It was the most unlikely prospect Slayde had ever entertained, much less acted upon. He was a man who believed in absolutes, never in dreams and signs and implausible hopes.
And never in miracles.
Reverently, Slayde gazed down at the miracle in his arms, casting all his former principles to the wind, and making a new, unspoken vow—one more decisive than any that had preceded it.
If Arthur Johnston was alive, he would find him.
Chapter 12
COURTNEY FELT ALMOST AS helpless now as she had when Armon attacked the Isobel.
Sighing, she rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling of her bedchamber. She was anything but tired. Yet, feigning exhaustion was the only way she could be alone with her thoughts. Not that she wasn’t grateful for the cluster of concerned faces that had accompanied her arrival. Never had she felt so much a part of a family as she had when Aurora had hugged her fiercely and said, “Your home is here now. We’ll help you heal.” Or when Matilda’s compassionate eyes had filled with tears—which she’d quickly dabbed away with her apron—and she’d clucked over how worn out Courtney looked, how badly in need of hot food and sleep. Even Siebert had taken special pains, ordering the footmen to assist Miss Johnston to whatever room she preferred and then insisting they make her thoroughly comfortable. And when she’d chosen the yellow salon. Miss Payne had herself delivered the refreshment, hovering about like a bee poised over a flower.
The caring reception meant more to Courtney than she could ever express.
If only Slayde hadn’t disappeared into his study the instant they arrived, summoning Siebert once or twice to dispatch messages to parts unknown, not emerging even to join her for dinner.
Relinquishing all attempts to rest, Courtney rose, crossing to her window to watch the sun set. Halfway there, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the looking glass, and paused, stepping forward for closer inspection.
The same face looked back at her, thinner perhaps, and a great deal more strained, but otherwise unchanged. And her nightrail-clad body looked pristine, revealing nothing of the metamorphosis that had taken place.
Funny, how false appearances could be.
Slowly, Courtney’s hand came up, fingers brushing her lips, her cheek. The emptiness inside her still lingered, yet it was eclipsed by the glory of what had taken place in that simple inn at Cornwall.
Never had she imagined making love could be so beautiful, so all-encompassing. Never had she envisioned being so utterly one with another human being. Those hours in Slayde’s arms had changed her life, magnified her love threefold, and she wouldn’t trade them for anything on earth. She ached for the pain that had brought them together, but, in her heart, she knew their joining had been inevitable, as natural as dawn melding with day.
If only Slayde weren’t suffering.
Courtney’s arm dropped to her side, and she continued her path to the window.
Slayde loved her. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind of that fact, nor of the fact that he knew, as well as she, that they belonged together. Yet, he was fighting that knowledge, fighting it every inch of the way.
The irony of it all was that what he was fighting was not his feelings, but hers. After years of solitude, Slayde was accepting the fact that he needed someone other than himself, that his heart was no longer his own.
What he couldn’t accept was her need for him.
Damn that bloody curse.
Courtney slammed her fist against the sill. What could she do to convince Slayde that his efforts to protect her were for naught? How could she make him believe that she felt safe here, that she belonged nowhere else, that she’d gladly live under lock and key rather than sacrifice the chance to share his life?
She couldn’t.
The only way Slayde would not only relent, but welcome the prospect of her commitment, was if the black diamond were gone from their lives forever.
Well, she had no idea where the stone was. Then, again, neither did anyone else.
Courtney’s head came up, her mind racing with a budding idea. No one knew the gem Slayde had surrendered to Armon was a fake. In fact, no one knew much of anything, other than generations of escalating hearsay. Everything concerning the black diamond was whispered nervously behind closed doors, snatches of rumor being passed from gossip to gossip.
Wasn’t it time to alert the world to the truth? That the infamous black diamond was no longer in the Huntleys’ possession?
A small smile curved Courtney’s lips. If there was one thing she’d learned from years of pretending to be an ardent sailor rather than a seasick passenger, it was that perception was ofttimes more important than reality. ’Twas time to put that principle to work.
“Courtney?” ’Twas Slayde’s voice outside her door. “May I come in?”
“Of course.” She turned to greet him, her heart wrenching at the lines of torment on his face. Determinedly, she reminded herself that she was about to alleviate them. “You weren’t at dinner.”
“I wasn’t hungry.” He shut the door behind him, eyes searching her face. “How do you feel?”
“My emotions are mixed,” she answered honestly. “I’m still in shock over Papa, torn between grief and denial. But I’m no longer empty—thanks to you.”
Emotion darkened his gaze. “Are you in any discomfort?”
“No.” She shook her head, touched rather than embarrassed by his concern. “I soaked in a hot bath. I feel fine.”
“Good.” He cleared his throat. “I wanted you to know I’m riding to Dartmouth tomorrow, to see if Grimes has returned.”
“You mentioned your intentions to do that while we were on the ketch.”
“I hope he’ll turn out to be Armon’s contact. If he does, I’ll ensure that he gives us whatever information he has: where the stone was headed, to whom—maybe even who wrote the ransom notes.”
Pensively, Courtney studied Slayde, pondered the fervor of his quest. “You’re still hoping it’s Morland. And that by proving he orchestrated this scheme, you’ll avenge not only Papa’s death, but your parents’ as well.”
Slayde nodded stiffly. “Yes. I’d be lying if I said otherwise. But it’s not hope I feel, it’s conviction. I truly believe the Bencrofts are murderers, twice over.”
“I know you do.” Courtney’s earlier surge of hope wavered in light of the realization that, by publicly announcing the Huntleys’ forfeit of the black diamond, she was giving Slayde only a portion of what he craved. She’d be ensuring his family’s safety, yes, but what he truly lacked, what he needed to make him whole, was peace—a peace he could acquire only by resolving the past and letting it go.
Which meant finding his parents’ killers.
So be it. Ever so slowly, Courtney’s chin came up. She was well now, with no one to answer to and no responsibilities, other than serving as Aurora’s companion. In light of that, why couldn’t she do for Slayde precisely what he was trying to do for her?
She could and she would.
Hope resurged, full force, along with the second part of her decision. Not only would she eliminate the stigma of the Huntley curse, she’d do her damnedest to learn who killed Slayde’s parents.
And she’d begin with the Duke of Morland.
“Courtney?” Slayde was frowning. “Have I upset you?”
“No. Not at all.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “I appreciate what you’re doing for me. When did you intend to leave for Dartmouth?”
“After breakfast.”
“And after you speak with Grimes, will you be home straightaway?”
“Unless he gives me reason to stay, yes.” Slayde’s eyes narrowed quizzically. “Why?”
A casual shrug. “Only because I thought perhaps Aurora and I might visit Mr. Scollard tomorrow; he has a way of taking my mind off my pain. But I do want to be at Pembourne when you return, in case you have something significant to report.”
“I see. Very well, why don’t you plan your walk for the mor
ning. I don’t expect to be home before midafternoon.”
“Excellent.” Courtney could hardly wait to get started.
“I should let you rest.” Slayde hesitated, wrestling with his own internal conflict. “Courtney,” he tried, his voice hoarse with strain. “Last night—you gave me a gift more precious than I could ever imagine. I feel undeserving and grateful—and so much more. My feelings—” He broke off.
“You gave me the same,” Courtney replied with quiet insight. “You needn’t assign words to what we shared.”
“There are none to assign. It defied words.”
A heartbeat of silence.
With a sharp breath, Slayde crossed the room and pulled Courtney into his arms, kissing her with more aching emotion than either of them could bear. “Sleep well, my beautiful miracle. And know that I’m reliving every moment, just as you are.”
Eyes closed, Courtney heard the quiet click of the door as he took his leave. She stood, unmoving, savoring his touch, his declaration—all of which strengthened her resolve twofold.
Her lashes lifted, and she waited, biding her time, ensuring that she gave Slayde ample opportunity to retreat to wherever it was he was going.
A quarter hour later, she slipped from her room and headed down to Aurora’s, praying that her friend would be in, rather than taking one of her restless evening strolls through the gardens, or worse, to the lighthouse. The last thing Courtney needed was to have to prowl through the manor and beyond—and risk running into Slayde.
“Aurora?” She knocked. “Are you in?”
The door opened instantly, and Courtney was greeted by Aurora’s concerned face. “Courtney…come in.” Tugging her inside, Aurora shut the door and assessed Courtney from head to toe. “You look better. Did the rest help?”
“No—and yes.” Courtney dropped into an armchair. “No, the rest did nothing. I didn’t shut an eye. But, yes, I look better. That’s because I feel better.” She sat up straight, her eyes glowing. “I have a plan.”
“A plan? I thought you were in your room grieving over the finality of what you and Slayde discovered on the search you just made.”
“I was—in part.” Courtney gripped folds of her nightdress. “But grief was only one of the emotions I was experiencing. There was…so much more.”
Aurora studied Courtney speculatively. “Why do I feel as if something else occurred on this trip?”
“Because you’re very astute.” Courtney leaned forward. “Will you help me?”
“Help you with what?”
“My plan. If I’m successful, Slayde will be a new man, freed from the chains of the past, and ready for a wondrous future—I hope with me.”
Aurora blinked. “ ‘Help you’? To achieve what you just described, I’d move mountains.” She perched at the edge of her bed. “I’m a captive audience.”
“To begin with, we must convince the world that the black diamond is no longer in the Huntleys’ possession.”
“Which it isn’t.”
Courtney had to bite back the truth. “The point is, no one knows that. The ton thrives on rumors; ’tis time we gave them one to savor, one that will eliminate the danger and the black cloud shrouding your family’s name.”
“But my great-grandfather stole the gem. How can we disprove that?”
“We can’t. Nor do we have to. Aurora, my mother was a blue blood—at least by birth. Papa’s told me numerous stories about the ton. He used to say that if scandals decided which aristocrats were to be embraced and which were to be shunned, the fashionable world would consist of an empty ballroom. ’Tis not your great-grandfather’s crime that causes the world to ostracize you, ’tis everyone’s fear of the curse. If we set the record straight, the stigma of your past will remain, but the fear will be extinguished. You’ll be admitted, if not welcomed, by the ton. Truthfully, however, that’s not the end result I’m striving for. My goal is to eliminate the threat to our safety—along with Slayde’s obsession about maintaining his solitary life. Both of these things would be accomplished by convincing the world that the Huntleys and the black diamond have parted company.”
“And how do you propose to convince them of that?”
“That’s where you come in. Tell me, do you know where in his study Slayde keeps his important papers?”
A baffled nod. “In his upper right-hand desk drawer.”
“Excellent. Then that’s where he must have placed the three ransom notes he received from Armon. I want you to sneak in and take them. Also, find a blank sheet of Slayde’s personal stationery. Take that, too.”
“What on earth for?”
“Because you and I are going to pen a letter outlining the circumstances that led up to the surrender of the black diamond. Then you’re going to prevail upon Cutterton to send one of his most trusted men to ride into London and deliver our letter and the three ransom notes.” Courtney frowned. “It must be someone thoroughly trustworthy, who will bring those notes back the instant they’ve been read and copied. As it is, we’ll have our hands full, keeping Slayde from finding out before I choose to tell him. We’ll have to steer him far away from his study for three or four days. Also, whoever Cutterton selects can’t be someone whose absence Slayde would notice; tell him to choose a guard who’s not terribly visible. Invent whatever explanation you need to. Tell Cutterton it’s a matter of life and death, if that’s what it takes. Just persuade him to cooperate. Can you?”
Aurora was still gaping. “Go to where in London? And what good will it do for us to write this letter?”
“To the London Times. And so far as the newspaper is concerned, Slayde will have written the letter. ’Twill be his signature—albeit forged—they see at the bottom, his explanation they’ll read, and his ransom notes they’ll have as proof. They’ll publish them all with great pleasure for the world to pore over and believe. And that will be the end of the perils associated with being a Huntley.” Courtney inclined her head. “Now, can you or can you not persuade Cutterton to go along with this?”
A radiant smile erupted on Aurora’s face. “Even if I have to feign an attack of the vapors. I’m on my way.” She leapt up, heading for the door. “This is more exciting than trying to escape from Pembourne.”
“And equally as rash,” Courtney called out pointedly.
Aurora turned. “Do I detect a note of censure?”
“Indeed you do. I know you’re impatient. So am I. But bursting into Slayde’s study tonight would be a mistake. Should he walk in, it would destroy all our well-laid plans.” Her eyes twinkled. “On the other hand, I know for a fact he’s leaving for Dartmouth right after breakfast tomorrow, which would eliminate the threat of discovery and make your task that much easier. I’ll distract the servants, while you get the notes and paper. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” Aurora walked back reluctantly.
“There’s more,” Courtney baited.
Her lure had the desired effect. Aurora’s face brightened with curiosity. “Tell me.”
“The first part of my plan will succeed only in silencing Slayde’s worries about the threat from the world at large.”
“But it does nothing to ease his apprehension over Lawrence Bencroft,” Aurora finished for her.
“Exactly. Not only does Slayde believe the duke hired Armon to attack the Isobel, he believes the duke’s late father killed your parents. And I believe it’s time to resolve that matter once and for all.”
“How?”
“Tomorrow, while Slayde is away, I am going to pay a little call on the Duke of Morland. I’m going to confront him with evidence and perhaps elicit a reaction.”
“But you have no evidence.”
“I’ll feign otherwise. I’ll pretend to be emotionally overwrought, determined to vent my rage at the duke. I’ll tell him who I am, that I know he hired Armon to seize my father’s ship. Then I’ll blurt out how Armon gloated over his intentions to cheat his employer out of the stone. Too witless to control my tongue, I’ll let
it slip that I’ve recovered Armon’s journal, which specifies everything—and everyone—who was involved in the plot, in writing. And I’ll conclude by informing the duke that I’ve delved deeply into his past and have proof that he and his father did, indeed, murder the late Earl and Countess of Pembourne. I’ll give him an ultimatum: either he confesses to his connection to Armon, or I’ll go to Bow Street about both crimes, the latter of which was cold-blooded murder, punishable by hanging.”
Aurora listened to Courtney’s story with an awed shake of her head. “You’re amazing. I never realized you were so…so…”
“So much like you?” Courtney teased. “Remember, I was ill when you met me. I’m healed now. And I’m every bit as resourceful—and as much trouble—as you are.”
“Where do I fit into all this?” Aurora demanded. “I’m not letting you go to Morland alone.”
“I never imagined you would. Your job there will be to distract Slayde’s investigator, a needed precaution in the event Slayde told him our names. If that’s the case and the man hears my name announced, he’ll doubtless rush forward to stop me, thus ruining everything. I need enough time to get into the manor and confront the duke. I don’t care if I’m spied on my way out—Slayde is going to hear about this visit soon enough—from the duke himself, if he reacts according to plan. But I want the chance to do what I came to do before I’m dragged off.”
“Courtney.” Aurora paled. “What if Lawrence Bencroft really did kill my parents? What if he’s dangerous? You could get hurt.”
“Slayde believes Chilton was the truly dangerous Bencroft, and he’s dead. Besides, Lawrence wouldn’t assault me in front of his entire staff.” Courtney chewed her lip thoughtfully. “You and I will set a time limit. If I’m not out in, say, a half hour, alert Slayde’s investigator and rush to my rescue. How would that be?”
“Fine.” Aurora looked equally thoughtful. “Do you realize we could avenge your father, unearth Mama and Papa’s murderers, and give Slayde a real life all at once?”