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It was Matilda’s turn to look amazed. “To chaperon you, of course. You can’t very well journey alone with the earl. You’re a single young lady with a reputation to consider.”
“A reputation?” Courtney’s shoulders began to shake with laughter. “Oh, Matilda, I have no reputation, nor do I care a whit about one. The sole year I spent as a proper young lady was at a boarding school that would rather endure a plague than readmit me. The remainder of my life, I’ve been at sea. I’m hardly in danger of being compromised by traveling with Lord Pembourne.”
“Still, I’ll…”
Strained male voices drifted up through the open window.
“That can’t be Lady Stanwyk,” Courtney murmured, peering out. “Oh, God.” All the color drained from her face. “Matilda, Slayde is talking to a gentleman in uniform. The uniform looks like one of those worn by Bow Street.”
Ignoring her physical discomfort, Courtney gathered up her newly donned skirts and made her way to the door. “I’m going downstairs,” she announced in a tone that precluded argument.
“I’ll assist you.” Matilda scurried to her side.
By the time they reached the foot of the stairs, Slayde and his visitor had entered the manor and were conversing heatedly. Slayde’s expression was grim, while the stocky uniformed gentleman looked decidedly uneasy, shifting from one foot to the other
and hanging near the entrance like a scared rabbit longing to bolt. Courtney paused, not merely to study the men, but to clutch the banister in an attempt to still her swimming head and trembling limbs.
“Are you all right, Miss Courtney?” Matilda asked with a worried frown.
“Fine, Matilda. I’m just regathering my strength.”
Hearing their voices, Slayde glanced up, his dark scowl growing darker. “Courtney.”
She braced herself for what she assumed would be an admonishment about overexerting herself.
It never came.
Without another word, Slayde walked rigidly toward them, taking Courtney’s arm and nodding a curt dismissal at Matilda. “I’ll take over from here.”
“Very good, m’lord,” the lady’s maid replied. “I’ll pack Miss Courtney’s bag for your trip.”
“No. Don’t.”
Courtney started at the harshness of Slayde’s tone.
So did Matilda. “But I…that is—”
“Forgive my rudeness, Matilda,” Slayde interrupted, clearly trying to make amends, at the same time ending the conversation. “But packing is no longer necessary.”
“As you wish, sir.” With a bewildered curtsy, the maid hastened off.
“Slayde?” Courtney searched his face, a tight knot of dread forming in the pit of her stomach. She could both feel and see the tension emanating from him—tension that told her something significant had occurred. “What is it? What’s happened?”
“Come with me.” Looping his arm firmly about her waist—whether for physical or emotional support, Courtney wasn’t certain—Slayde led her down the marble hallway to where the uniformed gentleman hovered. “Rainer, this is Miss Johnston. The matter on which you’ve come to Pembourne concerns her as well.” Glancing at Courtney, he added, “Mr. Rainer is from Bow Street.”
“Mr. Rainer.” Courtney could hear her voice quaver.
“Miss Johnston.” The square-shouldered man scarcely acknowledged her. He was too busy gauging his distance to the front door.
Icily, Slayde gestured across the hall. “The yellow salon is comfortable and nearby. Let’s talk in there.”
Rainer froze, then retreated two steps backward. “That won’t be necessary. I’ve given you the information and the note. There’s nothing further—”
“I beg to differ with you.” Slayde’s eyes blazed silver sparks. “There’s quite a bit yet to discuss, as I’m sure Miss Johnston will agree once she’s heard the reason for your visit. Five minutes of your time is all I require.” A bitter pause. “Rest assured, the yellow salon is quite safe. In my experience, curses afflict people, not homes. Further, unlike illness, curses are not contagious.”
The Bow Street man had the good grace to flush…although he made no move to advance farther into the manor. “My instructions were to deliver the note and return to London at once.”
Slayde’s jaw tightened. “To further investigate the matter?”
