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Morland’s lips thinned into a grim line. “Did Pembourne send you?”
“No,” she countered, intentionally amplifying her voice to a shrill pitch in order to suggest rising hysteria—although, God help her, she didn’t have too much pretending to do. “I came on my own. I’m the woman Armon passed off as Aurora Huntley so he could steal that wretched stone.” Courtney met Morland’s gaze, her heart slamming so hard against her ribs she could scarcely breathe. “There’s no point in denying it. Armon himself told me you’d paid him to confiscate the diamond. He also gloated to me, again and again, that he had no intentions of sharing the stone with you, that he meant to sell it and flee the country. He called you a stupid old fool.”
Morland’s expression remained unchanged. “You’re obviously deranged,” he assessed calmly. “Either that, or you’re working with Pembourne in some sick attempt to malign me. He, too, burst into my home raving about a pirate I supposedly paid to extort the black diamond from the Huntleys. Now that I reflect upon it, he bellowed something about housing the daughter of a murdered sea captain at Pembourne. You, doubtless, are that homeless chit. Very well, I’ll play along with your amateur theatrics and tell you precisely what I told your cohort, or your keeper, or whatever role Pembourne has assumed in your life. I never met this fellow, ‘Armon.’ However, if he did manage to wrest the jewel away from the Huntleys in order to restore it to its proper owner, I commend the man. And if escape is what he seeks, I certainly ho
pe he finds it.”
“He’s dead,” Courtney spat. “But you know that. After all, you killed him.”
A stony silence. Then: “I killed no one.”
“Liar,” Courtney accused, her voice shaking as she delivered her final blow. “You killed my father. You killed Armon. And ten years ago, you killed the Earl and Countess of Pembourne.”
That got a reaction. Morland turned three shades of red, his eyes ablaze with hatred, his fists clenching violently at his sides.
At that moment, he looked every bit the murderer.
“What did you say?” he ground out through clenched teeth.
“I know everything,” Courtney blurted, mentally gauging her distance to the entranceway door. Lord, she hoped Aurora was standing vigil. “I found Armon’s journal. Your entire plan to blackmail Lord Pembourne out of the diamond is outlined—fully—including your name and the extent of your involvement.” Perceiving Morland’s escalating rage, she sought the courage to continue. She pictured her father’s face, the anguish in Slayde’s eyes, thereby finding the incentive she needed. “The moment I read that journal, I vowed to make you pay for Papa’s death. So I delved into your activities, your past, your family—and I found precisely what I needed, with little effort, I might add. Obviously, Bow Street didn’t conduct too thorough an investigation. Else they, too, would have found the irrefutable evidence I did.”
“What irrefutable evidence?” Morland thundered.
“Proof that you and your father cold-bloodedly murdered the late Earl and Countess of Pembourne.” Courtney took two subtle backward steps toward the door, her palm raised. “Don’t bother denying it. My proof is as conclusive as if you’d been caught standing over the bodies, sword in hand.” She retreated until her fingers closed around the door handle. “Here’s my ultimatum, Your Grace,”—she spat out the formal address—“either you publicly admit that you paid Armon to commit his crime, which would convict you only of being a thief and an indirect accomplice to Papa’s drowning, or I’ll provide Bow Street with every shred of evidence I have. At which point, you’ll be arrested and hung for murder.”
Morland made a harsh sound deep in his throat, then took two steps in her direction.
It was more than enough.
Courtney flung open the door and bolted.
Tearing down the hall, she nearly plowed through Thayer, yanking open the entranceway door and dashing down the steps and across the drive.
“Courtney! Over here, by the phaeton!”
Her head jerked in the direction of Aurora’s voice, and she rushed toward it. Shoving tree branches aside, she retraced her steps at a dead run, praying she’d recall the spot where they’d hidden the carriage.
She collided with a solid chest and a pair of muscular arms.
“Don’t scream,” Aurora advised hurriedly as Courtney struggled to free herself. “Rayburn is Slayde’s investigator.”
Courtney ceased her struggles. Still gasping for breath, she tilted back her head, meeting the grim stare of a stocky, square-jawed man.
“Are you all right, Miss Johnston?” he asked tersely.
“I think so.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Morland could still be following me.”
“Then let’s not take any chances.” Rayburn hoisted both women into the phaeton, then climbed in and took up the reins. “We’ll be at Pembourne in record time.”
Rayburn was true to his word.
Twenty-five minutes later, they sped through Pembourne’s gates and raced up the drive.
The phaeton halted at the entranceway door.
Aurora glanced at the manor, then uneasily at Courtney. “I’m suddenly not terribly eager to go in.”
“Nor am I.” Courtney had finally stopped shaking about ten minutes past. Now, visualizing Slayde’s reaction to the news of where they’d been, she wondered if she’d been safer at Morland.
