She was in Slayde’s arms, where she belonged, crushed against his body, her heart pounding against his. His mouth devoured hers, took possession without asking, savored every tingling surface. His hands swept over her, cupping her breasts, stroking her nipples until they hardened against his thumbs.
&nb
sp; “I can’t keep my hands off you,” he muttered thickly, tangling his fingers in her hair, tilting it back to give him access to her throat, her shoulders, the pulse in her neck. “Every time I’m near you, this is all I want.” He felt her shiver and raised his head, frowning. “Am I hurting you? Your ribs?”
“No.” She caressed his jaw, the soft hair at his nape. “You could never hurt me. Slayde, I—”
“Listen to me,” he interrupted, his features hardening with determination. “I’m going to answer all the questions you came in here to ask. Then, you’re going to turn around and leave—before I lock that damned door and take you to bed. Do you understand?”
A surge of heat shot through her. “I understand. Whether I comply is another story.”
“You must comply. I won’t let this happen, Courtney. I will not do this to you.”
“You wouldn’t be doing this to me. We’d be doing it to each other.”
Slayde smiled faintly. “Trust me, sweetheart; it’s not the same thing.”
“Why? Because your reputation doesn’t matter and mine does?”
“Because of all the reasons I enumerated yesterday. Because I want you to know only happiness for the rest of your life.” A spasm of pain crossed his face. “Because I’m so bloody in love with you that it staggers me.” He released her, turned away. “Don’t say anything. Just let me talk. Then walk out of here. After that—” He swallowed. “I’ll be leaving for London at first light. I’ll be away from Pembourne for nearly a week, time enough to regain my damned self-control.”
“You’re going to London?” Courtney was still reeling from the impact of his declaration. He loved her. He loves me. ’Twas the greatest miracle of her life. “Why?” she asked, squelching the joy she longed to express. “Why are you going? Because of me?”
“No—although, Lord knows I can’t seem to be around you without behaving like a callow youth. I’m going to London because of what I learned today from my Morland investigator. Apparently, Bencroft made a trip into Newton Abbot yesterday. He met with his banker and solicitor, who, I soon discovered, left for London immediately following that meeting. I intend to find out why.”
“Do you think there’s a connection between their actions and the black diamond?”
“I’m sure of it.” Slayde pivoted to face her. “Consider all the facts—which you now have—and suppose for the moment Morland is guilty. If he’d made an attempt to trade the diamond for money, he would have discovered it to be a fraud. Word would have reached us. Morland would have reached us. So, obviously no exchange has been made. My guess is that Morland intends to fulfill his grandfather’s original objective: to turn the stone over to Russia—to the royal family who paid for its recovery, thereby accomplishing two ends: reaping his family’s share of the payment and ridding them of the curse.”
Courtney’s brow furrowed. “Where do the duke’s banker and solicitor fit into this?”
“Provisions must be made. Specifically, the stone must be shipped, requiring someone to make the necessary arrangements with a discreet shipping company. A huge sum of money would then arrive in Morland’s name. Someone must receive it, place it carefully and quietly in the bank, perhaps transfer a portion of it to Newton Abbot.”
“I see,” Courtney breathed. “So you’re traveling to London to make inquiries, to see about any unusual, last-minute shipments leaving for the continent.”
“Or any unusual meetings taking place between Morland’s banker and other bank officials,” Slayde added. “As for Oridge, he’ll be traveling with me. He thought of a likelihood neither you nor I did: the prospect of Armon’s men sailing to London to sell the booty they stole from the Isobel before they bolted to parts unknown.”
“Wouldn’t that be risky?”
“They’re pirates, Courtney. Their priority is the money they make off their pillaging. If they can line their pockets with silver before leaving English waters, they will. Besides, as Oridge reminded me, why would they assume they were being tracked down? When Armon left the Fortune, he had the black diamond in his possession. If he was intercepted, ’twould be the interceptor who had the stone, not the crew. Thus, they wouldn’t feel the least bit threatened.”
“Then my whole theory about their fleeing like the wind is wrong.” Courtney’s eyes lit up. “Perhaps they can be readily apprehended after all.”
“Oridge’s hope exactly. He intends to make several visits in London in the hopes that the pirates will still be about. If not, he’ll determine when they left and sail after them straightaway.”
“And you?” Courtney asked softly. “What will you do once you’ve gotten the answers you seek? Return to Pembourne? Or continue to run away from something you can’t escape and shouldn’t want to?”
Slayde tensed. “I think I’ve answered your questions—at least those for which I have answers. Now go to bed.”
“You have,” she replied, remaining perfectly still, holding him with her gaze alone. “All but the last. You even answered the wondrous question that’s plagued me for days.” She raised her chin, willing him to see the magnitude of her feelings. “Now it’s my turn. I love you, Slayde. With all my heart. And no matter how hard you fight it, how far you travel, that love will be here when you return.” She rose on tiptoe, kissed him softly. “Godspeed.”
Chapter 10
THE REST OF THE week passed in startling contrasts; as Courtney’s body healed, her heart ached.
Days were lovely, filled with visits from Elinore, long talks with Aurora, and strolls about the grounds that increased in number and duration as the week progressed.
Nights, however, were endless, plagued by worry, filled with nightmares in which her father was calling out to her, needing her, his image rapidly changing to one of Slayde, doing the same. Time after time, Courtney would awaken in a sweat, huddling in the center of the bed until her breathing slowed and her pulse stopped racing. Then she’d turn up the lamp, fumble for her timepiece, and cling to it desperately, wondering why the dreams were intensifying rather than diminishing.