by Andrea Kane
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."
A corner of Slayde's mouth lifted. "I agree."
"'Tis also stronger. It works faster and disguises the bad flavor of medicine.
Next time, I'd like my laud … laudan…"
"I'll make certain all your subsequent doses are served in goblets of brandy."
Her lashes drifted to her cheeks. "I'd like that." She was asleep.
Silently, Slayde stared down at his patient, oddly moved and more than a bit unsettled.
He had time to contemplate neither.
"Lord Pembourne!" Matilda burst into the room, her eyes wide as saucers. "Come quickly!"
Whipping about, Slayde stared at the white-faced maid. "What in God's name is it?"
"It's Lady Aurora! She's home!"
* * *
Chapter 3
« ^ »
Slayde swooped down the staircase like a hawk. "Aurora." Taking the hallway in a dozen long strides, he reached the entranceway door, seizing his sister's shoulders in a grip so punishing, she winced. "Are you all right?"
Indignant turquoise eyes gazed up at him. "Of course I am. Slayde, have you lost your mind?"
He blinked. "Evidently so." Slowly, he released her, his baffled gaze sweeping her from her head to toe and finding her thoroughly intact. "You weren't harmed?"
"Harmed? Certainly not. As promised, the viscountess chaperoned me everywhere." Tucking a wisp of red-gold hair behind her ear, Aurora indicated her companion. "Honestly, Slayde, it's not like you to become so emotional."
Slayde's gaze shifted from his sister to the elegant, utterly stupefied woman beside her. "Elinore?"
"Hello, Slayde," Lady Stanwyk said. Uneasily, she assessed the tension between brother and sister, her fingers idly stroking the glittering diamond-and-emerald necklace about her throat. "Perhaps I should go."
"No, you should not go," Aurora declared with a vehement shake of her head. "And I apologize for my brother's rudeness."
"What do you mean, 'as promised'?" Slayde grilled her, ignoring the excess chatter as the significance of his sister's earlier words sank in.
Aurora frowned. "The note I left you. I explained where I was going, with whom, and for how long. Certainly you understood my reasoning. For heaven's sake, Slayde, I cannot remain a prisoner at Pembourne forever—"
"What note? I never received a note. Other than ransom ones," he added.
Now it was Aurora's turn to look shocked. "Ransom notes? Why on earth would you receive ransom notes?"
"Because half of Devonshire thinks you've been kidnapped, that's why. Because you've been missing from Pembourne for a week, and no one has had a clue as to your whereabouts. Word leaked out that you'd been taken. Notes began arriving posthaste."
"Oh, my God." Aurora looked positively stricken. "Slayde, I'm so sorry. I had no idea. I truly did leave you a note." Her nose wrinkled. "I can't imagine how you missed it."
"Where did you put it?"
"I propped it on my pillow. The morning I left—one week ago today."
Slayde's eyes glittered dangerously. "And where, pray tell, did you go?"
"To London." Aurora's face lit up. "It was exhilarating. Elinore took me to balls at Almack's and Carlton House. We rode in Hyde Park and shopped on Bond Street
. I even peeked into White's and caught a glimpse of the gaming."
"Are you telling me you've spent the better part of the last week traipsing about London, with no protection whatsoever?"
Her chin came up. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."
"You didn't bother mentioning this intended excursion to our staff," Slayde accused harshly. "Or is it a coincidence that not one of them reported it to me? Nor, for that matter, did they report Elinore's visit or your subsequent departure."
A flicker of guilt. "I met Elinore at the lighthouse. It was the only way I could leave Pembourne without being questioned or accompanied. In my confirming note, I explained to Elinore that I needed to drop something off at the lighthouse prior to our departure and asked if her carriage could collect me there. She agreed. As for our servants, they hadn't a clue of my plans. I merely strolled off in my customary direction. And, since my own wardrobe is sadly lacking in gowns appropriate for a Season, I had no reason to carry a bag. Instead, Elinore and I purchased all I needed in London. She was wonderful. And, in case you're entertaining the possibility that she was involved in my little plot, don't. This is the first she's hearing of it. So don't even consider blaming her."
"Fear not—I blame you."
"Slayde, forgive me for intruding," Lady Stanwyk murmured, inserting herself with the grace and refinement she so naturally exuded. At forty years of age, she was still a striking woman, her dark hair perfectly coiffed, her green muslin dress cut to her exact specifications. "I'm terribly sorry this dreadful mix-up had to occur. And 'tis true: this is the first I've heard of Aurora's scheme. Certainly I don't condone it; nor would I have agreed to go along with it if I had. But with regard to her safety, truly, she was quite secure and fully chaperoned. We were accompanied by two ladies' maids, a carriage driver, and four footmen. We stayed at my London Townhouse, which is fully staffed. Not to mention the fact that I was with Aurora every waking moment." The viscountess gave a delicate cough. "Other than when she darted from my carriage for that one brief dash down St. James Street
to view the men's clubs. And even then, she was in my line of vision."
"I stopped only at White's," Aurora said in quick clarification. "And I raced back to Elinore's carriage the moment her footman came to retrieve me—that is, after I'd viewed White's grand bow window and squinted my way through one game of whist."
"How reassuring," Slayde bit out.
"Safety was never an issue, Slayde," Elinore repeated. "Nor was cruelty. After all—in Aurora's defense—despite the rashness of her methods, she'd assumed you'd read her note and were apprised of her whereabouts. Had either of us known otherwise, we would have rushed right home. Surely you believe that."
The helpless fury raging inside Slayde banked, and he turned to the viscountess, abruptly realizing how boorishly he was behaving. "Elinore, forgive me. This argument has nothing to do with you and should not be taking place in your presence. Thank you for taking such excellent care of Aurora and for introducing her to the fashionable world that she was evidently determined to experience."
"I'm twenty years old, Slayde," Aurora reminded him. "And you've never even brought me out. Is it so wrong for me to want to—"
"We'll discuss this later, Aurora," Slayde broke in, jaw clenched in warning. "For now, I want the viscountess to know how much we appreciate her excellent care-taking."
"You needn't thank me for spending time with Aurora," Lady Stanwyk demurred, waving off Slayde's thanks. "Your parents were Theomund's and my closest friends; Aurora is like a daughter to me. Anything I can do for her—for either of you—is my pleasure."
Again Slayde brought his irritation under control, reminding himself that Elinore wasn't responsible for his sister's reckless nature. "In which case, I'll merely ask how you've been."
"For an aging widow?" A faint smile touched the viscountess's lips. "Quite well, thanks to my refreshing and delightful excursion with Aurora."
"Aging?" Slayde cocked a brow. "Elinore, you're scarcely older than I."
"How gallant of you, Slayde. However, if memory serves me correctly, you're one and thirty, nearly a decade my junior."
"You look and act like a young girl," Aurora defended at once.
Elinore patted her arm. "That's because you kept me young this week. It's been eons since I've dashed from ball to ball like a wide-eyed child fresh from my Court presentation. In fact, during the two years that Theomund has been gone, I've seldom taken part in a London Season, much less immersed myself in one." Her fingers brushed the stones of her necklace. "In truth, the excitement felt rather good."
Slayde's gaze followed her motion. "Was that a gift from Theomund?" he inquired politely.
"Yes." She glanced down at herself. "His last before he died. Lovely, isn't it?"
"Yes." Slayde's expression grew thoughtful. "Actually, it reminds me very much of a necklace Mothe
r owned."
"It should. It's almost identical. Your father commissioned a jeweler to design your mother's as a Christmas gift. I admired it so often that, some years later, Theomund contacted the same jeweler to design one for me." A worried pucker formed between the viscountess's brows. "That doesn't disturb you, does it? That I wear something similar to your mother's?"
"Of course not. I'm sure it pleased Mother greatly."
"It did. But that's not what I meant. 'Twasn't your mother's reaction I was pondering." A slow indrawn breath. "You're away so often, I lose sight of the fact that you might still…" Her voice trailed off.