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A harsh laugh. “You know damned well I’m in dire financial straits. The Bencrofts have lost countless fortunes thanks to your great-grandfather’s piracy. We’ll continue to lose countless more.”
“So you view the diamond as payment for your suffering.”
“Payment and salvation. Moreover, I was on the verge of finding the stone, restoring it to where it belonged so I could at last set things right. Oh, I could never obliterate the past, but I could grant my ancestors peace and myself a measure of security in my old age. I would have succeeded. I’d raised the money to begin my search. And then—this!” Morland snatched up a copy of the Times and flung it to the floor at Slayde’s feet.
Slowly, Slayde’s gaze traveled to the open newspaper, glancing from the article on page two to the vein pulsing furiously at Morland’s temple to the unfeigned enmity—and trepidation—glistening in his eyes.
A deluge of stunned awareness struck, transforming Slayde’s rage to shock, to doubt and, ultimately, to realization: Lawrence Bencroft was telling the truth.
Drawing in a slow breath, Slayde assimilated the snatches of information he’d just been given, fit all the pieces together.
“Morland,” he somehow managed to reply, “are you suggesting that not only did you not pay Armon to steal the black diamond but that your sudden re-emergence in the business world was an attempt to finance a search for the stone?”
“Are you suggesting you didn’t know that?”
“How would I?”
Morland’s smile was grim. “Oh, come now, Pembourne. You told me yourself you’d delved into my business affairs. Quite thoroughly, I presume. What did you discover I’d been doing with my funds?”
“Transferring them. Amassing them. Spending an unusual amount of time meeting with your solicitor and banker discussing them.” Slayde’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s put the results of my inquiries aside. If what you claim is true, why didn’t you combat my accusations, or Courtney’s for that matter, by revealing this convenient detail? She and I both, on separate occasions, appeared on your doorstep, accusing you of orchestrating the plan to pilfer the diamond. You said nothing to prove you weren’t involved.”
“I have nothing to prove, not to you or that crazed woman you sent here. And since my money was being invested in a search—the onset of which was a thorough investigation of your activities to ensure that you weren’t, in reality, harboring the diamond at Pembourne—it hardly seemed prudent to disclose my intentions and alert you to that upcoming investigation. Moreover, since I knew I was innocent of all the allegations you and that insane Johnston girl were hurling at me, I never once doubted that, like your accusations, your claim to have relinquished the diamond was entirely fabricated. Until I read that contemptible submission of yours. Had I but known—” Morland leveled an icy stare at Slayde. “I’d have thrashed you before I let you hand over that diamond. But now it’s too late. Some other greedy bastard has the stone, and it will take me months to track it down.”
“You’re not lying.” Slayde said the words aloud, almost as if he needed to hear them to believe they were true. “Hell and damnation, you’re actually telling the truth.” Additional implications sank in. “Are you also going to deny taking a shot at Courtney last week? The night we were in Somerset?”
“What?” Morland countered. “Took a shot at…is that the attempted murder you were referring to?” Furiously, he shook his head. “The last I saw of that chit, she was tearing out of my home, presumably heading back to Pembourne. I never saw her again. I never knew you and she went to Somerset. And I damned well never tried to kill her.” Morland’s hands balled into fists. “Pembourne, not only are you a heartless thief, you’re also a lunatic. For months after your parents died, you hammered me with accusations—that I was a murderer, that my father was a murderer. Now, ten years later, you’ve decided to rekindle the ashes of those accusations—inspired by some sick purpose that evades me. Moreover, you’re also charging me with shooting a woman I met for but a few minutes and couldn’t give a damn about one way or the other. Well, I have no intentions of allowing you to reopen old wounds or create new ones. Your claims were demented and unfounded then; they’re demented and unfounded now. So are those of that sea captain’s daughter. The two of you can threaten me with exposure ’til the end of time. Unless you’ve manufactured nonexistent evidence to incriminate me, I have nothing to fear. Not only didn’t I try to kill her, but, for the hundredth time, I did not kill your parents.” A lethal glare. “Don’t misunderstand; I loathe the Huntleys. Murdering one of them would purge my soul and lighten my heart. But the particular one I’d have in mind would be your great-grandfather. I’d choke the location of the diamond out of him, then kill him without a shred of guilt. Unfortunately, he’s already dead. And murdering the rest of you would serve no purpose other than to vent m
y rage and condemn me to Newgate. Frankly, you’re just not worth it.”
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.”
