Andrea Kane (28 page)

“Agreed.” Courtney squinted as the manor loomed closer. “The house looks deserted. I hope the duke didn’t pick this particular time to go out.”

“Doubtful. It’s too early to conduct business.” Aurora waited until Courtney had veered the phaeton off the road and hidden it behind a thick clump of trees. Then, she turned toward her, grim-faced. “Good luck.”

A wan smile. “Thanks.”

Climbing down from the phaeton, Courtney walked the remaining length of drive, her step decisive, her heart hammering in her chest. She mounted the two stone steps and knocked.

“Yes?” A haughty-looking butler answered the door.

“I’m here to see the duke.”

One brow rose. “And who, might I ask, are you?”

Courtney’s chin came up. “A woman who has business with your master, not with you.” She pushed past him, crossing the threshold into the hall.
Excellent,
she commended herself.
You got in without announcing yourself. Now, even if Slayde has provided his investigator with names, the man will have no clue as to your identity.

She could almost hear Aurora’s applause.

“Now where can I find His Grace?” she demanded, resuming her performance.

“Madame, you cannot just barge in here and insist on seeing the duke. I must know—”

Pivoting about, Courtney regarded him with blazing eyes. “Does the duke seek your approval on all his women? If so, he’s a poor excuse for a man.”

Courtney wondered who was more shocked by her brazen comment, the butler or she.

“I…” He wet his lips. “His Grace told me nothing about…wait here.” His mouth snapped shut, and he stalked off, rigid as a drawn bowstring.

The instant Courtney saw the direction he was taking, she followed behind, silently and with enough distance between them so he wouldn’t sense her presence.

“Your Grace?” she heard him ask, once he’d veered into a room. “There’s a young woman here to see you. She says you summoned her.”

“A woman?” the duke sounded perplexed. “What kind of nonsense—”

“I never claimed to have been summoned,” Courtney interjected, shoving past the butler into what looked to be a study. “I merely said I had business with the duke. Which I do.”

Lawrence Bencroft rose to his feet, his dark eyes baffled. “Who are you? What business do you have with me?”

“Private business.” Courtney gave him what she hoped to be a suggestive look, then inclined her head pointedly at the butler.

A thoughtful silence, then a nod. “You may leave us, Thayer.”

Thayer needed no second invitation. He was gone in a heartbeat, the door shut in his wake.

“Now.” The elderly duke walked around his desk, giving Courtney a solicitous smile, one she imagined that had once been charming, on a face that had once been quite handsome, but was now lined with bitterness and age. “You’re very lovely. Please enlighten me. Which of my colleagues was kind enough to send you to me?”

“No one sent me. As I said, I’m here on personal business.”

An amused look. “Really? Then, I’d be delighted to hear what sort of business we have to discuss.”

“The business of my father and how you killed him.”

Morland stopped in his tracks, his smile fading, his eyes narrowed on Courtney’s face. “Who are you?”

“Courtney Johnston.” She gripped the back of a chair to still her body’s trembling. “Arthur Johnston’s daughter.”

“Who the hell is Arthur Johnston?”

“He
was
the captain of the
Isobel,
the ship your pirate accomplice Armon seized in order to blackmail Slayde Huntley into relinquishing the black diamond.”

Morland’s lips thinned into a grim line. “Did Pembourne send you?”

“No,” she countered, intentionally amplifying her voice to a shrill pitch in order to suggest rising hysteria—although, God help her, she didn’t have too much pretending to do.
“I
came on my own. I’m the woman Armon passed off as Aurora Huntley so he could steal that wretched stone.” Courtney met Morland’s gaze, her heart slamming so hard against her ribs she could scarcely breathe. “There’s no point in denying it. Armon himself told me you’d paid him to confiscate the diamond. He also gloated to me, again and again, that he had no intentions of sharing the stone with you, that he meant to sell it and flee the country. He called you a stupid old fool.”

Morland’s expression remained unchanged. “You’re obviously deranged,” he assessed calmly. “Either that, or you’re working with Pembourne in some sick attempt to malign me. He, too, burst into my home raving about a pirate I supposedly paid to extort the black diamond from the Huntleys. Now that I reflect upon it, he bellowed something about housing the daughter of a murdered sea captain at Pembourne. You, doubtless, are that homeless chit. Very well, I’ll play along with your amateur theatrics and tell you precisely what I told your cohort, or your keeper, or whatever role Pembourne has assumed in your life. I never met this fellow, ‘Armon.’ However, if he did manage to wrest the jewel away from the Huntleys in order to restore it to its proper owner, I commend the man. And if escape is what he seeks, I certainly hope he finds it.”

“He’s dead,” Courtney spat. “But you know that. After all, you killed him.”

A stony silence. Then: “I killed no one.”

“Liar,” Courtney accused, her voice shaking as she delivered her final blow. “You killed my father. You killed Armon. And ten years ago, you killed the Earl and Countess of Pembourne.”

That
got a reaction. Morland turned three shades of red, his eyes ablaze with hatred, his fists clenching violently at his sides.

At that moment, he looked every bit the murderer.

“What did you say?” he ground out through clenched teeth.

“I know everything,” Courtney blurted, mentally gauging her distance to the entranceway door. Lord, she hoped Aurora was standing vigil. “I found Armon’s journal. Your entire plan to blackmail Lord Pembourne out of the diamond is outlined—fully—including your name and the extent of your involvement.” Perceiving Morland’s escalating rage, she sought the courage to continue. She pictured her father’s face, the anguish in Slayde’s eyes, thereby finding the incentive she needed. “The moment I read that journal, I vowed to make you pay for Papa’s death. So I delved into your activities, your past, your family—and I found precisely what I needed, with little effort, I might add. Obviously, Bow Street didn’t conduct too thorough an investigation. Else they, too, would have found the irrefutable evidence I did.”

“What irrefutable evidence?” Morland thundered.

“Proof that you and your father cold-bloodedly murdered the late Earl and Countess of Pembourne.” Courtney took two subtle backward steps toward the door, her palm raised. “Don’t bother denying it. My proof is as conclusive as if you’d been caught standing over the bodies, sword in hand.” She retreated until her fingers closed around the door handle. “Here’s my ultimatum, Your Grace,”—she spat out the formal address—“either you publicly admit that you paid Armon to commit his crime, which would convict you only of being a thief and an indirect accomplice to Papa’s drowning, or I’ll provide Bow Street with every shred of evidence I have. At which point, you’ll be arrested and hung for murder.”

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.