Slayde watched her sea-green eyes grow vague, then drift shut, and he was accosted by that same oddly bemused feeling he’d experienced earlier—odd because he wasn’t a man given to emotion, nor to personal affinities of any kind. In fact, Aurora’s assessment of him had been quite right. He was a loner, a man who relied upon only himself for constancy. Never until this moment had he ever tried so hard to convince a woman to stay with him, nor had he every truly cared if one did. Further, he’d certainly never requested that anyone—woman or man—address him by his given name. And yet he’d just done both, with a woman who was, in her own words, a virtual stranger.
Why?
Could it be the chord of memory she struck within him? Doubtful. He’d recovered from his parents’ deaths years ago.
Perhaps he felt responsible for her. He had, as fate had deemed, saved her life. That idea was even more farfetched than the first. Decency, after all, was not a forbearer of sentiment.
Then what?
Pulling up a chair, Slayde lowered himself into it, leaning forward and searching Courtney’s face, as if for an answer. She was peaceful now, half asleep and un-haunted by demons, her bandaged brow unfurrowed, her breathing slow and even.
His reply to Aurora with regard to Courtney’s beauty had been a lie. Despite the inhibiting bandages, Courtney Johnston was clearly lovely, her features delicate and exquisitely formed, her cheekbones high, her lips soft and full. Her figure was equally delicate, as he’d discovered firsthand—so slight he wondered how she’d withstood the hardships of the past week. Still, beneath that fragile exterior, he sensed a strength that rivaled his own, a strength that would pull her through whatever lay ahead and ensure that, somehow, she survived.
Without thinking, Slayde reached out and captured one red-gold tress, staring at it in surprise as he did. Another first-time gesture. He’d never been compelled to touch a woman’s hair before. In fact, he wasn’t given to touching at all, other than during a sexual liaison, and even then his urge for physical contact was rooted in carnality rather than intimacy and limited to those moments when passion dominated all else. Yet in one day, he’d impulsively enfolded this woman in his arms not once, but twice, and now had an unprecedented urge to explore the silky texture of her hair. Hair that, upon closer inspection, was not at all the fiery color of Aurora’s, but a more subtle, vivid combination of warm reds, shimmering golds, and honey browns. Slowly, he let the strands glide free of his fingers, until, one by one, they dropped onto the pillow and fanned out beside her in a blazing waterfall.
“I’m resting,” Courtney announced, eyes closed, words slurred.
“So I see.” A faint smile played about Slayde’s lips. For whatever reason, he was drawn to this woman. And because of that—and his own longstanding suspicions—he’d help her find the bastard who killed her father, along with whoever had paid him to recover the black diamond. God help Lawrence Bencroft if he was that man.
Sea foam trailed soundlessly into the hollow cove. Just within, the dark figure paced, then halted, emitting a savage curse and slamming one gloved fist against the stone wall.
Damnit. Where is that wretched pirate? He’s had more than enough time. He was supposed to be here hours ago with the diamond—My diamond. The one I’ve awaited forever. Well, I don’t intend to wait another day. He’d best show up. Soon. If he dares try to defy me, he’ll die. Others have. Others will.
Chapter 4
“AURORA, MEET OUR HOUSEGUEST, Courtney Johnston. Courtney, my sister, Aurora.”
“I’m so glad to meet you.” Aurora sailed around Slayde and approached Courtney’s bed. Pausing, she fingered the folds of her gown, softly adding, “I’m terribly sorry for all you’ve been through.”
A wave of warmth pervaded Courtney’s heart. “Thank you,” she murmured. “And I’m delighted to meet you, too.”
There was nothing average about Aurora Huntley, Courtney decided with an inward smile. She was a striking beauty, her looks every bit as vivid as the personality Slayde had depicted in his exasperated description. Her hair was a vibrant red-gold, her eyes wide, a deep turquoise blue, setting off a bold, uncompromising brow and refined, aristocratic features. In fact, delicacy and coloring notwithstanding, she looked quite a bit like Slayde.
As if reading Courtney’s mind, Aurora, who had been studying Courtney in return, pronounced, “I don’t think we resemble each other at all.”
“I agree.”
“You’re what Elinore describes as the kind of woman who most other, terribly jealous women refer to as ‘a classic beauty’—bandages or not.”
Courtney blinked. “I? Funny, I was about to say the same about you.” Her slender brows drew together. “Forgive me, but who is Elinore?”
“Aurora’s connection to the fashionable world,” Slayde inserted dryly.
Aurora shot him a look. “May I visit with Miss Johnston alone?”
“If she’s willing.” Slayde cast an inquisitive glance at Courtney.
“I’d enjoy talking with Lady Aurora,” Courtney assured him.
He hesitated.
Aurora rolled her eyes to the heavens. “Don’t worry, Slayde. I shan’t spirit our houseguest off to parts unknown.”
“How comforting.” With that, Slayde opened the door and stepped out. “You have a quarter hour.”
The door shut behind him.
“As you can see, my brother and I are quite different,” Aurora began without preliminaries. Drawing up a chair, she settled herself beside Courtney’s bed.