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A surprised blink. “What matter? The death of a noted scoundrel? Frankly, my lord, we have real crimes to deal with—crimes against the innocent.”
“Like my parents, you mean.”
Rainer sucked in his breath. “That was a terrible tragedy, the earl and countess being killed in their own home. Unfortunately, the thief who committed the murder left no trace of his identity. Bow Street did all it could.”
“Of course you did,” Slayde mocked. Releasing Courtney, he strode around and flung the front door wide. “Go, then. You’ve done all you could—once again.”
Ignoring the sarcasm, Rainer nodded, nearly knocking Slayde down in his haste to comply. “Good day, my lord.”
He darted from the manor into his waiting carriage.
Seconds later, it disappeared around the drive.
Courtney walked over, watching the play of emotions cross Slayde’s face. Gently, she touched his sleeve. “Why was Mr. Rainer here?”
Slowly, Slayde turned, gazing down at Courtney’s hand and blinking as he recalled her presence. “He saved us a journey.” With a weary sigh, he took her arm. “Let’s sit down. You’re weak, and this conversation is going to take some time. Despite Rainer’s ludicrous claim to the contrary, the reason for his visit was anything but perfunctory.”
“All right.” Courtney bit her lip to keep from blurting out a million questions. But once she was settled on a cushioned settee in the yellow salon, she could no longer contain herself. “Slayde, please. My imagination is reeling. Tell me what’s happened. Why was Bow Street here and why aren’t we going to London?”
Slayde lowered himself beside her, gripping his knees and meeting her gaze. “Because the pirate we were hoping to unearth is dead.”
“Dead?”
“Yes. The description Rainer gave me matches yours exactly—right down to the ring on his finger.”
Courtney swallowed, trying to absorb this unexpected development. “Who was he?” she asked woodenly. Abruptly, the questions began spilling forth on their own. “How did he die? Who found him? Where? Did he say anything before he died, give us a clue to the Isobel’s fate?”
“He was Sewell Armon, long known as a privateer. He and his ship, the Fortune, were evidently notorious for seizing vessels all over the world, taking prisoners and booty. His body was found in a deserted alley in Dartmouth, about thirty miles from here—by a group of urchins scrounging for food. He was already dead; he’d been shot in the chest.”
“I see.” Courtney rubbed her temples, a twinge of relief instantly supplanted by the horrible realization that with Armon dead, her hopes of learning anything about the fate of the Isobel were extinguished.
Coming to his feet, Slayde crossed over and poured two goblets of brandy, pressing one into Courtney’s hand. “Drink this.”
Feeling oddly dazed, she accepted the glass, taking two healthy swallows. “Now I’ll never find Papa,” she whispered.
“Courtney, that bastard hadn’t an inkling of what might or might not have happened to your father after he’d been thrown overboard. His only thought was to procure the black diamond.”
“But he did know what happened to our ship, our crew.”
Roughly, Slayde cleared his throat. “From Rainer’s description, Armon wasn’t known for leaving evidence in his wake.”
“Evidence. Do you mean vessels or people?”
“Both.”
Courtney’s eyes squeezed shut, everything inside her going cold at the image of her home, her friends, being destroyed. “Then it’s over.” Her lashes lifted, the pain of loss swamping her in great, untamed waves. “No, actually it’s not. You were right. It will never be over.”
Placing their glasses on a side table, Slayde gathered her against him, pressing her cheek to his waistcoat and gently stroking her hair. “The grief will dim. It won’t consume you forever. Nor will the hatred—not with Armon dead.”
“Retribution is a poor substitute for having my life back. But you knew that already, didn’t you?”
“Only because I spent years forcing myself to remember it, to think rationally. In truth, with or without proof, I hungered to tear down Morland’s doors and choke the life out of him. But what good would it have done? I’d be in Newgate, and my parents would still be gone.”
Slayde’s explanation prompted a thought. “What about the black diamond?” Courtney demanded, leaning back to scrutinize his face. “Did Bow Street recover it when they found Armon’s body?”
Silence.
Realization struck. “It wasn’t there, was it? The stone was gone, seized by whoever killed him.” Courtney’s racing mind didn’t await a reply. “I heard Mr. Rainer mention something about a note. Did they find that note on Armon’s person?”
