The very thought made Slayde’s blood run cold. On its heels came a jolt of self-disgust and an explosion of denial. No. Absolutely not. He didn’t care how emphatically Oridge had cautioned him. There were certain members of his staff whose loyalty he refused to question. Siebert was one. He’d been with the Huntleys since before Slayde was born, overseen Pembourne with unfailing pride, discipline, and principles, demonstrating nothing but honesty and dedication for nearly four decades.
If Siebert said Morland was drunk, then drunk he was.
With a muttered oath, Slayde resumed pacing.
“Oh, and one other thing, sir,” Siebert added, oblivious to Slayde’s inner turmoil. “Mr. Rayburn was at Pembourne, as well. He followed the duke from Morland.”
“Of course—Rayburn!” Slayde exclaimed. “I completely forgot. Did he stay hidden? Or was Morland aware of his presence?”
“His Grace was aware of nothing.” Siebert sniffed. “That fact notwithstanding, he was restricted to the doorway, his back facing the grounds, and Mr. Rayburn, throughout his tirade. I spied Rayburn because he intended me to. He gestured to me from the shrubs, alerting me to his presence lest I need assistance. Needless to say, I didn’t. Given the duke’s wretched physical state, I was able to escort him to his carriage within minutes and without the aid of so much as a footman.”
“I’ve got to ride to Morland.” Slayde’s frown deepened. “Not only to meet with Rayburn, but to hear firsthand what Bencroft has to say. However, I won’t leave Courtney unguarded.”
“Sir?” Siebert inclined his head quizzically. “Is Miss Johnston in danger?”
Feeling Oridge’s warning look, Slayde answered, “Siebert, you of all people know my contempt for Lawrence Bencroft. I didn’t trust the bastard while he was locked away in his fortress. Now, he’s invading my home, evidently provoked by what he read in the Times, and drunk to boot. What if he returns and makes another scene? Or worse, what if he becomes violent? I don’t know what he’s capable of—and neither do you. I refuse to take that risk, either with Courtney’s safety or Aurora’s.” A quick glance at Oridge. “If I leave Pembourne for several hours later today, would you stand vigil for me?”
“Of course, my lord. I’ll use that time to speak with Lexley—since I’m certain Miss Johnston will be glued to his side.”
“She will indeed. Incidentally, thank you for having him brought here. I can’t tell you what seeing him meant to Courtney. Especially in light of losing her father.” With those words, Slayde’s gaze darted back to Siebert. “You’re sure we received no responses to my missives?”
“None, sir,” Siebert confirmed. “But it is early. You sent them out only a week ago.”
“What missives?” Oridge inquired.
Slayde scowled. “I sent out letters to numerous clergymen along the coast of Devonshire. Just in the event that any of their parishioners recovered Arthur Johnston—or his body.”
Oridge blinked. “Recovered? I thought you said the man was bound and weighted when he was thrown overboard.”
“I did.”
“Then how could he be anywhere but at the bottom of the Channel?”
“He couldn’t.” A pause. “Unless he wasn’t bound and weighted.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Nor do I—yet.” Slayde raked a hand through his hair, glancing toward the sitting room. “But I’ll advise you as soon as I do. In the interim, Siebert, keep me apprised. Oridge, we’ll have our meeting in my study in an hour. I’ll leave for Morland immediately thereafter. For now, I’m going to join Courtney.”
Slayde stalked off, feeling Oridge’s stunned stare boring into him. He realized the investigator had never seem him behave so irrationally. Hell, he never had behaved so irrationally.
But when it came to Courtney, rationality ceased to exist.
Before he left Pembourne today, he intended to get Lexley alone. And when he did, he’d get some answers.
“Slayde.” Courtney looked up when he entered the sitting room, her beautiful face alight with a happiness that eclipsed his brooding humor, bathed it in sunshine. “We were just talking about you.”
“Now that sounds ominous,” he teased, helping himself to a brandy. “Lexley, would you care for a drink? I suspect I’ll need one, if I’m being cruelly maligned.”
“No, thank you, m’lord.” The older man leaned forward, a bit more stiffly than he had a half-hour past. His color, too, had paled somewhat, indicating that the strain of the preceding weeks had taken more out of him than he was willing to admit. “I assure you, I’ve heard nothing but praise about you since you left the room. By Courtney’s description, you’re every bit a hero.”
Slayde felt that odd constriction in his chest. “To the contrary,” he disputed quietly, staring into his goblet. “If anyone is a savior, ’tis Courtney.” Awkwardly, he cleared his throat, glancing up to see Lexley’s moved, albeit tired, expression. “I’ve spoken with Mr. Oridge. He and I are in agreement that you should rest for a few hours. Then, the two of you will talk.”
“Thank you, m’lord.”
“Slayde.” Courtney rose, crossing over to him, speaking softly and for his ears alone. “Before Lexley retires to his chambers, I’d appreciate if we could divulge our news…” She wet her lips. “That is, I do want Aurora to be the first to know, but with Papa gone, and Lexley having been as close to him as he was…” Her voice trailed off.
Placing his goblet on the sideboard, Slayde raised Courtney’s chin to meet his gaze. “Would it make you happy?”