AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Tell Matilda to get some rest,” the earl advised. “I’ll administer Miss Johnston’s next dose of laudanum. Once the medicine takes effect, she’ll sleep until midafternoon, so neither you nor Matilda will be needed. However, once Miss Johnston awakens, perhaps the two of you could entice her to eat some toast.”
“Of course,” the housekeeper agreed immediately. “ ’Twould be a pleasure, my lord.” With a polite smile in Courtney’s direction, she took her leave.
The earl gave Courtney another probing look. “Is the pain severe?”
“I can bear it, if that’s what you mean. Ask your questions. The laudanum can wait a few minutes.”
“Damn, I feel like a cad,” he muttered.
?
??Don’t. Obviously your concerns are serious.”
“Serious? Yes. Or I wouldn’t be pressuring you like this.” A pause. “My sister’s life is at stake.”
“Your sister?” It was the last thing Courtney had expected.
“Yes. The pirate who seized your ship used you as bait. He wanted something from me, something quite valuable. And he’s not alone. Hundreds of greedy bastards want the same prize. And one of them—I don’t know who—kidnapped Aurora. Hell, he might even kill her, and all to get his hands on that bloody gem.”
Gem. Another vivid recollection fell into place. The pirate…taunting her with instant death if whoever he was awaiting didn’t deliver the requisite stone. “Of course,” Courtney murmured, “that jewel he kept muttering about.”
“He spoke to you?” Her rescuer lunged forward like a panther.
Courtney gazed into the handsome, tormented face. “Only in fragments.” At last, she gave voice to the question she’d wanted to ask a dozen times since awakening in the fishing boat, had that question not vanished into nothingness each time she’d tried to speak it. “Who are you?”
For a moment, he seemed not to have heard. Then, he replied, “Slayde Huntley. The Earl of Pembourne.”
“Huntley…” Reflexively, Courtney came up off the bed, then sank back on the pillows with a moan.
“I see you’ve heard of me. I needn’t ask in what context. Although I am a bit surprised. I hadn’t realized my family history was nefarious enough to reach all who travel abroad.”
“I’m not traveling. The Isobel is my home, and its captain—Arthur Johnston—is my father. Was,” she corrected herself, her voice breaking. “Now I’ve lost them both.”
Something flickered in Lord Pembourne’s eyes—a glimmer of the past, a flash of remembered anguish. “You have my deepest sympathy. It’s obvious your father meant a great deal to you.” The offering was straightforward, uttered in a thoroughly composed tone. Perhaps Courtney only imagined the compassion that hovered just beneath the surface, given what she’d just learned—who he was, the stories she recalled of his own tragic past. Perhaps that tragedy was long forgotten, his empathy a mere trick of her mind. But, valid or not, her fleeting perception was enough to dissolve the final thread of her self-control.
Covering her face with her hands, she burst into tears, sobbing as if her heart would break, ignoring the increased pounding in her head and ribs induced by her actions.
She felt the earl hesitate, then walk around and reach for her, drawing her against him until her face was buried in the wool of his coat. Gratefully, she accepted this small measure of comfort. “I’m sorry,” she choked out.
“No. I’m sorry.” Gently, he cradled her head to still any sudden, jarring motions. “If I could undo this loss for you, I would.”
“He can’t be gone.” Her hands balled into fists, digging into Slayde’s shirtfront. “He isn’t gone. I won’t believe it.”
“I know,” Slayde replied, with a conviction only firsthand experience could afford. “And you don’t think you can withstand it. But you can. Not now, but later. For now, cry. Cry until the tears are gone.”
Courtney did just that, weeping until there was nothing left inside her, nothing but a hopeless, unending void.
At last, she drew back, gratefully taking Slayde’s proffered handkerchief. “You’ve been more than generous, Lord Pembourne. Once again, I thank you.” Shakily, she eased herself down to the pillows. “I’ll tell you everything I recall. It’s the least I can do.”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “Are you up to it?”
“Yes.”
He pulled over a chair and sat, fingers gripping his knees. “Tell me what happened—the details.”
Ghosts haunted her eyes. “That monster and his crewmen—I believe there were about six of them—boarded the Isobel…”
“When?”
