thing Courtney had expected.

“Yes. The pirate who seized your ship used you as bait. He wanted something from me, something quite valuable. And he’s not alone. Hundreds of greedy bastards want the same prize. And one of them—I don’t know who—kidnapped Aurora. Hell, he might even kill her, and all to get his hands on that bloody gem.”

Gem. Another vivid recollection fell into place. The pirate…taunting her with instant death
if
whoever he was awaiting didn’t deliver the requisite stone. “Of course,” Courtney murmured, “that jewel he kept muttering about.”

“He spoke to you?” Her rescuer lunged forward like a panther.

Courtney gazed into the handsome, tormented face. “Only in fragments.” At last, she gave voice to the question she’d wanted to ask a dozen times since awakening in the fishing boat, had that question not vanished into nothingness each time she’d tried to speak it. “Who are you?”

For a moment, he seemed not to have heard. Then, he replied, “Slayde Huntley. The Earl of Pembourne.”

“Huntley…” Reflexively, Courtney came up off the bed, then sank back on the pillows with a moan.

“I see you’ve heard of me. I needn’t ask in what context. Although I am a bit surprised. I hadn’t realized my family history was nefarious enough to reach all who travel abroad.”

“I’m not traveling. The
Isobel
is my home, and its captain—Arthur Johnston—is my father.
Was,”
she corrected herself, her voice breaking. “Now I’ve lost them both.”

Something flickered in Lord Pembourne’s eyes—a glimmer of the past, a flash of remembered anguish. “You have my deepest sympathy. It’s obvious your father meant a great deal to you.” The offering was straightforward, uttered in a thoroughly composed tone. Perhaps Courtney only imagined the compassion that hovered just beneath the surface, given what she’d just learned—who he was, the stories she recalled of his own tragic past. Perhaps that tragedy was long forgotten, his empathy a mere trick of her mind. But, valid or not, her fleeting perception was enough to dissolve the final thread of her self-control.

Covering her face with her hands, she burst into tears, sobbing as if her heart would break, ignoring the increased pounding in her head and ribs induced by her actions.

She felt the earl hesitate, then walk around and reach for her, drawing her against him until her face was buried in the wool of his coat. Gratefully, she accepted this small measure of comfort. “I’m sorry,” she choked out.

“No.
I’m
sorry.” Gently, he cradled her head to still any sudden, jarring motions. “If I could undo this loss for you, I would.”

“He can’t be gone.” Her hands balled into fists, digging into Slayde’s shirtfront. “He
isn’t
gone. I won’t believe it.”

“I know,” Slayde replied, with a conviction only firsthand experience could afford. “And you don’t think you can withstand it. But you can. Not now, but later. For now, cry. Cry until the tears are gone.”

Courtney did just that, weeping until there was nothing left inside her, nothing but a hopeless, unending void.

At last, she drew back, gratefully taking Slayde’s proffered handkerchief. “You’ve been more than generous, Lord Pembourne. Once again, I thank you.” Shakily, she eased herself down to the pillows. “I’ll tell you everything I recall. It’s the least I can do.”

A muscle worked in his jaw. “Are you up to it?”

“Yes.”

He pulled over a chair and sat, fingers gripping his knees. “Tell me what happened—the details.”

Ghosts haunted her eyes. “That monster and his crewmen—I believe there were about six of them—boarded the
Isobel…”

“When?”

She frowned. “My sense of time is still muddled. How long have I been here?”

“A day and a half, nearly two.”

“Then it was five days prior to the night you made your exchange when he seized our ship. He forced Lexley—that’s Papa second in command—to thrust Papa overboard. He imprisoned me below. I was permitted no visitors, food, or water. He tied me to a chair and left me in my cabin. Hence, I was privy to very little of what occurred topside, until the night when they dragged me up and shoved me into that sack.”

Hope died in Slayde’s eyes. “So there’s nothing you can relay.”

“I didn’t say that.” The screaming pain in her skull was back, but Courtney refused to succumb to it. “First of all, I can describe the scoundrel from head to toe. He was broad and stocky, with curling black hair, black eyes, and a thickening middle. He wasn’t young—about forty, I should say. His nose was scarred. It had definitely been broken—my guess is more than once. He wore a silver ring on the little finger of his left hand. It was engraved with the letter
A.”

Slayde’s brows rose. “You certainly scrutinized him closely.”

“Very closely.” Courtney’s chin jutted forward. “I memorized his features, his walk, his voice. I intend to identify him the precise instant I next see or hear him, at which point I intend to kill him for what he did to Papa.”

“I see.”

“Yes, I believe you do.” Courtney swallowed. “In any case, he made repeated trips to my cabin to ensure I was properly bound, muttering about how I was worth a fortune to him and about how much smarter he was than the two of them—whoever ‘they’ are.”

“I assume he was referring to my great-grandfather and Geoffrey Bencroft, the late Duke of Morland.”

“Morland—wasn’t he the other nobleman who vied with your great-grandfather for the recovery of the black diamond when it first disappeared?”

“I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be. I’ve spent many years at sea listening to Papa’s crew spin their yarns. And your family is legendary.” Courtney shifted a bit, the resulting slash of pain across her ribs nearly making her cry out. “Where was I? Oh, the pirate kept boasting about the wonderful hoax he’d engineered, a hoax that would win him his treasure.”

“Indeed.” Slayde’s mouth thinned into a grim line. “And that hoax was you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Aurora—my sister. You bear an uncanny resemblance to her. At least in all the ways that would matter to that greedy snake: your slight build, your diminutive height…and the most crucial thing, your hair. Not only its texture, but its extraordinary color. Even I was fooled.” Slayde slammed to his feet, began pacing about the room. “Oh, that bastard knew exactly what he was doing when he sent me those ransom notes.”

“Ransom notes?” The pounding in Courtney’s head escalated. “What ransom notes?”

Slayde gave her a measured look. “You’re in excruciating pain.”

“What ransom notes?”

“I’ll answer this question, and this question only,” he said firmly. “The conclusion of our conversation will have to wait until later.”

“All right.” Courtney couldn’t help but agree; the pain was too agonizing.

“From the minute Aurora disappeared, one week ago today, I’ve been receiving letters promising me her life in exchange for the black diamond. Most of them were clearly hoaxes. But the two I received from the pirate holding you were chillingly genuine—and more than persuasive. They each contained strands of Aurora’s—
your”
—Slayde corrected himself—“hair.”

“Where did he get—?”

“From your brush, your pillow, any one of a dozen places. ’Twas only a few strands. But given the color, it was enough to convince me. So I took the risk and gave him what he wanted.”

“The stone? But now you have…nothing to bargain with.” Courtney could scarcely speak, much less think.

“ ’Tis time for your laudanum.” Slayde had already taken up the pot of tea and poured a cup, adding the requisite dose of medicine. “If I hold your head, can you drink this?”

She attempted a nod.

“Good.” He perched beside her, easing her up just enough to press the cup to her lips, offering her the tea, drop by drop, until it was gone.

It took mere minutes for the pleasant haze to settle in, surrounding the pain and holding it in faraway abeyance.

“That tasted dreadful,” Courtney announced.

“I’m sure it did. But ’twas necessary nonetheless.”

“The laudanum was necessary. The tea was not.” Her lashes fluttered. “Do you know Papa kept a few bottles of brandy aboard the
Isobel.
For special occasions. Once ’r twice, he let me taste it. When he looked away, I finished half the goblet.” A blissful sigh. “It tastes far better than tea.”