Andrea Kane (7 page)

A wave of warmth pervaded Courtney’s heart. “Thank you,” she murmured. “And I’m delighted to meet you, too.”

There was nothing average about Aurora Huntley, Courtney decided with an inward smile. She was a striking beauty, her looks every bit as vivid as the personality Slayde had depicted in his exasperated description. Her hair was a vibrant red-gold, her eyes wide, a deep turquoise blue, setting off a bold, uncompromising brow and refined, aristocratic features. In fact, delicacy and coloring notwithstanding, she looked quite a bit like Slayde.

As if reading Courtney’s mind, Aurora, who had been studying Courtney in return, pronounced, “I don’t think we resemble each other at all.”

“I agree.”

“You’re what Elinore describes as the kind of woman who most other, terribly jealous women refer to as ‘a classic beauty’—bandages or not.”

Courtney blinked. “I? Funny, I was about to say the same about you.” Her slender brows drew together. “Forgive me, but who is Elinore?”

“Aurora’s connection to the fashionable world,” Slayde inserted dryly.

Aurora shot him a look. “May I visit with Miss Johnston alone?”

“If she’s willing.” Slayde cast an inquisitive glance at Courtney.

“I’d enjoy talking with Lady Aurora,” Courtney assured him.

He hesitated.

Aurora rolled her eyes to the heavens. “Don’t worry, Slayde. I shan’t spirit our houseguest off to parts unknown.”

“How comforting.” With that, Slayde opened the door and stepped out. “You have a quarter hour.”

The door shut behind him.

“As you can see, my brother and I are quite different,” Aurora began without preliminaries. Drawing up a chair, she settled herself beside Courtney’s bed.

“Yes. You certainly are.”

“Do you have brothers or sisters?”

“No.” Courtney felt that now-familiar constriction in her chest. “It was just Papa and I. And now he’s gone.”

“Slayde told me what happened.” Aurora’s gaze met Courtney’s. “You’re very brave. I didn’t think I’d survive when my parents died.”

“If I recall Papa’s stories correctly, you were quite young when that happened,” Courtney noted. “It must have been shattering.”

“I was ten. And, yes, it was. But, in truth, I don’t think there’s ever an easy time to lose someone you love. Especially through a violent death.”

Courtney’s lashes drifted downward. “The pain is more numbing than all my injuries combined.”

“Were you and your father close?”

“Very. He captained a ship. I sailed everywhere with him.”

“How exciting!” Aurora’s whole face glowed. “I’ve never been anywhere, at least not since Mama and Papa died, and even then, it was never farther than Scotland. While you—you’ve traveled the world, seen everything. How wondrous never to be confined to one place.”

“Ironic, how different our perspectives are,” Courtney replied, her voice choked. “I would have been thrilled to settle down. To live in a cottage on a hill, with my own room and a window overlooking the cliffs and the water. I used to dream that Papa would surprise me with exactly that. But my dream wasn’t meant to be. Papa’s life was the sea. And, since I desperately wanted to be with him, it became my life as well.”

Aurora ingested Courtney’s words with an intense expression that made her look all the more like Slayde. “ ’Twould seem there is more than one way to be lonely, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes,” Courtney answered, pondering the fact that beneath all the youthful recklessness Slayde had described lay a strong, insightful woman—one she was suddenly quite eager to befriend. “I believe there is.”

“How old are you?” The forthright Aurora was back.

“I’ll be twenty next month.” Courtney smiled wistfully. “Papa’s gift to me was going to be twofold: a puppy, which I’ve wanted since I was a tot, and one full week together as a family. On land. Just Papa, the pup, and me. Both gifts were to be presented to me later this summer, after the
Isobel
returned from delivering its cargo to the Colonies. Lexley—Papa’s first mate—was going to oversee the brig so Papa and I could travel the countryside together. By carriage, not ship. But now…” She broke off.

Impulsively, Aurora leaned forward, seizing Courtney’s hand. “Perhaps we can have a small celebration of our own. Here, at Pembourne. That is, if you choose to stay with us. Please, Courtney—may I call you Courtney?” She paused only to inhale, not to await Courtney’s ensuing nod. “And you must call me Aurora. Please stay. I know Slayde can be aloof and difficult, but he’s scarcely home. And the servants, for the most part, keep to themselves, except when they’re checking up on me, of course—which they’re far less apt to do if I have a companion to keep me from straying off Pembourne’s grounds. So you’ll be allowed as much or as little freedom as you wish. I shan’t invade your privacy, or your grief. But Courtney—” Another breath. “Sometimes grief is better shared. Else it grows larger rather than smaller. My brother is a perfect example of that. He keeps everything to himself. Thus, he’s alone.
And
lonely, whether he chooses to realize it or not. Well, I won’t let that happen to me. Nor to you, if you’ll accept my friendship.” A dimple appeared in each of Aurora’s cheeks. “Let’s see,” she mused aloud, “we’re about the same size, so buying a wardrobe won’t be necessary. You’ll simply wear all of my clothes—beginning next week, when you’re up and about. Shortly thereafter, you’ll be ready for long strolls. I have just the place for us to visit. ’Tis my favorite spot in all the world,
and
the ideal site for your birthday celebration. I’ll take you there, introduce you to the most fascinating and caring man. His stories are mesmerizing, and the view from his window spectacular—the very cliffs and water you’ve dreamed of.” Aurora’s grip tightened. “Say you’ll stay.”

Grief temporarily supplanted by awe, Courtney stared at Aurora, touched by her generosity, wondering if Aurora knew just how contagious her enthusiasm was—and how healing.

Unexpected tears filled Courtney’s eyes. “Do you know, Aurora,” she managed, intentionally using the given name she’d been requested to, “I never realized until this minute just how bereft I was of friendship. I’d be honored to strive to earn yours.” A shaky smile. “Yes, I’ll stay. And, yes, please call me Courtney. And, yes, I’d love to visit your lighthouse.”

Joy—followed by surprise. “Slayde told you about the Windmouth lighthouse?”

“Not by name, no. Only that you’re drawn to it, time and again.”

“That’s all he
could
tell you. ’Tis all he knows, or rather, all he chooses to know,” Aurora added with a resigned sigh. “The lighthouse is an adventurer’s dream and a wanderer’s haven. Mr. Scollard, its keeper, is my dearest friend. He’s a prophet and a genius. Nothing he says, or relays, is without meaning—if the listener is shrewd enough to search for it. I remember the very first story he told me. I was five years old. ’Twas about a smuggler who transported a chest of jewels to England with the intention of burying it in a forsaken cave at Cornwall. But before he could reach land, his ship was dashed on the rocks, and the jewels were forever lost at sea. Sometimes, late at night, you can still see the gems sparkling across the waters of the Channel. And—”

“That’s enough, Aurora.”

Slayde loomed in the doorway, his expression as dark as his tone. “I said you could meet our guest, not wear her out. You’ll have plenty of time to regale her with Mr. Scollard’s nonsensical yarns—if she still chooses to stay at Pembourne. A quarter hour with you might very well have altered her decision.”

“Not at all,” Courtney inserted. “If anything, it’s reinforced it.” She smiled at Aurora. “I look forward to hearing more. And to meeting Mr. Scollard—not once, but countless times.”

A dazzling grin lit Aurora’s face. “Cook will bake a splendid cake when your birthday arrives. We’ll take it with us to the lighthouse. Maybe Elinore can join us there. Oh! You asked who she was. Elinore is the Viscountess Stanwyk. She lives in Teignmouth, less than two miles from here. She was Mama’s dearest friend. But don’t let her age fool you; she’s as vibrant as a young girl. In fact, she’s the one with whom I spent this past week in London. Tomorrow, after you’ve rested, I’ll tell you all about our adventures there. The important thing is, I’m sure Elinore will be delighted to partake in our birthday celebration. As will Mr. Scollard. And who knows? Perhaps he can tell you something wonderful about your future.”

Her future.

Courtney felt the constriction in her chest return.

“Say good night, Aurora,” Slayde commanded. “Miss Johnston is exhausted. Matilda is on her way up to change our guest’s bandages and bring her some supper. Then she must sleep. You’ll visit again tomorrow.”

“Of course.” Aurora rose. “Sleep well, Courtney.” She paused, her buoyancy vanishing in the wake of solemn perception. “The grief will subside,” she vowed, squeezing Courtney’s hand. “And remember—you’re not alone.”

Courtney’s lips trembled. “Thank you, Aurora. I’ll keep reminding myself of that.”

The grandfather clock struck midnight.

In his study, Slayde poured another brandy and paced restlessly about the room.

He’d closeted himself here to plan tomorrow’s unscheduled confrontation with Morland.

Instead, he’d done nothing but think of Courtney.

There was something poignantly moving about her, something that touched a chord inside him, resonated through him like a melody he’d never heard yet somehow recognized. He’d felt it when he watched her sleep, then again when she’d been chatting with Aurora and her spirit had shown signs of revival. It was separate and apart from her beauty, even from her inner strength. The former elicited attraction; the latter, admiration. This was something different. And he was damned if he understood it.

One thing he did understand, and that was Courtney’s need to strike back, to punish the bastard who’d killed her father. The more Slayde pondered the facts, the more convinced he was that the pirate in question had not worked alone. Somewhere out there was an accomplice—or, more likely, an employer—who’d paid to have the black diamond seized.

Seized—or from the viewpoint of Morland’s warped mind, restored. That unstable lowlife had never ceased to believe that the jewel rightfully belonged in the hands of the Bencrofts. So if he was at the helm, it was not only to reap the wealth afforded by the black diamond, but to undo sixty years of what his distorted mind perceived as heinous injustice.

If
he was at the helm.

But who else would have been twisted enough to invent Aurora’s kidnapping?

Tossing off his drink, Slayde contemplated the forthcoming altercation. Confronting Morland was going to be ugly. The man was a weakling, a drunk, and a liar. He was also bitter and vindictive, hating the Huntleys with every fiber of his being. Clearly, whether he was guilty or not, he’d deny everything and throw Slayde off his estate.

Unless Slayde arrived with ammunition.

Ammunition in the form of concrete proof or, at the very least, powerful enough implications to make the duke lose his shaky composure and—given the combined effects of constantly consumed liquor and the pressure—to incriminate himself.

Raking a hand through his hair, Slayde considered that prospect. He’d have to acquire some information before bursting into Morland’s home and accusing him of theft, blackmail, and, indirectly, murder. He’d visit a few of the duke’s colleagues, learn a little about what the fool had been up to over the past fortnight, whom he’d seen and where he’d been.

Then Slayde would go for the kill. Through skill and cunning, he just might succeed in prodding Morland into talking a bit too much and divulging some condemning detail, after which he would ascertain the name and whereabouts of the pirate who’d killed Courtney’s father and exact the revenge she sought.

As well as a semblance of his own.

The abhorrent events—and unanswered questions—of ten years past unfolded in Slayde’s mind once more, in vivid, excruciating detail.

His parents, lying in pools of blood on the marble floor. The terrified servants, all shaking their heads, swearing they’d seen and heard nothing. The authorities, after weeks of futile investigation, shrugging their shoulders and abandoning their search for the murderer. And the odious, though unproven, possibility that Chilton Bencroft, Geoffrey’s son and Lawrence’s father, had ordered the monstrous execution, exacting the most horrible, fatal kind of revenge.

Lord, how Slayde wished he’d reached the bastard in time to learn the truth, to choke it out of him, if need be. But the old man had died a month later, succumbing to a longstanding weakness of the heart.

And the truth had died with him.

Perhaps, through Courtney, Slayde was being given another chance to see that justice was served. Tomorrow’s excursion would tell.

With a weary sigh, Slayde turned down the lamp and headed for bed.

The second floor was silent.

Slayde rounded the landing, grateful that Aurora had finally retired for the night and that the servants had followed suit. He felt the need for solitude, and thankfully, all of Pembourne was deep in slumber.

A choked sound refuted that notion, reaching Slayde’s ears and stopping him in his tracks. Straining, he listened, wondering if it had been his imagination.

No, there it was again. Someone was crying. And, judging by the direction of the sound, that someone was Courtney.

All thoughts of solitude having vanished, Slayde retraced his steps, turning the door handle without pausing to knock.

Shadows washed the room, broken only by the dim glow of a single lamp. It was enough. Slayde could easily discern Courtney’s slight form, huddled in the center of the bed, weeping as if her heart would break.

“Courtney?” He shut the door, crossing over.

Her head came up, and she stared at him, her eyes damp pools of jade. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to awaken anyone.”

“You didn’t. I was already awake.” The agony on her face was unbearable and, without thinking, Slayde perched on her bedside, reached out for her.

She went into his arms with a heartbreaking whimper, burying her face against his shirt as harsh sobs wracked her body.