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With a slight grimace, Courtney pushed herself to her feet and sidestepped the end table. Waiting only until her ribs had finished clamoring their protest, she tied the sash of her wrapper and maneuvered her way across the room. A brief respite to steady herself. Then, she gripped the door handle and eased open the door.
She nearly collided with Slayde in the hallway.
“What are you doing out of bed?” he demanded.
Courtney tilted back her head until she could meet his disapproving gaze. In truth, she hadn’t realized just how tall he was until now. Then again, this was the first time she’d been on her feet in his presence. “I was on my way to speak with you,” she replied. “I knew you’d returned; I saw your phaeton round the drive beneath my window. I had to know what you’d found out.”
He scowled. “Very little.” Reflexively, he grasped her elbows, urged her to retrace her steps. “You shouldn’t be up.”
“But I am. I have been since noontime. I intend to be until dusk. So don’t bother escorting me back to that prison of a bed. I want to hear everything that’s happened. And I want to hear it in an upright position.”
Slayde’s dark brows lifted, a twinge of amusement easing the taut lines about his mouth. “Evidently, you’re healing. I begin to see signs of the tyrant Madame La Salle rejoiced in bidding good-bye.”
“I am.”
“You are—which? Healing or a tyrant?”
Courtney smiled in spite of herself. “Both.” She pointed at the mahogany end table. “See how much better I am? I was enjoying my afternoon refreshment in a chair.”
“Then let’s restore you to it and we’ll have our conversation.”
“All right.” She allowed herself to be eased back into the seat, unable to deny the incredible relief her body experienced as it relinquished the burden of standing.
“Better?” Slayde drew up a second chair and joined her.
“Much. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Their gazes locked, and Courtney felt a jolt of awareness rush through her, memories of last night darting dangerously close to the surface. Slayde was remembering, too; she could tell by the intensity of his gaze, the tension suddenly pervading his powerful frame.
With a visible effort, he looked away, clearing his throat and surveying the bedchamber. “I’m surprised my sister isn’t glued to your side. I rather expected she’d spend the day regaling you with Mr. Scollard’s fanciful tales.”
“She was. She did.” Following Slayde’s lead, Courtney complied with the change in subject. “Aurora was with me all morning. Just before noon, she left to…” A delicate pause.
“…To visit the Windmouth Lighthouse,” he supplied. “Her customary destination. Courtney, your loyalty is commendable. But you needn’t worry about betraying Aurora’s confidences. My staff is well paid and equally well instructed. All of my sister’s actions are reported immediately upon my return to Pembourne.”
“Don’t you think that’s a bit restrictive?”
Slayde’s jaw tightened. “Restrictive, but not excessive. Given the situation, it’s the way things must be.”
Courtney bit her lip to stifle the argument she felt coming on. Slayde’s overseeing of Aurora was none of her business. Further, she understood that his overprotectiveness was rooted in love, love and concern for Aurora’s safety.
Which reminded her of the pressing issue: Slayde’s trip to Morland.
“Did you see the duke?” She leaned forward to ask.
“Oh, I saw him all right.” With a brooding expression, Slayde stretched his legs out in front of him. “But the visit was far from what I expected.”
“What do you mean?”
Courtney listened intently as Slayde relayed the entire day’s events to her, from his subtle questioning of the merchants in Newton Abbot to his ugly and unresolved confrontation with Morland.
“You think he’s hiding something,” Courtney deduced, when Slayde had finished.
“I damned well do
. Why else would he suddenly and conveniently be resurrecting his life?”
