“That wouldn’t be strength; ’twould be stupidity.”
“With regard to my future,” Slayde qualified, voicing his fears aloud. “But what about yours?”
“My future is with you. Regardless of what that entails.”
Slayde groaned, pressing his forehead to hers. “I want that so desperately, it terrifies me. Because I have no right. No right to feel what I’m feeling, want what I’m wanting. But, God, how I need you. I, who have never needed anyone in my life. I need you to fill my life, to fill me—in all the ways I never knew I was empty.” An abrupt swallow. “When I went so berserk just now, it was because I was frantic, frantic to meld us into one, to merge all of you with all of me. Frantic to give you—” He broke off.
“Your child,” Courtney finished softly, tears glistening on her lashes as she gazed into Slayde’s tormented eyes. “I was just as frantic—to conceive your child, to carry it, to bear it.” She gave him a watery smile. “I want all your children. An estate full of Huntleys with spirit and fire and strength. Oh, Slayde, how could babes born of our love be anything but blessings?”
His resolve was shattering, and he knew it. Or perhaps it had shattered the moment he’d pulled Courtney from that sack, held her while she cried, bared all his scars for her to see. She was indeed a miracle—a miracle who deserved a life, not of fear and isolation, but of freedom and security. Damn it, why couldn’t he offer her that?
“Courtney.” His grip tightened, holding her to him as if to negate the potential outcome of his words. “There’s so much I can’t give you.”
“You, my darling, have given me all I’ve ever dreamed of,” she countered, her expression so beautiful and earnest Slayde wanted to enfold her in his arms and never let her go. “You’ve given me passion and tenderness. You’ve given me comfort, love—a piece of heaven.” She glanced down, slipping her palm between them to lay it against her abdomen. “And who knows? Perhaps you’ve given me something more than either of us can yet discern.”
Slayde’s gut wrenched with the impact of her words. “I love you,” he said fervently. “But I’m so bloody afraid…for you, our children…”
Courtney kissed the damp column of his throat. “I know you are. And I refuse to permit it. So I’ve taken steps to relegate that fear to the past—along with the events that incited it.”
“What?” Slayde’s question vibrated against her lips. She felt him tense, draw back. “Courtney—” He gripped her arms. “What steps?”
Filled with a sense of rightness that not even Slayde’s tone could dispel, she replied, “You already know about my visit to Morland, although you misconstrued its purpose. I wasn’t trying to goad Morland into revealing the name of Armon’s accomplice, though I would have welcomed the information had he provided it. What I hoped to do—what I might very well have succeeded in doing—is frighten him enough to give himself away, to prove, once and for all, that his family was responsible for your parents’ murders. What you don’t know,” she pushed on, determined to tell Slayde everything, “is that I also loaned the three ransom notes you received, plus a forged letter allegedly written by you, to the Times. In turn, the Times, through its vast number of copies, will soon notify everyone that the black diamond is no longer in the Huntleys’ possession.” Courtney smiled at Slayde’s stunned expression. “There. I’ve spoken my piece.”
“Well, I haven’t spoken mine,” Slayde retorted in amazement. “You did what? When?” His mind was racing, absorbing the implications of her revelation. “How did you manage this?” A scowl. “I needn’t ask with whom.”
“No, you needn’t. Aurora was the most splendid of accomplices. I composed the letter. She penned it. She copies your hand and signature beautifully. And I did a fine job of explaining how you traded the stone for her life. Our parcel should be arriving in London late tomorrow. Thus, in a matter of days, all those seeking the black diamond will know to seek it elsewhere—putting an end to your worries over our safety and the safety of all future Huntleys.” Courtney leaned forward, pressed her lips to Slayde’s chest, nuzzling his warm skin, trailing her tongue over the hair-roughened contours.
His muscles tightened at her touch. “You did all this…for me?”
“No, I did all this for us.”
A hard swallow. “But as we know, the diamond is still—” Slayde’s breath expelled in a hiss when Courtney lapped at his nipple.
“We know that,” Courtney concurred, reveling in his utter masculinity, his involuntary response to her as he throbbed and hardened, filling and awakening her body, causing it to soften, melt around him. “But no one else does.” She pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses down his chest, then up again, giving the other nipple the same attention she had the first. “You’ve spent far too much time dwelling on the truth and not enough time thinking up a diversion. I merely provided one for you.”
“Oh, you’re quite a diversion,” Slayde assured her thickly. His fingers curved around her nape, tugging her head back until he could bury his lips in hers. “The full impact of all this has yet to sink in. Once it does, I’ll have a hundred questions—all of which I intend for you to answer.” His hands slid down to her bottom, lifting her and melding their loins in one unyielding motion. “Later.” He groaned as she wrapped her legs around him, arched to take him deeper. “Much later.”
They made love all night, hungrily at first, then, slowly, deeply—murmuring to each other in heated fragments, exploring the dizzying rapture their joined bodies made, discovering all the facets of the miracle that was theirs.
The culmination of that miracle came at dawn.
“I love you,” Courtney was whispering as Slayde moved on her, in her, their gazes locked, their fingers intertwined overhead.
Slayde’s grip tightened, his eyes growing fiercely gray. “Marry me,” he demanded hoarsely, pressing his hips to hers with an urgency that transcended the physical. “Courtney—marry me.” It was both command and appeal, torn from his chest, wrenched from his soul. “No matter what the future brings. I can’t live without you. Be my wife.”
Courtney raised up, brushed her lips softly across his. “Yes.” Her eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t blink or look away. “I can’t live without you either. I didn’t live until we met. Yes. I’d face anything to be your wife.”
He climaxed, gritting his teeth against the unexpected surge of pleasure, pouring into her in a torrent of feeling more profound than words could express.
He expressed them nonetheless.
“I love you,” he ground out, convulsing yet again. “God, I love you.”
Slayde’s response triggered hers, and Courtney shattered, drenching spasms rippling through her, dissolving her into a million fragments of light and love.
Afterward, they didn’t speak, just lay together quietly, watching the sun rise.
“It’s never looked so beautiful before,” Slayde murmured, Courtney curved against him, his chin atop her head.
With a smile, Courtney recalled Mr. Scollard’s words. “That’s because before, you looked but couldn’t see.”
“Hmm?”
“On my first visit to the lighthouse, Mr. Scollard declared Armon a fool for substituting me for Aurora since, in his opinion, we look nothing alike,” Courtney explained. “But he said that at night, the coloring could fool someone. ‘Especially,’ to quote his exact words, ‘someone who looks but can’t see.’ Then he added, ‘At least then, he couldn’t. He sees now.’ ” She twisted around to see Slayde’s face. “After which he nodded and told me, ‘Good for you.’ ”
Slayde blinked. “Scollard actually said all that?”
“Every word.”
“He was talking about me. About us.” Slayde grinned. “Perhaps he really is a visionary.”
Thank you, Mr. Scollard, Courtney offered silently, snuggling into Slayde’s arms.
“We haven’t finished discussing your delivery to the Times,” Slayde reminded her.
A smile. “What would
you like to know?”
“How you managed it: collecting the notes, transporting them to the newspaper.”
“A simple task for two resourceful women like Aurora and me. Aurora pilfered the notes and stationery from your desk. I conjured up the letter, explaining exactly what had happened and why you’d been forced to hunt for the diamond, then surrender it to Armon. I made you sound positively heroic—” Courtney’s grin turned impish. “Heroic, but humble. Between that and the outrage the notes will evoke, the compassion over what you’ve been forced to endure, you’ll probably be knighted.”
“I doubt it,” Slayde returned dryly. “By the way, just where did I find the gem?”
“I never specified. Pick your hiding place.”
Slayde rolled his eyes. “And who carried this parcel to London?”
“Mathers.”
“Mathers?” Slayde’s head shot up. “Who authorized him to—”
“Cutterton did. He instructed him to deliver the papers, wait for them to be copied, then bring them immediately back to Pembourne. And before you blame Cutterton,” Courtney added quickly, “I believe Mr. Scollard’s wizardry had something to do with Cutterton’s uncustomary agreeability. He consented to Aurora’s request without a single question or comment.”
“You’re right. Scollard is a wizard.” Gently, Slayde turned her toward him, framed her face between his palms. “Courtney—thank you. No one has ever…” He struggled for the right words. “What you did for me…”
Courtney pressed a silencing forefinger to his mouth. “I love you, too, Slayde,” she whispered.
A pained expression crossed his face. “So now that you’ve rendered me safe, how do I do the same for you? Or have you forgotten last night’s episode?”
“No. I haven’t.” She sighed. “I wish we knew for certain that rider was Morland. But we will, once we return home. Rayburn will tell us if the duke left his estate.”
“Unless Rayburn wasn’t at his post at the time. Remember, Morland could have followed you, Aurora, and Rayburn to Pembourne, then waited and followed us here.”
“Even if that’s so, Rayburn restationed himself outside Morland hours ago. If the duke tried to shoot me, then rushed back to Morland, Rayburn would have witnessed his arrival.” Courtney’s eyes sparkled. “If so, we’ll have more of the ammunition we seek. Further, I intend to make full use of our time aboard the Fortune, to search it from top to bottom. Armon might have left something about—a missive, anything—that mentions his employer’s name. And if that name happens to be Morland, the duke will be well and duly implicated. That knowledge should be enough to push him over the edge.”
“Courtney, if Morland is the one who just took a shot at you, he’s already over the edge,” Slayde said grimly. “We’re not pushing him any further.”
“We must. The whole purpose of this plan is to pressure him into confessing to your parents’ murders.”
“Not anymore, it’s not.” Slayde’s grip on Courtney tightened. “Didn’t you hear what I said? Without you, there’s nothing. I need you, damn it. And I intend to keep you safe. If Morland is guilty, the son of a bitch will pay. For the past, yes. More importantly, for the future he almost robbed us of—a future I never imagined having and don’t intend to forfeit.” A muscle worked in Slayde’s jaw. “So we’ll find a way to unmask him prudently, without endangering your life. Our life,” he added, his voice thick with emotion. “Sweetheart, don’t you understand? Before, there was retribution. Now there’s you.”
The magnitude of Slayde’s pronouncement sank in, bringing tears to Courtney’s eyes. “Thank you,” she breathed. “That was the most beautiful declaration of love I could ever hope for.”
A brooding expression clouded Slayde’s gaze. “There’s something I must ask you,” he said abruptly. “And I want you to consider the question carefully before you answer it.”
“All right.”
“If your father were still alive, would that affect your decision to marry me?”
Courtney stared. “What?”
“Were your father here, alive and well, were you able to have your old life back rather than take on the ardors of mine, would you choose to? I want the truth.”
“Then here it is: no.” She wrapped her arms fiercely about Slayde’s waist. “You, Lord Pembourne, are a wonderful and compassionate man. You’re also a dolt. Do you honestly believe I accepted your marriage proposal because I’m alone? Slayde, I accepted because I love you. Yes, I wish to God Papa were alive. But if he were, the only thing about our wedding that would change is the fact that he could officially give me away, share in the joy I’ll feel when I become your wife.” Her lips trembled. “And, Slayde, he would share that joy. He’s the one who told me, time and again, that I’d know when I met the right man, a man who needed me and my love as much as I needed his. I’d give anything if Papa could have lived to see his prophecy become a reality—and to meet you. He’d think so highly of you, and you of him.” Courtney drew a shaky breath. “In my heart, though, he’ll be here to bless our union. I wish he could be here in fact. But even if he were, I’d still be bidding my old life good-bye. Because never have I wanted anything as much as I want to become your wife. Does that answer your question?”
Slayde made a rough sound deep in his throat. “Not only my question, but my prayer.”
“Then will you answer an equally difficult question for me?”
“Anything.”
Courtney wet her lips, summoned her courage. “Your proposal came on the heels of my recounting what I’d done with the ransom notes. What if I hadn’t told you of my plan? What if I’d never thought of it to begin with? What if, in the worst case, my plan fails, if we were never to learn the truth about your parents’ murderers and if the dangers associated with the black diamond were to somehow seep back into our lives?” She searched Slayde’s face. “Would you regret asking me to marry you?”
“Not in a thousand years,” he answered instantly.
“But what about—”
“My vow?” he finished for her. “To hell with it. I made that vow in empty ignorance, before I knew what it meant to love. My feelings for you…” With trembling hands, he gathered her closer. “These feelings dwarf everything: my vow, the diamond and its fabricated curse, even the past and all its agony. I’ll never let anything harm you. I’ll protect you with my life. And I’ll make you happy—happier than you ever dreamed possible.” Lowering his head, he brushed Courtney’s lips with his. “Does that answer your question?”
An aching smile. “Not only my question, but my prayer.”
Chapter 14
“MY LORD.” ORIDGE GREETED Slayde at the door of the warehouse he’d specified as their meeting spot. “I’m glad you’re here.” A flicker of surprise as he glimpsed Courtney. “Miss Johnston accompanied you, I see.”
“I insisted on coming, Mr. Oridge,” Courtney answered for herself. “I can’t be shielded. ’Twas my father’s ship Armon seized. Because of him and his men, I lost my home, my father, and very nearly my life. If any of Papa’s crew is still alive, I want to see them firsthand. Further, I want to be allowed to board the Fortune after it’s been emptied, to look around for possible clues that could lead us to Armon’s accomplice. Oh, and I’ll be more than happy to identify any members of his crew I recognize from the Isobel’s capture. That will give Bow Street additional leverage to hang them.”
Oridge glanced at Slayde, who nodded.
“Miss Johnston is right,” he told his investigator. “She is directly involved in this mystery—even more so than you’re yet aware.”
“Sir?”
Slayde frowned, recalling for the umpteenth time the recent attempt on Courtney’s life. “I’ll explain later. For now, fill us in on whatever you’ve learned thus far.”
“Very well,” Oridge agreed. “Armon’s first mate did a fair amount of talking, once he was properly persuaded.” A subtle flexing of his muscles left little doubt as to what method o
f persuasion Oridge had used. “Evidently, most of the Isobel’s crew were transferred to the Fortune, as per Armon’s instructions.”
“Were they hurt?” Courtney demanded anxiously.
“No. To the contrary—they were ignored. Once Armon’s crew realized their captain was gone for good, chaos erupted. His men were preoccupied only with getting to London and pawning the booty they’d pilfered from the Isabel, then sailing off to parts unknown. Your father’s crew was imprisoned aboard the Fortune solely during those hours when Armon’s men disembarked to hawk their goods. Otherwise, they were free to move about at will, so long as they didn’t make trouble. Which none of them did. Consequently, they are now alive and unharmed—at least those crewmen who were transferred to the Fortune, that is.”
“ ‘Those who were transferred to the Fortune,’ ” Courtney repeated. “Who wasn’t?”
“Ten men in all—one of whom, as you know, was your father.”
“What about Lexley—Papa’s next in command?”
“He, unfortunately, was another of the ten. It seems Armon viewed him unfavorably; he said Lexley had given him too much trouble to be spared.”
“He did.” Courtney’s throat tightened. “Poor Lexley battled Armon every step of the way. Especially when he commanded him to hurl Papa overboard.” She bowed her head. “The only time Lexley complied without resistance was when Armon ordered him to transfer me to Lord Pembourne’s fishing boat. That order he embraced, realizing it would afford me my sole chance of survival. Lexley was decent and loyal—too loyal to serve a pirate. And, because of that, he died.”
“We don’t know that for a fact.”
Courtney’s head came up. “What do you mean?”
“Lexley wasn’t killed on the spot. He and the eight other crewmen I mentioned were shoved into longboats and taken beyond Cornwall to Raven Island.”
“They were left there…alive?”
“Yes.” Oridge held up a restraining palm, trying to temper Courtney’s eagerness. “I must caution you, Miss Johnston, that the odds of surviving Raven Island are very slim. No ships travel there, not with the harsh currents and jagged rocks, so the prospects of a chance rescue are nil. There is also little to eat and nothing in the way of shelter.”