by Andrea Kane
Morland made a harsh sound deep in his throat, then took two steps in her direction.
It was more than enough.
Courtney flung open the door and bolted.
Tearing down the hall, she nearly plowed through Thayer, yanking open the entranceway door and dashing down the steps and across the drive.
"Courtney! Over here, by the phaeton!"
Her head jerked in the direction of Aurora's voice, and she rushed toward it. Shoving tree branches aside, she retraced her steps at a dead run, praying she'd recall the spot where they'd hidden the carriage.
She collided with a solid chest and a pair of muscular arms.
"Don't scream," Aurora advised hurriedly as Courtney struggled to free herself. "Rayburn is Slayde's investigator."
Courtney ceased her struggles. Still gasping for breath, she tilted back her head, meeting the grim stare of a stocky, square-jawed man.
"Are you all right, Miss Johnston?" he asked tersely.
"I think so." She glanced over her shoulder. "Morland could still be following me."
"Then let's not take any chances." Rayburn hoisted both women into the phaeton, then climbed in and took up the reins. "We'll be at Pembourne in record time."
Rayburn was true to his word.
Twenty-five minutes later, they sped through Pembourne's gates and raced up the drive.
The phaeton halted at the entranceway door.
Aurora glanced at the manor, then uneasily at Courtney. "I'm suddenly not terribly eager to go in."
"Nor am I." Courtney had finally stopped shaking about ten minutes past. Now, visualizing Slayde's reaction to the news of where they'd been, she wondered if she'd been safer at Morland.
Rayburn swung down from the phaeton. "Despite your reservations, we'd best get inside. Just in case Morland did decide to follow us." He squinted toward the gates. "Although I saw no indication of such."
That convinced both women.
Scrambling down, they abandoned the carriage and scurried up the steps and through the door, Rayburn at their heels.
"Lady Aurora? Miss Johnston?" Siebert's brows drew together at their harried state. "Is something amiss?"
"Yes, something is very amiss," Rayburn answered. "These young ladies needed an escort home. I provided one—me." With that, he turned to the butler. "You must be Siebert. My name is Rayburn. The earl has engaged my services on a particular business matter. I know he left Pembourne early this morning. Has he returned yet?"
"No." A glint of understanding lit Siebert's eyes. "His lordship alerted me to the fact that he'd employed you—and in what capacity. He also advised me that it was possible you might, at some point, need to come directly to Pembourne to meet with him. I presume that occasion has arrived. Please make yourself comfortable in the earl's study. He's due back within the hour."
"No!" Courtney burst out.
Both men stared at her.
"What I meant was, why not show Mr. Rayburn into the yellow salon. 'Tis far more comfortable than the study. And we can provide him with some refreshment until the earl's return. Don't you agree, Aurora?" Courtney gave Aurora a not-the-study look.
"Absolutely," Aurora concurred. "The yellow salon would be ideal."
"Except for the fact that the viscountess is already occupying that room," Siebert inserted, gazing at Courtney and Aurora as if they'd gone quite mad.
"Elinore is here?" Aurora asked.
"Indeed—for the better part of an hour."
"Splendid. Then we can all take tea together." Aurora seized Mr. Rayburn's arm. "Please, won't you join us? I still have many questions. For example, how did you know who I was? When you accosted me behind that tree, I assumed you thought I was an intruder. Then you called me by name, demanded to know what we were doing at Morland, and, more specifically, what Miss Johnston was doing in the manor. I'm terribly impressed."
"Don't be," Rayburn replied with a flicker of amusement. "Your brother provided me with the names and descriptions of both you and Miss Johnston. It's fairly routine for me to familiarize myself with the potential victims of the subject I'm scrutinizing."
Siebert had turned positively green. "You went to Morland?" he managed.
Aurora rolled her eyes. "Yes, Siebert, we did. And we're back, safe and sound. Now, please, I beseech you not to lecture us. As it is, Slayde will probably choke us with his bare hands." She turned to Courtney, her face alight with interest. "Tell me again how Morland looked just before you bolted. Do you really think you provoked him into revealing his guilt?"
"I certainly hope so," Courtney muttered. "If not, I took ten years off my life and am about to be choked for naught."
"Perhaps you'd best show Mr. Rayburn into the yellow salon," Siebert croaked. Turning, he headed down the hall. "I'll arrange for the tea."
"No need." Miss Payne scurried out of a nearby anteroom at that moment. "I was about to bring some refreshment to the viscountess. I'd be happy to provide enough for Lady Aurora, Miss Johnston, and … forgive me, sir…?" She inclined her head quizzically at the investigator.
"Rayburn," he supplied.
"Mr. Rayburn."
"Thank you, Miss Payne." Siebert took out a handkerchief and mopped at his brow. "Then I'll maintain my post." He cast a sidelong glance at Aurora. "And await the duke's return."
Elinore rose gracefully when Courtney and Aurora escorted Rayburn into the yellow salon. "Good afternoon," she said with a smile. "I see you've brought a guest."
"Hello, Elinore." Aurora indicated for Rayburn to have a seat on the sofa. "This is Mr. Rayburn. He's an investigator. Slayde hired him to scrutinize Morland's estate." Seeing the investigator start with surprise, she explained, "Elinore is like part of the family. We have no secrets from her."
Reluctantly, he nodded.
"Rayburn, this is the Viscountess Stanwyk."
"My lady." He bowed, politely waiting until all the women had been seated before perching at the edge of the sofa.
"Mr. Rayburn." Elinore folded her hands in her lap, turning her concerned gaze on Aurora. "I take it Slayde is still as adamant as ever about proving Lawrence Bencroft's guilt."
"So are we," Aurora responded.
"If he's guilty," Courtney inserted.
Aurora blinked. "Given the way he reacted to your threat, you're not convinced?"
"He was menacing," Courtney admitted. "Still, all he did today was to disclaim any knowledge of Armon or his scheme."
"That could be cunning, not innocence."
"Of course it could. His anticipated reaction to my accusations should decide which of the two it is."
"You went to Morland?" Elinore looked horrified. "Both of you?"
"Yes." Aurora answered proudly. "'Twas Courtney's idea. She was incredibly brave, confronting that monster face to face."
"But, why, for heaven's sake?"
"Why indeed." Slayde's livid voice lashed through the room like a whip.
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 Rayburn. "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?"
* * *
Chapter 13
« ^ »
"Did 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, t
hen 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.