Rather than shrinking in terror, Morland seemed to visibly relax, the pulse in his throat slowing to normal. “In other words, with regard to whoever’s orchestrated this crime you’re raving about, you have no proof.”
Damn the bastard for being sober. “How much are you getting for the diamond, Morland?” Slayde demanded in a final attempt to render Lawrence off balance, to pressure him into letting some small detail slip. “How much did you pay that pirate to get it?”
Morland’s eyes narrowed. “Are you telling me the stone is missing? The stone whose whereabouts you supposedly never knew?”
“You know damned well it’s missing. I turned it over to your cohort in exchange for the woman I thought was Aurora. And, incidentally, that woman—the captain’s daughter—is staying at my home. Because of you, she’s injured and orphaned. So for her sake and mine, you can begin by telling me where I can find your accomplice. I have a score to settle with him.” A lethal pause. “I have an even bigger one to settle with you.”
“Well, you won’t be settling it today,” Lawrence said icily. “Because I have nothing to tell you. I applaud the fine work done by this pirate—whoever he might be—but I fear I’ve never met the man, much less ordered him to extort the diamond from you. However, when you find him, let me know. I’d like to be the first to offer my congratulations—and to convince him to restore the stone to the royal family who paid for its recovery. Then perhaps my luck really will change.” In a sudden, impatient gesture, Morland extracted his timepiece, cast a swift glance at it. “I fear your ten minutes are up. Further, since I am—according to your own intrusive investigations—a busy man, and since I’ve only just walked through my own entranceway…”
“From where?” Slayde interrupted, seizing the unanticipated opportunity Morland had just provided. “That was to be my next question. Where is it you just returned from? Not the village; I’ve just come from there, spoken with all your colleagues. So precisely where did you go and with whom did you meet?”
The pulse in Morland’s throat accelerated again. “Get out, Pembourne.”
“What’s the matter? Did I strike too close to the truth? ’Tis an innocent enough question. When put to an innocent man, that is.”
Morland flung open the library door and stepped out, just as Thayer and four footmen approached. Gesturing for the butler to proceed with fulfilling his orders, Morland turned his frigid stare on Slayde. “Get out,” he ordered. “Now. Of your own volition or with the aid of my staff. Either way, this conversation is at an end. Permanently. You’re never to set foot in my home again. Is that clear?”
Unmoving, Slayde glared back, hate coursing through his blood like an untamed river. “Very clear. As is the answer you’ve just provided. You were meeting with that pirate, weren’t you? Paying for his services. Has he given you the diamond yet?”
Shaking with rage, Morland turned and stalked down the hall
This time, Slayde moved. Reaching the doorway, he shoved by the unsettled servants, calling out, “Don’t become too complacent, Morland. I’ll see you in Newgate yet.”
A bitter laugh. “And I’ll see you in hell, Pembourne.”
Chapter 6
COURTNEY WAS SITTING IN a chair by the window, pushing a half-eaten scone about on her plate, when Slayde’s phaeton rounded the drive. Instantly, she tensed, fingers gripping the chair arms as she fought the impulse to dash from her bedchamber and down the stairs in order to learn what information Slayde had wrested from the Duke of Morland. Pragmatism restrained her. If she reaggravated her wounds now, Lord alone knew how long she’d be bedridden. And whatever she intended to do—based on Slayde’s findings—it didn’t include being an invalid.
Impatiently, she shifted in her seat, wondering why it was taking Slayde an eternity to alight from his carriage and make his way to the second floor.
What if he weren’t coming directly to her chambers?
That untenable possibility incited action.
With a slight grimace, Courtney pushed herself to her feet and sidestepped the end table. Waiting only until her ribs had finished clamoring their protest, she tied the sash of her wrapper and maneuvered her way across the room. A brief respite to steady herself. Then, she gripped the door handle and eased open the door.
She nearly collided with Slayde in the hallway.
“What are you doing out of bed?” he demanded.
Courtney tilted back her head until she could meet his disapproving gaze. In truth, she hadn’t realized just how tall he was until now. Then again, this was the first time she’d been on her feet in his presence. “I was on my way to speak with you,” she replied. “I knew you’d returned; I saw your phaeton round the drive beneath my window. I had to know what you’d found out.”
He scowled. “Very little.” Reflexively, he grasped her elbows, urged her to retrace her steps. “You shouldn’t be up.”
“But I am. I have been since noontime. I intend to be until dusk. So don’t bother escorting me back to that prison of a bed. I want to hear everything that’s happened. And I want to hear it in an upright position.”
Slayde’s dark brows lifted, a twinge of amusement easing the taut lines about his mouth. “Evidently, you’re healing. I begin to see signs of the tyrant Madame La Salle rejoiced in bidding good-bye.”
“I am.”
“You are—which? Healing or a tyrant?”
Courtney smiled in spite of herself. “Both.” She pointed at the mahogany end table. “See how much better I am? I was enjoying my afternoon refreshment in a chair.”
“Then let’s restore you to it and we’ll have our conversation.”
“All right.” She allowed herself to be eased back into the seat, unable to deny the incredible relief her body experienced as it relinquished the burden of standing.
“Better?” Slayde drew up a second chair and joined her.
“Much. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Their gazes locked, and Courtney felt a jolt of awareness rush through her, memories of last night darting dangerously close to the surface. Slayde was remembering, too; she could tell by the intensity of his gaze, the tension suddenly pervading his powerful frame.
With a visible effort, he looked away, clearing his throat and surveying the bedchamber. “I’m surprised my sister isn’t glued to your side. I rather expected she’d spend the day regaling you with Mr. Scollard’s fanciful tales.”
“She was. She did.” Following Slayde’s lead, Courtney complied with the change in subject. “Aurora was with me all morning. Just before noon, she left to…” A delicate pause.
“…To visit the Windmouth Lighthouse,” he supplied. “Her customary destination. Courtney, your loyalty is commendable. But you needn’t worry about betraying Aurora’s confidences. My staff is well paid and equally well instructed. All of my sister’s actions are reported immediately upon my return to Pembourne.”
“Don’t you think that’s a bit restrictive?”
Slayde’s jaw tightened. “Restrictive, but not excessive. Given the situation, it’s the way things must be.”
Courtney bit her lip to stifle the argument she felt coming on. Slayde’s overseeing of Aurora was none of her business. Further, she understood that his overprotectiveness was rooted in love, love and concern for Aurora’s safety.
Which reminded her of the pressing issue: Slayde’s trip to Morland.
“Did you see the duke?” She leaned forward to ask.
“Oh, I saw him all right.” With a brooding expression, Slayde stretched his legs out in front of him. “But the visit was far from what I expected.”
“What do you mean?”
Courtney listened intently as Slayde relayed the entire day’s events to her, from his subtle questioning of the merchants in Newton Abbot to his ugly and unresolved confrontation with Morland.
“You think he’s hiding something,” Courtney deduced, when Slayde had finished.
“I damned well do
. Why else would he suddenly and conveniently be resurrecting his life?”
“Maybe for the reason he gave you—to reclaim whatever’s left.”
“Which is nothing, according to him.”
“He didn’t react at all when you mentioned that pirate, or Papa?”
Slayde’s lips thinned into a grim line. “Only by gloating.”
“Then we’re right back where we started.” Even as she gave voice to the untenable truth, an emotional dam—too overpowering to keep intact—burst inside her. Ignoring the warning twinges that accompanied her actions, she vaulted to her feet, crossing over to the wardrobe and pulling out one of the gowns Aurora had provided. “I can’t wait another minute.”
Slayde was beside her in a heartbeat. “What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?”
Gripping a blue day dress, Courtney turned, regarding Slayde with anguished determination. “What I should have done from the onset: go to search for Papa—and that filthy pirate who hurt him.”
“Courtney.” Slayde’s hands were gentle on her shoulders. “You’re going nowhere. You can scarcely stand up, much less leave Pembourne.”
“I’ll manage. Anything is better than this inactivity. I can’t lie here, doing nothing, for another minute.” She punctuated her words with adamant shakes of her head, fighting back tears of anger and frustration. “Don’t you understand? I’m wasting time. If Papa is still alive, he needs me. I can’t just lie in bed, day after day, waiting for some miraculous occurrence to resolve things. I’ve got to do something—now.” She clutched Slayde’s waistcoat.
“Please, lend me a vessel. I’ll return it, I swear. But I must…”
The effects of her taxing flurry of activity and her vehement shakes of the head struck all at once. Wildly, the room began to spin, her limbs turning to water, pain lancing through her skull in quick, sharp bites. She knew she was going to faint, just as she knew—somewhere in the far reaches of her mind—that Slayde was going to catch her.
A flash of darkness; a brief snatch of time. Then she was on the bed, and Slayde was pressing a cool compress to her forehead.
“All right?” he murmured.
Her lashes fluttered, then lifted. “All right,” she managed gratefully, feeling the room right itself as Slayde applied the cool cloth to her neck and wrists. “I’m sorry. ’Tis just that—”
“You needn’t explain. Or apologize.” His hard hand closed around her trembling one. “Helplessness is a terrible feeling. How well I know that. But Courtney…” He tipped up her chin. “You must be realistic. You’re too weak to sail. You haven’t a clue about where to search for this pirate or his ship.” A weighted pause before Slayde pressed on, almost as if he was forcing the words to emerge. “And the odds that your father survived the Channel—bound, gagged, and weighted down—are nil. So stop torturing yourself with the notion that you should be doing something to recover him.”
Her heart wrenched, logic combatting hope, causing it to flicker and ebb. “The watch moved today,” she whispered. “That, and my dream—couldn’t they be signs?”
“They are signs—signs that you’re mourning a terrible loss and want desperately to undo it.”
“But the watch…?”
“That was a mechanism, not a miracle.” A spasm of pain crossed Slayde’s face. “I wish I could make it otherwise.”
His strangled tone penetrated Courtney’s grief, and she scrutinized his face, realizing that he was enduring his own inner turmoil, berating himself for failing to resolve things today. “Slayde.” She lay her palm against his jaw. “Thank you for going to Morland. It must have been terribly difficult for you. I know you did it, at least in part, for me. You’ll never know how grateful I am.”
“Grateful for what? I went to get the name and whereabouts of the man who killed your father. I came away with nothing. Damnit.” Slayde’s fist struck the mattress. “I never expected Morland to be sober, much less vital. He hasn’t been either in over a dozen years—ever since his son died.”
“He had a son?”
“Two. Hubert was the elder. He died of a fever while attending Oxford, Morland, of course, blames the Huntleys and that blasted curse—yet another misfortune he holds against us. In any case, Morland’s never recovered from Hugh’s death.”
“What about his other son?”
“Julian? He’s a year younger than Hugh. He and Morland are about as compatible as a fox and a hen. Morland believes in home and hearth; Julian believes in challenge and adventure. The one thing Morland doesn’t believe in is compromise. So the two of them went their separate ways long ago. From what I recall, Julian hasn’t been home in over five years.”
“He’s been abroad all this time?”
“No, he shows up in England for a Season now and again—between exploits. But he doesn’t visit Morland Manor. Nor does his father send for him.”
“The duke sounds like a very inflexible man.”
“He’s a black-hearted bastard. Not as cruel as his father was, but nearly.”
Courtney’s fingers drifted lightly over Slayde’s jaw. “Confronting the duke—just seeing him after all this time—must have been dreadful for you. Especially given your suspicions that he was connected with your parents’ murders.”
An excruciating silence. “It was hell,” Slayde admitted at last in a rough, gravelly voice. “All the images came pouring back, as vivid as if they’d just occurred. It’s been years since that nightmare happened; I really thought I’d put it behind me. But I haven’t.”
“You don’t ever put something like that behind you, Slayde. You simply tuck it away, and pray each time that it doesn’t resurface until you’ve gathered enough strength to face it again. And you say a prayer that maybe, just maybe, each ‘next time’ will hurt a little bit less.”
A trace of awe softened Slayde’s expression. “You’re extraordinary, do you know that? Here you are, suffering an unbearable loss, but rather than seeking comfort, you’re attempting to comfort me.”
“Were my attempts successful?” she whispered.
“That’s the most astounding part of all—yes.”
“I’m glad. You’re a wonderful man, Slayde. You’ve spent your whole life being strong for others. ’Tis about time you allowed someone to be strong for you. Thank you for letting me be that someone—even for a fleeting moment.”
“Courtney.” Slayde’s knuckles grazed her cheek, his fingers sifting through the loose strands of her hair. His eyes darkened from silver to slate, and Courtney knew—probably before he did—that he was going to kiss her. She watched an internal battle wage across his face, and her heart skipped a beat as he relented, lowering his head to hers.
Tenderly, her hand slipped to his nape, telling him without words what she wanted, urging his mouth down to hers.
Their lips met, clung—and all resistance shattered. It was just as it had been last night: deep, consuming; even daylight’s clarity was unable to mute the maelstrom of emotions they evoked in each other.
With rough desperation, Slayde’s mouth seized hers, circling once, twice—hardening abruptly as he sought a deeper joining, urged her to accept the penetration of his tongue.
She opened to him with the same pure joy she’d felt last night, only this time without the safety of darkness to retreat behind when the madness subsided. She was rewarded with a harsh, inarticulate sound as Slayde’s tongue mated with hers, his hands cradling her head as if to soften the voracity of his kiss.
Courtney needed no softening. Unfurling like a flower to sunlight, she sought more of the magic, wrapping her arms about Slayde’s neck, her tongue returning his caresses, entwining with his.
Slayde shuddered, a new tautness pervading his body, one Courtney found unfamiliar but wildly exciting. His hand shifted, moved beneath her wrapper, and her breath caught as he cupped her breast, his thumb tracing the nipple through the fine silk of her nightrail.
“Slayde.” She uttered his name on a shiver, stirr
ing restlessly beneath a flicker of white-hot sensation. Her nipple hardened, throbbed, awakened to a touch it had never experienced but nonetheless knew. Slayde’s thumb circled, paused, brushed the aching tip until she whimpered. Again and again, he repeated the heated caress, each time more intimately, his urgency a palpable entity that blazed through her like fireworks.
A groan vibrated in Slayde’s chest, and his fingers swept over the curves of her body, his touch unbearably erotic, even with the layer of silk between them. His hand was shaking when it returned to her breast, this time easing not merely beneath the wrapper but beneath the nightrail as well.
Courtney cried out at the sensation of his warm palm on her naked flesh. Unconsciously, she arched upward, pressing her breast more completely into his hand, melting as he began caressing her in the same exquisite ways he had before, only now with nothing between them.
The kiss burned out of control, Slayde’s mouth devouring hers with a hungry rhythm that matched the strokes of his fingertips. On and on it went, a heart-stopping eternity elapsing, interrupted by nothing save their pounding hearts and escalating desire.
By the time Slayde tore himself away, forcibly lifting his body from hers, his breathing was ragged, and Courtney was trembling so badly she was grateful to be lying down. Her knees would never have supported her.
“God,” Slayde rasped, not even pretending to deny the magnitude of what had just happened. His lids were hooded as he stared down at her, his eyes a glittering silver, alight with awe. “Courtney…I…”
“Don’t.” Courtney could scarcely speak. Instead, she pressed her fingers to his lips, tracing the lingering warmth of their kiss. “Words like I’m sorry or this should never have happened would be too painful to hear.”