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And if so, hadn’t she been offered a wondrous opportunity to show him what he’d been missing?
To show him? Courtney’s conscience intruded skeptically. Very well then, was her silent admission, to show us both.
The truth was undeniable. She wanted to stay close to Slayde, to explore—to rekindle—the extraordinary sensations he evoked inside her. To understand the basis for those feelings and to discover where they might lead.
A shiver of anticipation ran up her spine. Were these the incredible emotions her parents had experienced when they met? Was this the man destined to need her love, to give her his? Was this miraculous connection between them real or just an ephemeral wisp of magic conjured by mutual pain and understanding?
Why in the name of heaven was there such an abundance of questions and such a frustrating lack of answers?
“Courtney?”
She hadn’t heard Slayde return.
Her head came up, and she blinked, giving him a weak but reassuring smile. “I haven’t fainted. I was just thinking.”
“Well, we certainly have something to think about,” he replied, his expression grim. “Take a look.” Crossing over, he sank down beside her, drawing the table closer and placing the three notes side by side upon it.
Abandoning her philosophical musings, Courtney peered over Slayde’s shoulder and scrutinized the sheets of paper. “You were right. Other than the date, the second note you received and the one just delivered by Bow Street are identical.”
“No, you were right. They’re not.” He pointed at the first ransom note he’d received, then the undelivered one found on Armon’s body. “Study these two closely.” He waited for her nod. “Now inspect the middle one again. Carefully. Tell me what you see.”
For a long moment, Courtney was quiet, eyes narrowed on each individual page. Then she gasped. “The one in the middle is written in a different hand than the other two.”
“Exactly. It’s a near-perfect copy. Someone worked very hard to replicate the handwriting. But the curves of the letters, the angles—they’re slightly off, not enough to notice, unless you’re examining them together, up close, comparing one to the other, but the difference is there. Someone else wrote this second note.”
“Wait.” Courtney shook her head, then frowned as it began to throb. “You’re saying that whoever wrote the first and third notes were one and the same person—someone other than whoever wrote the second note.”
“Yes. And stop shaking your head. You’ll aggravate whatever’s left of the concussion.”
Courtney scarcely heard the admonishment. “If Armon kept the final note, never sending it, I presume he substituted the second note in its stead.”
“And had that substitute delivered to me on the day I sailed out to the Isobel.”
“Then who penned the others?”
“Whoever orchestrated this scheme. My guess is he gave them to Armon with orders to have the first note delivered just after Aurora left Pembourne, the next on the day before her return.”
“But Slayde,”—Courtney frowned—“that presumes this other person knew of Aurora’s plans to travel to London.”
“Indeed it does.”
“How? Who?”
“We’ll have to put that question to Aurora. My immediate response would be that Elinore must have been aware of the upcoming trip; after all, Aurora sought her out as both transport and chaperon. And since Elinore hadn’t a clue that the whole excursion was Aurora’s little secret, she might have mentioned the forthcoming trip to anyone.” Slayde’s expression hardened, his eyes glittering dangerously. “Of course, there could be another explanation. The orchestrator of this scheme could have been someone seeking vengeance badly enough to scrutinize Pembourne, not only over the past fortnight, but continuously. Someone who studied Aurora’s restless comings and goings and deduced that it was just a matter of time before she performed a foolhardy stunt like dashing off to London with Elmore. And when she did, he jumped on the opportunity, giving Armon the first ransom note and following Elinore’s carriage to London. There, he had only to stay close enough to Aurora to learn how long she intended to stay in town, then dispatch the next note to Armon while remaining in London to ensure that Aurora’s plans didn’t change.”
Courtney’s brows arched in response to Slayde’s farfetched explanation. “I needn’t ask who you believe that ‘someone’ is.”
“No. You needn’t.”
“ ’Tis very little fact and much speculation.”
“All of which makes sense.”
“Not completely. Putting aside Morland’s involvement—or lack thereof—let’s say you’re right and Armon penned the second note as a way to subvert the third. Why, then, didn’t he destroy the latter? Why was he keeping it?”
“I suspect he didn’t pen the second note himself but had it copied. Probably by a damned good forger who used the third note as a prototype before returning the original to Armon, who then paid him to send the well-crafted replacement to me after the Fortune had gone in pursuit of your ship. Which would explain why the undelivered note was still in Armon’s possession.”
“By predating the replacement by a day, Armon managed to seize the stone while his colleague was still in London,” Courtney mused aloud. “Giving Armon time to bolt before his actions were discovered.”
