Free Andrea Kane by Legacy of the Diamond

But the old man had died a month later, succumbing to a longstanding weakness of the heart.
    And the truth had died with him.
    Perhaps, through Courtney, Slayde was being given another chance to see that justice was served. Tomorrow’s excursion would tell.
    With a weary sigh, Slayde turned down the lamp and headed for bed.
     
    The second floor was silent.
    Slayde rounded the landing, grateful that Aurora had finally retired for the night and that the servants had followed suit. He felt the need for solitude, and thankfully, all of Pembourne was deep in slumber.
    A choked sound refuted that notion, reaching Slayde’s ears and stopping him in his tracks. Straining, he listened, wondering if it had been his imagination.
    No, there it was again. Someone was crying. And, judging by the direction of the sound, that someone was Courtney.
    All thoughts of solitude having vanished, Slayde retraced his steps, turning the door handle without pausing to knock.
    Shadows washed the room, broken only by the dim glow of a single lamp. It was enough. Slayde could easily discern Courtney’s slight form, huddled in the center of the bed, weeping as if her heart would break.
    “Courtney?” He shut the door, crossing over.
    Her head came up, and she stared at him, her eyes damp pools of jade. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to awaken anyone.”
    “You didn’t. I was already awake.” The agony on her face was unbearable and, without thinking, Slayde perched on her bedside, reached out for her.
    She went into his arms with a heartbreaking whimper, burying her face against his shirt as harsh sobs wracked her body.
    “Shhh…it’s not the wounds, is it?”
    “No.”
    “I thought not.” Tenderly, he stroked her hair, his lips brushing the satiny tresses.
    “It was…a dream.”
    Slayde could well imagine what, or whom, she’d dreamed of. “It’s all right. You’re awake now.”
    “I wish I weren’t,” she wept. “Oh, God, I’m trying so hard to be strong, but I’m just not sure that I can be, nor that I even want to be. I’m sorry…I don’t mean to sound childish and irrational. I can’t seem to help myself.”
    “You’re neither irrational nor childish.” His palm caressed her back, feeling her agitated tremors even through the thin barrier of her nightrail. “You’ve endured a brutal shock, not only to your body, but to your life. You must give yourself time to heal.”
    “And what if I can’t heal?”
    “You will.”
    “I don’t think so. My dream…” With a shaky sigh, Courtney drew back, gazing up at Slayde with haunted eyes. “What would you say if I told you I think Papa’s alive—that he didn’t drown when he went overboard? Would you think I was mad?”
    “I’d think you were mourning. Denial is part of that process.”
    “No. My dream was too real.” She dashed away her tears. “He was calling out to me. Not in a spiritual sense, but in an actual one. He was reassuring me that he lived.”
    “You’re emotionally drained and physically depleted. Not to mention the fact that you have a concussion, which very often jumbles thoughts. Believe me, you’re not mad. You’re perfectly normal.”
    “Am I?” Her breath came in sharp pants, and when Slayde eased her toward the pillows, she clutched at his shirt, terror slashing her delicate features. “Talk to me,” she pleaded softly. “Stay with me. Just for a while. Don’t leave me alone with this horrible, gripping emptiness.”
    “I won’t,” he promised, reversing his motion and bringing her against him. “I’ll stay as long as you need me. I wasn’t leaving. I was just helping you to lie back and rest.”
    “I don’t want to lie back—or to rest. I want to talk. Please.”
    How well he understood. “By all means.” Shifting a bit, Slayde eased her onto her side, cushioning her head in the crook of his arm. Then, he stretched out beside her, his back propped against the headboard. “How’s that?”
    A