Andrea Kane (39 page)

Slayde was reeling, too overcome by what he’d just learned to address Morland’s venomous comments. Besides, they suddenly ceased to matter. Suddenly, everything ceased to matter.

Everything but Courtney.

With a gripping sensation, Slayde confronted the single most impending horror indicated by Morland’s revelations: somewhere out there was the culprit who’d truly attempted to shoot Courtney. And that culprit was waiting, plotting.

Mr. Scollard’s voice resounded through Slayde’s head.

Ruthlessness hovers at your portals…heartlessness and obsession haunt your doorstep…. Danger stalks Courtney like a predator. After today, there will be no protection. You alone can prevent the danger from seizing her….Resolution is in your hands
—
as is Courtney’s life. Return to Pembourne…return to Pembourne….

Everything inside Slayde went cold. God help him, he had to get to Courtney.

The phaeton couldn’t reach Pembourne quickly enough. For the dozenth time, Slayde urged the horses to go faster, nearly jostling Rayburn from his seat in the process. “Sorry,” Slayde muttered.

“Quite all right, sir.” Rayburn resituated himself. “I understand. And if it’s any consolation to you, you did the right thing by relieving me of my post. I can do you more good hunting down the real culprit than I can scrutinizing the duke’s estate. It’s quite obvious Morland isn’t involved.”

“You’re sure he never left the manor?”

“Other than yesterday morning when he descended upon Pembourne, no—not from the instant I resumed my post six days past, having delivered Lady Aurora and Miss Johnston to Pembourne. In fact, not only has the duke gone nowhere, but no one has visited him—not his solicitor, not his banker, no one. The only person to arrive at Morland all week was the local delivery boy, who has long since checked out as legitimate.”

“Couldn’t Morland have left his estate during the time you rode to Pembourne—especially if he followed you, Courtney and Aurora to my home?”

“Of course. However, I was gone from my post for but a few hours. If the duke had pursued Miss Johnston from Pembourne to Somerset before returning to his estate, I’d definitely have witnessed his return, if not his departure. No, my lord, the Duke of Morland was not the person who took a shot at Miss Johnston.”

“Then who the hell was?” Slayde growled, fingers tightening on the reins.

“Who indeed, sir.”

Glancing about, Slayde realized Pembourne was nearly upon them. “Before we arrive, I have another pressing matter to discuss with you.”

“Sir?”

“Until new evidence presents itself, there’s little point in your blindly trying to hunt down the assailant. Moreover, I have an interim assignment I want you to pursue—a delicate, extraordinarily important assignment. It must be handled quickly, discreetly, and—with the help of God—successfully. I’d originally intended to get a recommendation from Oridge; I trust he’d supply me with the name of someone competent and reliable for the job. But needless to say, I’d much rather engage your services, as I’m already familiar with the high quality of your work.”

“I’m honored and at your disposal, sir. What is this assignment?”

Slayde’s mouth set in a grim line. “I need you to find someone for me. Someone who’s been injured and is incapable—either mentally, physically, or both—of finding us. Or rather, of finding Courtney.”

Rayburn blinked. “Who?”

“Her father.”

“Captain Johnston? According to your notes, he was thrown overboard and drowned.”

“He
was
thrown overboard. As for drowned, I have reason to believe that he survived, that the currents swept him onto the Cornish shore. The question is, where? My information says he’s recovering in a quiet inlet. Thus, we have to locate and search every quiet inlet from here to the western tip of Cornwall. I’ll pore over charts with you, make a list of all the inlets that fit that description. First thing tomorrow, you’ll go off to explore each of them.” A scowl. “I’d handle this myself, but I dare not leave Courtney—not until we’ve determined who tried to kill her. So I’m asking you to go in my stead, to work as thoroughly and painstakingly as I would have. To defy the odds and recover Arthur Johnston.”

Rayburn gave a definitive nod. “I won’t disappoint you, my lord.”

“I know you won’t.” The phaeton passed through Pembourne’s gates. “Oh, and Rayburn? Don’t say a word of this to anyone. Especially Courtney. She’s just coming to grips with the possibility of her father’s death. And in the unlikely event that I’m wrong, that Johnston did perish in the Channel…I don’t think she could withstand the pain a second time.”

“I understand. This will remain strictly between us.”

“Thank you. I’ll tell Courtney and Aurora that you’re spending the night, then pursuing other suspects. Which you are—eventually.” The phaeton rounded the drive, and Slayde brought it to a stop. Leaping to the ground, he headed for the manor, adding, “We’ll meet in my study later, to pore over those charts. Right now, I want to make sure Courtney’s all right.”

Slayde was already mounting the steps when Siebert opened the entranceway door. Assessing his master’s grim expression, he announced, “Miss Johnston and Lady Aurora are quite well, my lord. In fact, they’ve been surprisingly quiet. I believe Mr. Oridge is becoming unnerved by their silence.”

“I’m sure he is.” Slayde visibly relaxed. “We had no unexpected guests?”

“No guests at all, my lord. Other than Lady Stanwyk. And even she stayed but a half-hour. Lady Aurora was too restless for a visit.”

“Aurora—restless? Now
that
sounds like trouble.” Slayde veered toward the stairs, calling over his shoulder, “Please have Miss Payne make up a room for Rayburn. He’ll be staying the night.”

“Of course, sir.” A frown. “Actually, I’ve scarcely seen Miss Payne all day. That’s odd.” He shrugged. “Never mind, sir. I’ll find her.” So saying, he went off in search of the housekeeper.

Slayde reached the second-floor landing in record time, then stalked down the hall.
Rory’s bedchamber,
Scollard had said. Very well, then that was where he’d go.

Oridge was jostling the door handle when Slayde appeared. The investigator glanced up, nearly sagging with relief when he saw his employer. “You’re back, my lord.”

Fear knotted Slayde’s gut. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, sir,” Oridge assured him. “ ’Tis only that Miss Johnston and Lady Aurora have barricaded themselves inside.” An exasperated sigh. “They haven’t attempted a window escape; I’ve listened intently for any indications of that, such as unusual rustles or squeaks, sudden lulls in their chatter. None of those has occurred—yet. However, the two of them must be plotting something, because they refuse to come out.”

“Hell and damnation.” Slayde pounded on the door. “Courtney. Aurora. Open this door before I break it down.”

An instant later, a key turned and the door was flung wide. “Slayde,” Courtney said, her heart in her eyes. “Thank God…you’re all right.”

“Thank God
I’m
all right?” He couldn’t help it; he dragged her to him, enfolded her in his arms. “I’ve been half crazed with worry.” He pressed his lips into her crown of red-gold hair. “Why are the two of you locked up like criminals?”

Courtney tilted back her head and smiled up at him. “We needed a few more minutes to finalize our plan. And Mr. Oridge refused to extend our agreed-upon allotment of time by even a quarter hour. So we took the necessary steps to protect our interests.”

“What allotment of time? What plan?”

“First tell me Morland didn’t hurt you.”

“He didn’t hurt me. I, however, punched him.”

“Then he revealed something?”

“At that particular instant? Only that he believes Aurora’s life is worth sacrificing in order to retain possession of the diamond.”

Aurora rose, wide-eyed. “You struck Morland—for me?”

A hint of softness. “You
are
my sister, you know.”

“I’m beginning to realize that,” she replied with an equal measure of softness.

“Slayde,” Courtney pressed. “Did you learn anything?”

“Too much and not enough.” Slayde eased Courtney inside the bedchamber, gesturing for Oridge to join them. “The four of us have a great deal to discuss.” The moment the door shut behind them, Slayde turned to his investigator. “Did any of the servants behave oddly?”

“Not in the least. I’ve been posted outside Lady Aurora’s bedchamber all afternoon, scanning the list and studying the staff. Other than a few maids and footmen who expressed sympathy that I’d been given the impossible task of thwarting Lady Aurora’s escape efforts, no one’s so much as spoken to me. They’ve performed their jobs in what I would call a customary fashion. Oh, I did have the opportunity to speak with Mr. Lexley. He’s a most gracious fellow, but with no additional details to provide us.”

“Then we’re right back where we started, damn it.” Slayde’s arms tightened about Courtney. “I’m not letting you out of my sight,” he informed her. “Not for a moment. So give up any notion of locking doors unless I’m behind them with you.”

“Slayde, what is it?” Anxiously, Courtney studied Slayde’s taut expression. “What’s upset you so?”

A muscle worked in his jaw. “Morland’s innocent,” he stated flatly. “He’s not the one who hired Armon. He doesn’t have the diamond. And he didn’t take a shot at you the other day.”

Aurora emitted a shocked gasp.

“And your parents?” Courtney sounded more concerned than she did stunned. “Is he innocent of their murders as well?”

“According to him, yes. He vehemently denied any involvement in their killings. Of course, he’s said that a dozen times before. We have yet to find proof of his innocence. There’s every possibility that he’s lying.”

“But you don’t think he is.”

A weighted silence. Then: “No—I don’t.”

“What about Chilton? Do you still believe he committed the murders?”

Reason and emotion warred in Slayde’s head, years of enmity screaming for acknowledgment.

Logic.
Mr. Scollard’s words sliced through his mental turmoil.
Reserve the irrational for Courtney’s loving hands; employ reason where no love exists.

“No,” Slayde heard himself say. “I don’t.” He gave a dazed shake of his head. “How ironic. For ten years, I’ve been so certain, so utterly convinced Chilton was responsible. But today, listening to Morland, seeing him without allowing hatred to blind me…somehow my perspective altered.”

“Did you speak to Rayburn, my lord?” Oridge interrupted.

“Yes, immediately following my confrontation with Morland. As a matter of fact, I brought Rayburn back with me. There’s no point in his remaining there, scrutinizing Morland’s every move. The duke is not the criminal we seek.”

“I take it His Grace was at home the night Miss Johnston was attacked?”

“At home and alone. Morland hasn’t left his estate all week. Nor has anyone visited him. So he neither fired that shot nor hired someone else to fire it. By the way, he was also fully sober during our altercation. Vicious and frightened, but sober. He disclosed things that made all the pieces fit: why he’s stopped drinking, why he’s rejoined the business community, why he’s been conducting meetings with his banker and solicitor.”

Quietly, Slayde elaborated, disclosing Morland’s objectives, his plan to unearth the black diamond, his immediate goal to investigate the Huntleys.

“That explains his irrational reaction to our article in the
Times,”
Aurora concluded thoughtfully.

“Yes. It also leaves us with no name, no face—nothing but the realization that whoever orchestrated these crimes wants Courtney eliminated.” Slayde swallowed. “If it isn’t Morland, who is it? And how the hell do we find out before he tries to hurt her again?”

“Using the only other lead we have,” Courtney pronounced, gripping the sleeves of Slayde’s coat. “Our only hope of getting to the true culprit is to discern the identity of his other henchman—the one right here at Pembourne. Once we do, he’ll panic and unknowingly lead us straight to whoever hired him.”

“Which brings us to the remarkable plan Courtney’s developed,” Aurora piped up, her shock at Morland’s innocence eclipsed by renewed excitement. “Thanks to her quick thinking, we’ll have our traitor by tomorrow, and his employer soon after.”

With a start, Slayde raised his brows at Oridge.

“This is the first I’m hearing of Miss Johnston’s plan, sir,” the investigator replied with a helpless shrug. “As I said, I’ve been in the hall all day—barred from the room.” He glowered at Courtney and Aurora. “According to the agreement I made with these ladies—under extreme duress, I might add—they were to return the sketch to me twenty minutes ago. They refused to comply. I had no idea what they were using it for or what they were up to.”

“We were finalizing our plan.” Courtney frowned. “All but the reason we’ll give the staff. Perhaps you gentlemen can assist us with that.”

“What agreement?” Slayde demanded. “What plan? What reason?” He rolled his eyes. “And why am I surprised that I haven’t an inkling what you’re talking about?”

“I’ll tell you.” Courtney extricated herself from Slayde’s embrace, crossing the room to fetch the drawing. “Look.” She pointed to the note. “We’ve all been concentrating on the sketch, when we should have been concentrating on the message written above it.” Her eyes glowed with purpose. “The idea came to me when I considered the letter Aurora and I submitted to the
Times
and how long it took Aurora to copy your hand. Everyone’s writing is distinctive, especially when examined by an expert. Well, we know the perfect expert, don’t we?”

“Grimes,” Slayde muttered. “But what is it we’re asking of him? To copy the note?”

“No, to compare it. We’re going to assemble the entire staff—which we intend to do anyway, to announce our wedding plans. Once the jovial atmosphere has been established, we’ll present our dilemma—which must be something that would require each of the servants to pen a phrase. An innocuous phrase, using words contained in the message on this sketch—so innocuous that no one will feel threatened; therefore, all those who know how to write will comply. Once they have, we’ll collect all the samples and bring them to Grimes.”