Legacy of the Diamond

by Andrea Kane

  The bed sagged as Lord Pembourne sat down beside her and gathered her against him with none of the hesitation that had accompanied his previous gesture of comfort. "Because you weren't meant to die," he murmured, gently stroking her hair, "although I know how little solace that affords you right now."

  "If I'm meant to live, it can only be to avenge Papa's death."

  "Miss Johnston—Courtney—listen to me." The earl spoke softly, his breath brushing the bandage spanning her brow. "You're badly hurt. It will be a week before you've healed enough to stroll the grounds, much less traverse the English Channel. Also, as I just said, vengeance is not nearly as sweet as it seems." He drew a sharp breath, and Courtney had the strange feeling it was not merely she he was trying to convince. "Now that I've said all that, I offer you this promise: we'll find your father's killer, not only for your sake, but for mine."

  Courtney leaned back, gazing up at him through watery eyes. "For your sake?"

  "Yes. Whoever that murdering pirate was, he did not work alone. I'm certain of it. And whoever helped him devise his plot did it for more than just the black diamond."

  "You're referring to the reasons behind your sister's kidnapping."

  "That's the puzzle here. There was no kidnapping."

  "I don't understand."

  "Earlier today, mere minutes after you drifted off, Aurora strolled through Pembourne's entranceway doors. She's as intact as I. Evidently, boredom compelled her to take a jaunt to London in order to experience a taste of the Season."

  Courtney blinked. "I see. No, actually I don't see."

  A faint smile touched the earl's lips. "Nor do I. However, perhaps once you've met my sister, you will. Aurora is not what one would call a complacent young lady."

  "But if she went willingly to London, why were you receiving ransom notes?"

  "My question exactly. Further, how could a single person—namely, the pirate who killed your father—have had ample time to observe and recognize Aurora, send the appropriate letters to Pembourne, then board a ship, sail forth until he reached yours, overtake it, and hold your crew captive for several days?"

  "It isn't possible." Courtney shook her head. "The Isobel was en route to the Colonies, three days out of port, when he made his attack. That means he had to be sailing at least that long, even if he knew our exact location and followed us. Not to mention the time it would take him to conceal his own vessel and row out to the Isobel under cover of darkness."

  "And why would he be keeping track of your ship's whereabouts, much less following you? Even if he already knew of your existence and of your resemblance to Aurora—a farfetched enough idea, given that Aurora doesn't appear in public—he'd have no cause to act until he spied Aurora in London and realized she was vulnerable. And that's assuming he'd already devised his plan and was simply waiting for a chance to enact it."

  "I'm still lost," Courtney murmured. "If you're right, if that pirate was working with someone, how would that someone have known of Lady Aurora's intentions to leave Pembourne and travel to London? Clearly, her decision to slip away was impulsive."

  "But not unprecedented. Aurora is very creative—if not very successful—in her attempts to see the world. Usually, she wanders only as far as the lighthouse just beyond Pembourne, by the water's edge. However, on occasion, she gets more ambitious. 'Twould be obvious to anyone watching the estate that she's eager for more freedom."

  "Anyone watching the estate," Courtney repeated. "In other words, you believe Pembourne is under scrutiny."

  "I do."

  "By whom?"

  A bitter stare. "The same man whose family has scrutinized and condemned us for generations. Ever since the quest for that bloody diamond."

  "The Bencrofts? Is that the family you mean?"

  "Yes. If anyone has a reason—at least in his own distorted mind—to twist a knife in my gut, it's Lawrence Bencroft, the current Duke of Morland. The hatred within that man runs deeper than you can imagine."

  "Deep enough to feign a kidnapping in order to torment you?"

  "Not just to torment me," Slayde amended. "To baffle, outwit, and humiliate me, and then to rob me of a treasure he considers rightfully his, a treasure that, if my guess is right, is in Morland's possession right now."

  The pounding in Courtney's head had begun to intensify as the lingering effects of laudanum slowly faded. "What will you do?" she asked, unconsciously sagging toward Slayde.

  "Something my family hasn't done in sixty years: go to Morland. Visit that drunken snake. And, should he be the inventor of this sick scheme, expose him for the manipulative bastard that he is." The earl looked down, taking in Courtney's drooping head. "Shall I bring you more laudanum?"

  "No—please. I don't want to sleep. When I do, the nightmares return. Besides, I can't think clearly when I'm drugged. And I want to make sense of what you just said." Desperately, she battled the dull throbbing in her skull. "If what you're saying is true, if the Duke of Morland hired that wretched pirate to seize Papa's ship, then the duke must know where to find him—if only to recoup the jewel."

  "I would assume so, yes." Slayde frowned. "Are you certain you're able to continue this conversation? 'Tis obvious you're in pain."

  "I'm certain. Please, my lord, I need to think, to talk. Just for a while. When the pain becomes too much to bear, I'll take the laudanum. But not yet."

  Lord Pembourne nodded against her hair. "As you wish." To Courtney's surprise, he made no move to release her. Instead, he eased her forward, cradling her nape and pressing her cheek to his waistcoat. "Is that better?"

  "Much, thank you." In truth, it was more than better. It was wonderful. By anchoring her head in his powerful hand, the earl was releasing the pressure pounding at her skull while at the same time offering her a sturdy foundation upon which to rest. Even her ribs felt less constricted.

  "They'll fade, you know."

  The words rumbled through his chest to her ear. "What will?"

  "The nightmares. They won't last forever. They'll lessen, first in intensity, then in frequency. Finally, they'll besiege you only on occasion. And suddenly you'll discover they're endurable. You won't be crushed beneath their force. And you'll begin to live again."

  Courtney sighed. "I hope you're right."

  "I am." He hesitated. "Miss Johnston, before we resume our discussion, I have a favor to ask of you, if I may."

  "A favor?" Irony laced her tone. "You saved my life, took me into your home, and are now providing both sympathy and aid, not to mention hope. You may ask anything of me you wish. And please," she added softly, "call me Courtney, as you did a few minutes past. I realize it's a bit unorthodox, but then so is the fact that you've taken a total stranger into your home and are now visiting her chambers. In addition, to be honest, I've never in my life been addressed as 'Miss Johnston'—with the exception of the one loathsome year I spent at Madame La Salle's Boarding School for Young Ladies. And that is a period of time I'd like to forget. As, I'm sure, Madame La Salle is doing her best to forget me."

  The earl surprised her—and himself—by chuckling, a husky sound that rolled through Courtney like warm honey. "How ominous. Very well then, Courtney. My favor is as follows: would you consider staying on at Pembourne as Aurora's companion? Not just while you're recuperating, but afterward. Until my adventure-seeking sister drives you away. You'd be doing me a great service."

  Courtney swallowed, staring at his white linen shirt front. "A service? That sounds more like a cloaked offer of charity. After all, your sister is hardly of an age where she needs a governess. No, Lord Pembourne, I cannot accept, although I thank you from the bottom of my heart. 'Tis difficult enough for me to lie here and permit your staff to wait upon me while I'm confined to bed. But the instant my body is strong enough, I'll be on my way. I won't take advantage of your kindness, avail myself of your home and your servants, when I can do nothing to repay you."

  "Trust me—given Aurora's nature, 'tis I who will be in your debt, not
the other way around." Roughly, Slayde cleared his throat. "Courtney, I'm going to be frank. You and I have just determined we share a mutual goal: unearthing those involved in feigning Aurora's kidnapping and murdering your father. Answer me this: if you were to leave Pembourne tomorrow, would it not be to hunt down that pirate?"

  A small nod.

  "Well, I intend to immerse myself in the task of doing just that, starting by investigating a man I believe could lead us right to your father's killer; namely, Lawrence Bencroft. I'll delve as deep and as long as it takes to determine Morland's involvement."

  "And if the duke is not involved?"

  "Then I'll find out who is. Further, my resources are far more vast than yours. So why strike out on your own when by remaining at Pembourne you can benefit from my findings?"

  "While contributing what in return?" Courtney asked with quiet dignity. "I won't accept charity."

  "I don't think you realize just how much peace of mind you'd be affording me by keeping Aurora distracted and entertained. Translated, that means safe and accounted for, something my vast array of servants seem unable to ensure. From the reports I received upon returning from India ten days past, Aurora succeeded in sneaking out of Pembourne twice in three months, this last journey notwithstanding—a record even for my sister. And that doesn't take into account the six or seven unsuccessful attempts she made to beg, blackmail, or trick her way past the staff."

  "Where is it she wishes to go?"

  "I shudder to think. Fortunately, she's ofttimes content with the lighthouse as a destination. She's enthralled by Mr. Scollard, its keeper. I have no idea why, nor do I care to find out. All I know is that she dashes off to see him every chance she gets. And, eventually, one of my footmen drags her home."

  Spontaneous laughter bubbled up inside Courtney, the first real laughter in nearly a week. "My lord, if you don't mind my saying so, you must have the most exhausted servants in all of England. And the most single-minded of sisters. I can't imagine one woman requiring a houseful of people to oversee her."

  "Imagine it. You've never met Aurora."

  "Evidently not. In which case, suppose I accept your terms. Has it occurred to you that if your sister is as headstrong as you say, she might not be amenable to our arrangement?"

  "She's more than amenable; she's elated. She told me so herself. You have no worry on that score. When I left Aurora, she was nearly pacing the halls, waiting to meet you."

  Courtney felt strangely touched by that notion. "Very well, then. Your logic is sound, though I still question the fairness of our arrangement. Nevertheless, I'll stay at Pembourne—for the time being—and act the part of Lady Aurora's companion. Although how in the name of heaven I can counter the allure of the outside world, I haven't a clue. But I'll try, my lord."

  "Thank you." The earl's fingers tightened briefly on Courtney's nape, belying his casual tone and alerting her to the significance of his next words. "By the way, with reference to given names, mine is Slayde. Not 'my lord.'"

  "All right—Slayde." Reluctantly, Courtney drew back, wincing a bit at the resulting discomfort. "I assume you'd like to bring Lady Aurora in now."

  "Not until you've rested." His momentary tension having dissipated, Slayde eased Courtney to the pillows.

  Panic erupted inside her, screaming out that to sleep meant she would relive the dark fires of hell. "I don't want to sleep," she blurted.

  "Then don't. Just rest." Astutely, Slayde studied her stricken expression. "I suggest a half-dose of laudanum, enough only to soothe the pain and make you doze. How would that be?"

  "A half-dose?" Courtney breathed in a hopeful voice.

  "Um-hum." His lips twitched. "In a whole dose of brandy. Much-needed brandy, I might add, to fortify you for your meeting with Aurora."

  "Will you stay with me while I rest?" Mortified, Courtney realized she sounded like a frightened child. But, God help her, that's just what she felt like.

  "Yes, I'll stay with you." Slayde could have summoned Matilda or Miss Payne, but he didn't. Instead, he stood, pouring a goblet of brandy and adding a small amount of laudanum to it. "Drink this," he murmured, supporting her head while she did. "All of it, as I'm sure you'll be delighted to do."

  Courtney smiled, taking four or five appreciative swallows, then resting before she downed the remaining contents of the glass.

  "Well done. I'm impressed." With a teasing glance at the empty goblet, he lowered her back to the bed.

  "Thank you," she whispered.

  "You're welcome." He gazed down at her from beneath hooded lids, his expression unreadable. "Now, let the medicine do its job. When the pain subsides, I'll summon Aurora."

  Murmuring her agreement, Courtney sank into the softness of the bed. Within minutes, her body began to feel light, tingly, everything around her unfolding in slow, soothing motion. Her lashes fluttered, then fanned downward, her mind gratefully devoid of thought, her entire being blessedly absent of pain.

  Slayde watched her sea-green eyes grow vague, then drift shut, and he was accosted by that same oddly bemused feeling he'd experienced earlier—odd because he wasn't a man given to emotion, nor to personal affinities of any kind. In fact, Aurora's assessment of him had been quite right. He was a loner, a man who relied upon only himself for constancy. Never until this moment had he ever tried so hard to convince a woman to stay with him, nor had he every truly cared if one did. Further, he'd certainly never requested that anyone—woman or man—address him by his given name. And yet he'd just done both, with a woman who was, in her own words, a virtual stranger.

  Why?

  Could it be the chord of memory she struck within him? Doubtful. He'd recovered from his parents' deaths years ago.

  Perhaps he felt responsible for her. He had, as fate had deemed, saved her life. That idea was even more far-fetched than the first. Decency, after all, was not a forebearer of sentiment.

  Then what?

  Pulling up a chair, Slayde lowered himself into it, leaning forward and searching Courtney's face, as if for an answer. She was peaceful now, half asleep and unhaunted by demons, her bandaged brow unfurrowed, her breathing slow and even.

  His reply to Aurora with regard to Courtney's beauty had been a lie. Despite the inhibiting bandages, Courtney Johnston was clearly lovely, her features delicate and exquisitely formed, her cheekbones high, her lips soft and full. Her figure was equally delicate, as he'd discovered firsthand—so slight he wondered how she'd withstood the hardships of the past week. Still, beneath that fragile exterior, he sensed a strength that rivaled his own, a strength that would pull her through whatever lay ahead and ensure that, somehow, she survived.

  Without thinking, Slayde reached out and captured one red-gold tress, staring at it in surprise as he did. Another first-time gesture. He'd never been compelled to touch a woman's hair before. In fact, he wasn't given to touching at all, other than during a sexual liaison, and even then his urge for physical contact was rooted in carnality rather than intimacy and limited to those moments when passion dominated all else. Yet in one day, he'd impulsively enfolded this woman in his arms not once, but twice, and now had an unprecedented urge to explore the silky texture of her hair. Hair that, upon closer inspection, was not at all the fiery color of Aurora's, but a more subtle, vivid combination of warm reds, shimmering golds, and honey browns.

  Slowly, he let the strands glide free of his fingers, until, one by one, they dropped onto the pillow and fanned out beside her in a blazing waterfall.

  "I'm resting," Courtney announced, eyes closed, words slurred.

  "So I see." A faint smile played about Slayde's lips. For whatever reason, he was drawn to this woman. And because of that—and his own longstanding suspicions—he'd help her find the bastard who killed her father, along with whoever had paid him to recover the black diamond.

  God help Lawrence Bencroft if he was that man.

  * * *

  Sea foam trailed soundlessly into the hollow cove. Just within, the
dark figure paced, then halted, emitting a savage curse and slamming one gloved fist against the stone wall.

  Damnit. Where is that wretched pirate? He's had more than enough time. He was supposed to be here hours ago with the diamond—my diamond. The one I've awaited forever. Well, I don't intend to wait another day. He'd best show up. Soon. If he dares try to defy me, he'll die. Others have. Others will.

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  « ^ »

  "Aurora, meet our houseguest, Courtney Johnston. Courtney, my sister, Aurora."

  "I'm so glad to meet you." Aurora sailed around Slayde and approached Courtney's bed. Pausing, she fingered the folds of her gown, softly adding, "I'm terribly sorry for all you've been through."