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“Courtney? Are you in pain?”
“No.” In truth, she was
fading fast, but she wasn’t about to reveal that to Slayde—not in view of the plan she’d just formed. “I’m a bit tired, but I’m fine.” She drew a shaky breath, trying to regain a semblance of strength. “Are we in agreement, then? I’ll stay behind; you bring the investigator to Pembourne tonight.”
“Agreed.”
“Good.” Courtney rose—slowly, this time—accepting Slayde’s proffered hand in order to sustain her balance. “Then I shall return to my chambers at once, to rest up for Aurora’s arrival. You leave for Dartmouth now.”
Slayde wrapped his arm around her waist. “I will. After I’ve escorted you to your room and made certain you don’t swoon.” His meaningful look told Courtney her false bravado hadn’t been the slightest bit convincing. “I’m glad you prefer honesty. You’re a deplorable liar. Now lean against me or you’ll never manage the stairs.”
With a wave of gratitude—and something more, Courtney complied. “A deplorable liar? Admittedly so, my lord.” She paused, tilting her face up to his. “You, on the other hand, are a far too accomplished one. You’ve not only fooled the world, you’ve even fooled yourself. Thank goodness, you’ve just met someone you can’t fool—me.”
Stunned disbelief flashed across Slayde’s features.
Courtney gestured toward the doorway. “Shall we attempt the stairs?”
For a long moment, Slayde remained silent, and Courtney could actually feel the tension rippling through him.
Abruptly, he nodded. “Yes. You’re exhausted.”
Without another word, he guided her from the salon, up the stairs to her room. There, he turned her over to Matilda’s able care. “Rest” was all he said before turning on his heel and leaving the bedchamber.
Perhaps she’d overstepped her bounds after all, Courtney mused a half-hour later, sinking gratefully into the bed’s softness. But instinct told her she’d done the right thing. Slayde needed awakening…and awakened he would be.
Yawning, she snuggled under the covers, fatigue descending upon her like a heavy blanket. Her limbs felt weak as water, her eyelids drooping, half closed. In the distance, she heard Slayde’s phaeton round the drive, then head away from the manor—toward the answers they sought, she hoped.
She wouldn’t fight sleep. She’d give in to it, restore her strength.
Then later, she’d relay her intentions to Aurora, who would be unquestionably diverted and eager to assist in a venture she herself had proposed: getting Courtney to the lighthouse.
And to Mr. Scollard.
Chapter 7
“COURTNEY? ARE YOU AWAKE yet?”
Stirring from a half-sleep, Courtney lifted her head from the pillow and blinked. “I think so, yes.” She brushed tendrils of hair from her face and gestured for Aurora to come in. “What time is it?”
“Half after eleven.” Aurora entered, shutting the door with a guilty expression. “You’ve been asleep since I arrived home at nine. And Matilda will never forgive me if she knows I awakened you.”
“Half after eleven!” Courtney pushed herself into a sitting position, glancing at the clock for confirmation. “That’s impossible. The last time I looked it was twenty past eight.”
“Evidently, you were wearier than you realized.” Crossing over, Aurora perched in a nearby chair. “From all the activity that took place at Pembourne this morning,” she prompted meaningfully.
Courtney began to laugh. “Aurora, you look like a hopeful pup awaiting a treat. Has no one filled you in on anything yet?”
“No. Slayde is nowhere to be found, and not one of the servants can—or will—provide the answers I seek.” Another expectant look. “Can you?”
“What would you like to know?”
“To begin, why was Bow Street here? What did they want? Did it pertain to your father? Your ship? The black diamond? Were they here to meet with you, or Slayde? How did they hear of your whereabouts? Did you learn anything? Will they be back?”
“Only that?” Courtney teased. “Very well, I’ll answer your questions.” Recalling Mr. Rainer’s fleeting but critical visit, she sobered. “Bow Street was here because they found the pirate who took over my father’s ship. And ’twas Slayde they came to see; they didn’t even know of my existence.”
“But if they found the pirate…didn’t he confess?”
“He couldn’t. He was dead—shot in the chest.”
