Siebert’s brows rose. “Not unless he’s the finest actor in all of England. The stench of liquor came from his breath, not his person, which it would have, had he doused his clothing for effect. Moreover, his eyes were glazed, his speech slurred, and his balance severely impaired. No, sir, there’s not the slightest doubt—the duke was totally, utterly soused.”
“I see.” Slayde frowned. Siebert wasn’t prone to exaggeration. And if Bencroft was as deep in his cups as the butler implied, he’d be alert enough to devise nothing.
Unless, of course, Siebert was lying.
The very thought made Slayde’s blood run cold. On its heels came a jolt of self-disgust and an explosion of denial. No. Absolutely not. He didn’t care how emphatically Oridge had cautioned him. There were certain members of his staff whose loyalty he refused to question. Siebert was one. He’d been with the Huntleys since before Slayde was born, overseen Pembourne with unfailing pride, discipline, and principles, demonstrating nothing but honesty and dedication for nearly four decades.
If Siebert said Morland was drunk, then drunk he was.
With a muttered oath, Slayde resumed pacing.
“Oh, and one other thing, sir,” Siebert added, oblivious to Slayde’s inner turmoil. “Mr. Rayburn was at Pembourne, as well. He followed the duke from Morland.”
“Of course—Rayburn!” Slayde exclaimed. “I completely forgot. Did he stay hidden? Or was Morland aware of his presence?”
“His Grace was aware of nothing.” Siebert sniffed. “That fact notwithstanding, he was restricted to the doorway, his back facing the grounds, and Mr. Rayburn, throughout his tirade. I spied Rayburn because he intended me to. He gestured to me from the shrubs, alerting me to his presence lest I need assistance. Needless to say, I didn’t. Given the duke’s wretched physical state, I was able to escort him to his carriage within minutes and without the aid of so much as a footman.”
“I’ve got to ride to Morland.” Slayde’s frown deepened. “Not only to meet with Rayburn, but to hear firsthand what Bencroft has to say. However, I won’t leave Courtney unguarded.”
“Sir?” Siebert inclined his head quizzically. “Is Miss Johnston in danger?”
Feeling Oridge’s warning look, Slayde answered, “Siebert, you of all people know my contempt for Lawrence Bencroft. I didn’t trust the bastard while he was locked away in his fortress. Now, he’s invading my home, evidently provoked by what he read in the Times, and drunk to boot. What if he returns and makes another scene? Or worse, what if he becomes violent? I don’t know what he’s capable of—and neither do you. I refuse to take that risk, either with Courtney’s safety or Aurora’s.” A quick glance at Oridge. “If I leave Pembourne for several hours later today, would you stand vigil for me?”
“Of course, my lord. I’ll use that time to speak with Lexley—since I’m certain Miss Johnston will be glued to his side.”
“She will indeed. Incidentally, thank you for having him brought here. I can’t tell you what seeing him meant to Courtney. Especially in light of losing her father.” With those words, Slayde’s gaze darted back to Siebert. “You’re sure we received no responses to my missives?”
“None, sir,” Siebert confirmed. “But it is early. You sent them out only a week ago.”
“What missives?” Oridge inquired.
Slayde scowled. “I sent out letters to numerous clergymen along the coast of Devonshire. Just in the event that any of their parishioners recovered Arthur Johnston—or his body.”
Oridge blinked. “Recovered? I thought you said the man was bound and weighted when he was thrown overboard.”
“I did.”
“Then how could he be anywhere but at the bottom of the Channel?”
“He couldn’t.” A pause. “Unless he wasn’t bound and weighted.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Nor do I—yet.” Slayde raked a hand through his hair, glancing toward the sitting room. “But I’ll advise you as soon as I do. In the interim, Siebert, keep me apprised. Oridge, we’ll have our meeting in my study in an hour. I’ll leave for Morland immediately thereafter. For now, I’m going to join Courtney.”
Slayde stalked off, feeling Oridge’s stunned stare boring into him. He realized the investigator had never seem him behave so irrationally. Hell, he never had behaved so irrationally.
But when it came to Courtney, rationality ceased to exist.
Before he left Pembourne today, he intended to get Lexley alone. And when he did, he’d get some answers.
“Slayde.” Courtney looked up when he entered the sitting room, her beautiful face alight with a happiness that eclipsed his brooding humor, bathed it in sunshine. “We were just talking about you.”
“Now that sounds ominous,” he teased, helping himself to a brandy. “Lexley, would you care for a drink? I suspect I’ll need one, if I’m being cruelly maligned.”
“No, thank you, m’lord.” The older man leaned forward, a bit more stiffly than he had a half-hour past. His color, too, had paled somewhat, indicating that the strain of the preceding weeks had taken more out of him than he was willing to admit. “I assure you, I’ve heard nothing but praise about you since you left the room. By Courtney’s description, you’re every bit a hero.”
Slayde felt that odd constriction in his chest. “To the contrary,” he disputed quietly, staring into his goblet. “If anyone is a savior, ’tis Courtney.” Awkwardly, he cleared his throat, glancing up to see Lexley’s moved, albeit tired, expression. “I’ve spoken with Mr. Oridge. He and I are in agreement that you should rest for a few hours. Then, the two of you will talk.”
“Thank you, m’lord.”
“Slayde.” Courtney rose, crossing over to him, speaking softly and for his ears alone. “Before Lexley retires to his chambers, I’d appreciate if we could divulge our news…” She wet her lips. “That is, I do want Aurora to be the first to know, but with Papa gone, and Lexley having been as close to him as he was…” Her voice trailed off.
Placing his goblet on the sideboard, Slayde raised Courtney’s chin to meet his gaze. “Would it make you happy?”
“Yes.”
“That’s all I needed to hear.” Slayde shut the sitting room door, clasping Courtney’s hand in his.
Instantly, Aurora’s head came up. “Are we about to hear your wonderful news—the news I wouldn’t listen to because I was too excited about Lexley’s homecoming?”
Slayde nodded. “Yes, although given the magnitude of your surprise, we forgive you for delaying our announcement.”
“Announcement?” Now, Aurora jumped to her feet. “Is it what I think it is? What I hope it is? What I’ve prayed it is?”
Laughter rumbled from Slayde’s chest. “I suspect it might be.” He turned to Lexley. “I realize you’re exhausted. But before you go up to rest, Courtney wanted you to be here, to join Aurora in being the first to know. And I quite agree.” He stared at Courtney’s small hand clasped in his, thanking the stars for teaching him that miracles did exist, for blessing him by bringing this extraordinary miracle into his life. “Courtney has agreed to bestow upon me the greatest gift I could ever ask for—her hand in marriage.”
“I knew it!” Aurora shot across the room, flinging her arms about Courtney and giving her a fierce hug. “Oh, Courtney, I knew it from the moment we met. If anyone could unlock that bloody stubborn heart of Slayde’s, it was you. I’m so happy for you—for both of you.” She drew back, her eyes shining. “Think about it—we’re going to be sisters, cohorts for life.”
“God help us,” Slayde muttered.
Sobering, Aurora turned to her brother, making a move to embrace him, then hesitating—uncomfortable, uncertain. “I needn’t tell you how lucky you are,” she said. “I’m so grateful you found Courtney before it was too late…not only for her, but for you. At last you can bid that lonely man good-bye.”
“I agree.” With a new and unknown instinct, Slayde squeezed Aurora’s shoulder, bending to brush his lip
s across her brow. “Do you know, you’re very insightful—for a child? Then again, you’re not a child anymore, are you?”
An understanding glint flashed in Aurora’s eyes. “No. I’m not.”
“I’ll try to remember that.”
“I’ll remind you if you forget.”
“I’m sure you will.” Slayde grinned, aware of Courtney’s brilliant smile, feeling it wash through him and propel his own astounding metamorphosis yet another step.
“Marriage.” Lexley had struggled to his feet and was now making his way toward them, beaming ear to ear. “How wonderful. I…” He caught Courtney’s hands in his. “Your father would be so proud, so happy. More than anything, he wanted you to find the kind of love he shared with your mother. Well, you obviously have. Even an old man like me can see the exhilaration on your face.”
“You’re not old,” Courtney refuted, her voice faltering. “Further, I expect you to regain every ounce of your strength. I’ll need you to escort me down the aisle to embrace my future. Papa would have wanted it that way. So do I.”
Lexley’s eyes were unashamedly damp. “I’d be honored.” He turned to Slayde. “You’re a fine man. Take good care of her.”
“You have my word.”
“When?” Aurora demanded. “When is this wonderful day to occur?”
“I’m in the process of acquiring a special license,” her brother answered. “As far as I’m concerned, the vows can be exchanged on the day it arrives. But that’s up to Courtney. I want this wedding to be everything she’s ever dreamed of.” Slayde’s lips twitched. “Which probably means she’ll want to plan it with you. In writing. With a copy submitted to the Times.”
Aurora’s eyes widened. “He knows?” she asked Courtney.
“He knows. I told him.”
“Oh, Lord.”
“We have a great deal to discuss,” Slayde assured her, exchanging glances with Courtney. “But first, I’m going to escort Lexley to his chambers.”
“That won’t be necessary, m’lord,” the sailor murmured. “I can find my way.”
“Even I get lost at Pembourne and it’s my home,” Slayde countered. “So let’s have no arguments. I distinctly heard my betrothed order you to rest and regain your strength.”
A weak smile. “I can’t very well argue with that.”
“No, you can’t.” Slayde opened the sitting-room door. “I’ll return shortly,” he advised Courtney, his knuckles brushing her cheek. “You and Aurora wait for me here.”
She nodded her understanding. “We will.”
Ten minutes later, Slayde stood by, watching Lexley settle himself on the bed. The poor man looked utterly exhausted, far too drained to converse. Unfortunately, the questions that had hammered at Slayde’s brain this past week would no longer be silenced.
“Lexley,” he began, making sure the door was securely shut, “I had another reason for seizing this opportunity to talk to you alone. I apologize for taxing your strength, but there is something I must know.”
The elderly sailor blinked, propping himself on his pillows. “Of course, m’lord. What is it?”
Slayde clasped his hands behind his back, realizing he was grasping at straws and not giving a damn. “First, I want your word that this conversation will remain between us. Courtney has suffered far too much already. I will not allow her to be hurt.”
“Of course,” Lexley looked utterly bewildered. “I’d never hurt Courtney.”
A nod. “Courtney’s father gave her a watch, a timepiece with a moving scene of a ship and a lighthouse.”
“Yes.” A painful sigh. “Captain Johnston’s wife gave that timepiece to him as a wedding gift. He wanted Courtney to have it after he…when he…”
“The watch stopped at the precise time Arthur Johnston went overboard. Since then, it has jumped ahead several times, inciting a great deal of anxiety, and questions, in Courtney’s mind. Further, she’s experienced repeated dreams in which her father is still alive, calling out to her, needing her. Her distress escalated to the point where I agreed to bring her to the spot where her father went down. It was horrible for her, reliving the entire occurrence a second time. I won’t subject her to that kind of pain ever, ever again. Not without damned good cause. My question to you is, does that cause exist?”
“Dear God.” Lexley’s face had gone sheet-white, beads of perspiration erupting on his brow. “Courtney has actually dreamed…” A distraught pause. “I knew you’d traveled to where the Isobel was overtaken. Lady Aurora explained it all to me. But she said you’d found nothing. I asked her a dozen times. She said you’d searched—but to no avail. Is that not true?”
“Yes. It’s true.” Slayde’s heart rate had begun to accelerate at the severity of Lexley’s reaction. “The currents were powerful, the waters rough. ’Twould be very difficult for someone to survive.”
“I know. But, dear Lord, how I prayed.”
“Did you have reason to pray?” Slayde jumped on the first mate’s statement, stalking across the room to grip the bedpost, all attempts at remaining calm having vanished. “I don’t mean groundless reasons; I mean well-founded ones.”
“At the time, I thought so,” Lexley muttered brokenly. “Maybe it was just wishful thinking. But it was the only way I could try to save him. Heaven help me, it wasn’t enough.”
Slayde inhaled sharply, asking the crucial question that had gnawed at him for over a week. “Before Armon forced you to thrust Arthur off the Isobel, did you manage to loosen his gag? His bonds? Did you somehow find a way to increase your captain’s chances of survival?”
Lexley stared. “How did you know?”
“God, then it’s true.” Hope and triumph converged, pounded through Slayde’s blood. “I knew—or rather, suspected—because Courtney’s memories include hearing her father scream as he went over. No gagged man can scream loud enough to be heard a deck below.”
“I loosened the gag just before we reached the rail. Armon was a dozen feet away. I turned my back on him while I maneuvered the captain to the side, positioned myself so Armon was unable to see what I was doing. I worked my blade from my pocket and slashed the bonds at Captain Johnston’s wrists and the rope tying the weighted sack to his thigh. The end of that rope I shoved into his hand, where he clutched it low and against him so it would appear to Armon that it was still fastened to his leg. The bastard got only a brief view because, a split second later, I thrust Captain Johnston over the edge. I knew his chances were slim. He would have had to unbind his own ankles—I didn’t dare risk taking the extra time to do so for fear of alerting Armon—and then battle that rough section of the Channel. But he was an incredibly strong swimmer and, with the currents in his favor, I prayed he could make it to shore. It appears my prayers were for naught.”
“Did you say the currents were with him?” Slayde demanded. “I don’t understand. Courtney and I sailed in those currents. They were powerful as hell, nearly dragging us out to sea.”
“They’re always fierce, almost impossible to navigate. But sometimes they change direction and surge inland. That was the case the day Captain Johnston went down.”
“When we revisited the area, Courtney said she thought that the current on that awful day had been running in the opposite direction to what we saw—but then she assumed she was mistaken.”
“Probably, she doesn’t know the current can reverse. Courtney wasn’t what you would call an avid sailor, m’lord. She rarely spent much time topside—only enough to know the route, not the more intricate challenges we encountered.”
Slayde gripped the bedpost so tightly his knuckles turned white. “You’re telling me those waters were moving in the opposite direction that day?”
Another nod.
“Then he could be alive.” Slayde’s eyes narrowed. “Courtney’s father could very well be alive.”
“No, m’lord.” Lexley shook his head emphatically. “If I believed that, I’d be crawling my way along the Cornish coastline, sea
rching. But I don’t. Because if Captain Johnston was alive, he would have found his way to Courtney.”
“Not if he was injured. Or ill. Or even unconscious. Hell, following such a furious bout with the seas, he could be any of those things.”
“But if he’d been found, wouldn’t his rescue have been reported?”
“Reported where? To whom? If Johnston was coherent, he would have realized the Isobel must have been destroyed. As for Courtney, the last he saw her, she was being held prisoner. He doubtless believed the worst. And that’s assuming he was lucid. What if he wasn’t? What if he was unable to identify himself? How would his rescuers know where to take him or whom to contact?”
“M’lord—” Lexley’s hands balled into fists, refusing to allow hope for what he feared to be virtually impossible. “I want to believe this as much as you do. But if nothing’s been reported, isn’t it more likely the captain drowned?”
Slayde shook his head. “I don’t think so. The currents were too strong for him to have sunk without the weight of that sack dragging him down. He must have been washed ashore. And if he were already dead when that happened, I would have received word. You see, I sent messages to every coastal clergyman I could think of. Had a drowned man been found washed ashore, one of those clergymen would have been notified, after which he would have notified me.”
Promise flared in Lexley’s eyes. “That makes sense.” He sat up, his exhaustion forgotten. “Could this truly be possible? Do you honestly believe Captain Johnston is—might be—alive?”
A month ago, Slayde’s reply would have been an unconditional no.
But now?
Solemnly, Slayde pondered Courtney’s dreams, the periodic advances of her timepiece, the intensity of her faith, a faith that had been shattered by misleading currents too convincing to ignore.
Someone who looks but can’t see…But now he sees…
Confidently, Slayde nodded. “Do I believe Johnston could be alive?” he repeated, the answer as clear as the vision he now possessed. “Yes. And I know just where to go to find out.”