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All levity having vanished, Courtney shook her head. “I can’t promise you that. I can’t simply sit by and let that animal get away with what he did to Papa.”
Slayde’s scowl deepened at her reply. “Before I returned to Pembourne, I made one other stop. I hired an investigator. He and his associate will scrutinize Morland Manor twenty-four hours a day—unless Bencroft leaves the estate, in which case they’ll follow him wherever he goes, report back on whomever he meets. Between their efforts and mine, we’ll unearth that bloody pirate, I promise you.”
“If he’s Morland’s accomplice,” Courtney amended softly. “Slayde, your decision to hire an investigator was both sound and incredibly generous, and I thank you for it. But what you’ve just described fails to take one thing into account: what if Morland is innocent? What if, despite your gut instincts, he’s not involved in the theft of the black diamond? You yourself said that dozens of others have tried, and failed, to spirit the stone away. What if, this particular time, it was another person who orchestrated the theft? Then you’re watching the wrong man while the real criminal walks free. Please. Put your personal feelings aside long enough to be objective.”
Thoughtfully, Slayde weighed the credibility of Courtney’s words. “All right,” he conceded at last. “I see your point. Although my convictions haven’t lessened,” he added quickly. “So far as I’m concerned, Morland is guilty.”
“I understand. But if he’s not…”
“Very well, if he’s not…” Slayde paused, an idea sparking in his eyes. “What if I were to travel to London, seek out Bow Street and ask them to track down that pirate? I’m willing to bet he’s still on English soil. Think about it. He’d never leave the country until he’d turned over the diamond and extracted his payment. In order to accomplish that, he’d have to first sail from our meeting place on the Channel to shore, then make the transaction—not to mention the fact that he’d need time to reclaim his own ship and transport his crew and whatever cargo he pilfered from the Isabel to his vessel. All those tasks together would consume at least several days. Which means he’s probably still in England. And who better to unearth him than Bow Street?” Slayde gave a decisive nod. “I’ll ride to London first thing tomorrow and supply them with your excellent physical description of the culprit. They can begin at once. This way, if Morland really is innocent, we’ll have professionals conducting an investigation that’s separate and apart from him, one that should yield results whether or not he’s involved. Would those steps be enough to keep you from dashing off and worsening your wounds?”
Courtney resisted the urge to fling her arms about Slayde’s neck—partly because it was too soon after the devastating encounter they’d just shared and partly because of the battle she knew was about to ensue. “Those steps would be more than enough. ’Tis a splendid idea. Except for one slight modification. I’m accompanying you to London.”
“You’re what?” he thundered, looking as if she’d just suggested walking into a lion’s den. “Absolutely not.”
“Why?”
“Why? Have you any idea how long the carriage ride is from Devonshire to London? How many hours you—and your wounds—would be bounced along bumpy roads?”
“I presume you’d stop overnight at an inn.”
“After a full day of travel, and prior to another one, yes.”
“Then I’ll sleep soundly and recoup my strength.”
“No.”
“Please, Slayde.” She couldn’t stop herself; she seized his hands. “I told you, I’m nearly healed. And I’ve seen many carriages owned by the nobility—I eye them whenever the Isobel is docked—and they’re more luxurious and comfortable than this bed. I promise to rest on your cushioned seats throughout the entire trip. As for the uneven roads, at worst they’ll cause me a twinge or two. Believe me, the motion will be minor in comparison to that of a storm-tossed sea. And twinges will be heaven compared to seasickness.”
“Courtney—”
“Slayde.” Her fingers closed around his. “You’ve confronted your nightmare. Now I must confront mine. Let me come with you.”
Her final words found their mark.
For a long moment, Slayde stared down at their clasped hands. Then, he gave a slow, reluctant nod. “All right. ’Tis against my better judgment, but I’d be an utter hypocrite if I refused you. Further, I have the distinct feeling that if I don’t relent, you’ll find a way to get to London on your own.”
“I’m very resourceful,” she concurred softly. “Just ask Madame La Salle.”
A corner of Slayde’s mouth lifted. “And to think I viewed Aurora as difficult.”
Courtney smiled. “I warned you.”
“Indeed you did. Very well, Miss Johnston. Tomorrow we journey to Bow Street—both of us.”
As it was, Bow Street journeyed to them.
Matilda had just finished removing Courtney’s last bandage—and delivering her fifth lecture on the dangers of traveling so soon after being injured—when the sound of an approaching carriage reached their ears.
“Isn’t it a bit early for visitors?” Courtney inquired.
“Indeed it is.” Matilda angled Courtney’s chin so she could study her forehead. “Splendid. The gash is nearly healed. Now ’tis only an ugly cut.” She paused. “However, your ribs are still tender and you’re as weak as a kitten. If you ask me—”
“Who would come to Pembourne before seven a.m.?” Courtney interrupted, walking slowly toward the window.
A shrug. “Probably the Viscountess Stanwyk. She visits Lady Aurora now and again.” Matilda sighed deeply. “Very well, if you insist on traveling to London with Lord Pembourne, then I shall accompany you.”
“You?” Courtney turned, her brows arching in surprise. “Whatever for?”
