“Yes.”
“What prompted them to deliver it to Pembourne?”
“The fact that it was addressed to me.” Slayde reached into his pocket, extracting an unsealed envelope marked The Earl of Pembourne, Pembourne Manor, Dawlish, Devonshire. Deftly, he removed the sin
gle sheet of paper within, unfolding it and offering it to Courtney.
She scanned the contents, which read:
Pembourne:
The exchange will be made tonight. Eleven p.m. Ten miles due south of Dartmouth—in the open waters of the English Channel. Take a small, unarmed boat. Come alone, accompanied only by the diamond. Heed these instructions or your sister will die.
“A ransom note,” Courtney murmured.
“Indeed. What puzzles me is that it’s identical to the one that brought me to your ship.”
Courtney inclined her head quizzically. “I don’t understand.”
“Do you recall my telling you that the week Aurora disappeared, I received several ransom notes?”
“Yes. You said only two were credible, accompanied by locks of what you assumed to be Aurora’s hair, but were, in fact, mine.”
“Exactly. And this message is a replica of the second of those notes.”
“Are you sure?”
“I committed every word to memory. Yes, I’m sure. Even the hand is the same.” He frowned. “The only difference is the date. The one I received was dated one day earlier than this one.”
“That makes no sense.” Courtney’s brow furrowed as she examined the page again. “Why would this Armon write two identical notes directing you to do the same thing on two different days? For that matter, why did he keep this note at all, rather than send it? Slayde, are you sure the notes are the same? Can we check?”
“Of course.” Slayde rose. “All the threatening letters I received are in my study.” He hesitated. “Will you be all right here for a moment?”
A slow nod. “Actually, I think I need a minute to myself.” She attempted a smile. “I’ll be fine.”
With a probing look, Slayde complied. “I shan’t be long.”
Once alone, Courtney leaned her head back on the sofa cushion, trying to assimilate the day’s developments, allowing her rampaging thoughts to unravel at will.
The pirate who’d taken all she loved was dead. Abruptly, the need to unearth him, to vent her anger and fury until they were spent, was gone. Gone also was her life—at least the one she’d known—together with the comforting semblance of stability it had contained. Her existence was in shambles, as was her emotional well-being. At the same time, physically, she was greatly improved and, thanks to Matilda’s excellent care, nearly ready to venture out.
Out—to where? To what?
Before she could embark on a future, she had to come to terms with her present, relinquish her past.
Her father was gone.
Even as she formed the thought, her heart rejected it. The fact was that acceptance had yet to supplant grief, and each unresolved question—plus her own nagging, unrealistic hope—further complicated the healing process.
The only way to stop the past from haunting her was to find a truth she could live with. But what truth was that and how in God’s name could she find it?
Mr. Scollard.
With a surge of hope, Courtney recalled Aurora’s enthusiastic depiction of the lighthouse keeper. Perhaps so wise a man could help resolve her doubts as to whether her father lived, advise her on how to proceed from here, guide her toward an answer—be it action or acceptance—so she could move ahead with her life.
Her next challenge was the present. Pembourne. She was needed here. And not only as Aurora’s companion, although she didn’t take that commitment lightly and was, in fact, looking forward to befriending Slayde’s sister. But Aurora’s scars were minimal, worn close to the surface, thereby making them easier to discern and to heal. Slayde’s scars were another matter entirely.
How long had it been since he’d allowed another person to so much as approach his walls of self-protection? Had he never before offered any part of himself other than the cursory, even prior to his parent’s horrid demise? Was it possible that she was truly the first to sense, to see the emotional depth he guarded so fiercely, the vulnerability he refused to accept?