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“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 th
