by Olivia Drake
She had come to London with the intention of nursing her father back to health. The news of his passing left her with the sharp ache of loss. The most prudent course of action would be to return to her little cottage in the mountains of Portugal. There she could eke out a living by selling her watercolors of flora and fauna. Yet something inside her resisted the notion of departing on the next ship.
If indeed Papa had been murdered, she could not allow his death to go unavenged.
It had long been her wish to clear his name by rooting out the villain who had set him up as a jewel thief. She would have done so already had not her father begged her to drop the notion as being too dangerous. The topic had come up several times over the years, most recently when she’d spotted that little article in The London Gazette commemorating the tenth anniversary of the spectacular crime.
Now he was no longer alive to stop her.
A sense of purpose revived Laura’s flagging spirits. There were several people in society who might have had reason to ruin her father—and her, as well. The trouble was, how could she question them? It wasn’t as if she could pay a call on any fine house in Mayfair. She was persona non grata to the ton …
Of a sudden, Laura noticed that the store fronts had become more posh. The signs were gilt-framed, the windows displaying goods of the finest quality. Tall buildings with columned fronts lined the broad, curving road with its elegant carriages and coaches. Footmen carrying parcels trailed after ladies in costly gowns and feathered hats.
Pausing beneath a marble colonnade, she realized that her idle wanderings had brought her to Regent Street. Though perhaps it had not been happenstance. Perhaps she had been drawn here by the allure of the forbidden.
Caution told her to retrace her steps. It would be foolish to risk being spotted by an acquaintance from her old life. Her presence in London must not be known before she’d had time to make plans and determine how best to solve the mystery of her father’s death.
Yet she hungered to view the window displays. To indulge in the pastime that had once been an integral part of her life. To relive the happy times when she had strolled here with Alex. Would it not be wise to study the latest fashions so that she might prepare herself for whatever lay ahead? She would, after all, have to blend in with society.
The temptation proved too powerful to resist.
Adjusting the hood over her head, she lowered her chin in the manner of the lower class. In her drab dark cloak she’d be taken for a maidservant out on an errand for her mistress. Laura started down the foot pavement, taking care not to meet the eye of any of the ladies or gentlemen promenading along the street.
Her own eyes swept their clothing in surreptitious glances. How hopelessly outdated was her much-mended attire. The skirts now were considerably wider, the sleeves more voluminous than when she’d made her debut a decade ago. Living in the mountains, she’d had no reason to keep up with the latest styles, let alone pay for new gowns each season.
But oh, how she would love to enter these shops and order an entire wardrobe without a care for the cost. To once again feel the cool slide of silk against her skin, to set a beribboned hat at a jaunty angle on her upswept hair. She paused in front of a display of fans, admiring the carved ivory sticks and painted folds. How lovely it would be to snap open the fan and peer flirtatiously at an admiring gentleman …
The bell above the shop door tinkled as a trio of ladies strolled out in a waft of expensive perfume. They were too young to recognize her, so Laura saw no need to make haste as they gathered into a little flock of gossipy hens.
“Did you see the frightful hue of her lace?” said the plump one with brown sausage curls and rosy cheeks.
“Quite,” replied a bucktoothed girl in pink muslin. “I vow her laundress must have soaked it in bile to create such a putrid yellow.”
The third girl screwed up her narrow, horsey face beneath a hat with too many feathers. “Her father earned his fortune in coal, so what else can one expect but deplorable taste?”
Laura pitied the unknown subject of their tittle-tattle. How well she remembered the spitefulness of debutantes who were competing to make the best marriages. It was an aspect of society that she didn’t miss.
As the three lapsed into giggling, Miss Sausage Curls let loose a squeal. “Oh, my heart! You’ll never guess who just walked out of the boot maker.”
The toothy blonde heaved a romantic sigh. “Lord Copley! I daresay I may swoon. He seldom attends parties—Mama says it’s that unfortunate scar on his cheek.”
“Well, I think it makes him look dashing,” Miss Horse Face said, then added in a hiss, “He’s coming this way! Form a line, ladies. Such an eligible gentleman mustn’t be allowed to pass us by.”
They linked arms and preened at someone behind Laura.
Laura stood paralyzed. All rational thought fled her mind. Lord Copley … Alex. No. No, no, no!
She didn’t dare turn around. Nor could she walk forward. The three girls in their voluminous skirts filled the entire footpath, even blocking the entrance to the fan shop.
Weighing her limited choices, Laura huddled inside her cloak. How close was he? Could she dart across the street in time?
A glance in that direction compounded her bad luck. A large coach was parked at the curbstone. How had she not noticed it before?
Like something out of a fairy tale, the cream-colored vehicle had gilded wheels and a team of matching horses. No coachman sat on the high perch—which meant that the owner of the conveyance must be in one of the shops. A groom held the horses. His back was turned as he chatted up a pretty maidservant.
Laura needed a quick place to hide. With a compulsion born of panic, she made haste to the coach, opened the door, and stepped inside.
Chapter 3
She drew the door shut at once, enclosing herself in a shadowy interior that smelled faintly of lilacs. Laura had a quick impression of plush dark cushions and gold appointments before her gaze riveted to the window. By good fortune, the brocaded green curtains were drawn, which afforded her ample concealment.
Crouching on the floor, she peered through the narrow parting of the curtains. Not a moment later, a tall gentleman in a formfitting coat of cobalt blue strode into view. He tipped his hat while the three youthful gorgons practically fell over themselves curtsying to him.
Alex.
Laura’s breath knotted her lungs. The sight of him after all these years struck her like a blow to her midsection. The cocoa-brown hair, the broad muscled build, the arrogant stance of those long legs—she absorbed it all in one searing glance. His presence set her ablaze with an intensity of emotion that could only be pure vitriol.
How she despised the scoundrel!
He aimed that familiar crooked smile at the trio and engaged them in conversation. Eligible, one of the girls had said of him. So apparently he hadn’t married Lady Evelyn, who’d once been Laura’s chief rival for his affections. A pity, for he deserved the witch.
Laura could imagine the smooth banter he directed now at his adoring audience. Clearly he hadn’t changed one iota. Rogues like him never did.
She had learned that truth the hard way. Long ago, she had been as young and foolish as those girls. She hadn’t realized the fickleness behind his charm until the final, terrible meeting between them.
She had been heading downstairs for breakfast when the sound of male voices drew her to Papa’s study. That deep, distinctive tone belonged to Alex, and she thrilled to the unexpected prospect of seeing him so early in the day. Was it possible he’d come to ask Papa for her hand in marriage? Oh, she hoped so! She could scarcely breathe for the tangle of love and longing in her heart …
Then Laura froze in the doorway, unable to believe her eyes. Alex was twisting her father around to face a wall of bookshelves. Papa didn’t resist; his craggy features bore a look of dazed shock. With a length of cord, Alex proceeded to tie her father’s hands behind his back.
Horrified, Laura rushed
toward the two men. “What are you doing? Stop that at once!”
She thrust Alex away, seized the cord, and tugged at the knot. He caught hold of her wrists. “Forgive me, Laura. I’d hoped you wouldn’t have to witness this.”
“Witness what? Why are you treating Papa like … like a criminal?”
“I was seeking notepaper and pen to leave a message for you a few moments ago when I spied those earrings in his drawer.” He nodded toward a pair of large, bluish diamonds sparkling atop the desk. “They’re so distinctive, I recognized them at once. They were stolen from the Duchess of Knowles, along with the Blue Moon diamond necklace.”
Laura stared in disbelief at the precious stones, unable to fathom how they’d come to be here. The robbery had been the talk of the ton for the past fortnight. “You must be mistaken. My father is not a thief.” She grasped her father’s coat sleeve and implored, “Tell him, Papa! Tell him that you didn’t steal those earrings.”
His gray eyes clouded with bewilderment, he shook his head. “I’ve already done so, my dear. But he won’t believe me.”
“Someone else left the jewels here. To make you look guilty of the crime.” She spun toward Alex. “You must listen to him, help us find out who did this. Please, the least you can do is to give him a chance.”
Those dark eyes held hers for a moment as if he were wrestling with an inner dilemma. He glanced away, and then looked back at her. “I’m sorry, but he’ll have to be taken to Bow Street for questioning. The magistrate will decide how to proceed.”
She could scarcely believe Alex was the same man who’d amused her with his charming banter, who had kissed her so tenderly and made her ache with desire. “And what will happen to Papa then? He’ll be found guilty on your testimony. He’ll be sentenced to die.”
With the bleak chill of a stranger, Alex regarded her. “That remains to be seen. In time, I hope you’ll realize that I’ve no other choice. Please try to understand, I’m obliged to do my duty.”
As he turned away to secure her father’s bindings, she realized with a cold knell of shock that Alex cared nothing for her father—or for her. He wouldn’t shed a tear even if Papa were to swing from a hangman’s noose. A frantic fear choked her throat. She couldn’t let this happen, she mustn’t. In wild desperation, she snatched up a penknife …
Laura took a deep breath to clear her mind of the vivid memory. Even after the passage of a decade, she still felt a sense of sick betrayal at Alex’s unwillingness to trust in Papa’s exemplary character. The earl had not been interested in finding any other explanation for the presence of the jewels. He had treated her father as a common thief who was subject to his lordly judgment.
She glared through the crack in the curtains. If only it weren’t a vastly stupid thing to do, she’d relish flinging open the coach door, witnessing his startled expression, and giving him a severe tongue-lashing in front of everyone on the street. Many a time she’d imagined that confrontation, planning in her mind precisely how she would cut him to shreds with sharp words in retaliation for his treachery.
But not now when he could thwart her plans. The Blue Moon diamond was still missing. If he learned she was back in London, he’d likely haul her off to the police station and accuse her of being her father’s accomplice.
Gripping the edge of the window, Laura willed him to turn toward her. She felt a morbid curiosity to view the scar on his cheek. Contrary to the report in the newspaper, she had been the one to attack the earl with a penknife, not her father. Alex must have lied about that because he’d been too humiliated to admit that a mere woman had bested him …
“You might be more comfortable on the seat, my dear.”
The disembodied voice came out of nowhere. Laura yelped, spinning in a crouch and half losing her balance. Bracing a hand on the floor, she glanced wildly around the gloomy interior.
As if by magic, a person appeared to be sitting in the shadows of one corner. Her eyes adjusting to the dimness, she discerned a slender woman garbed in a rich dark gown that blended with the leather upholstery. A veiled hat adorned with a diamond aigrette hid her features from view.
There was something vaguely familiar about that regal tone. Who was she? Laura didn’t intend to stay long enough to find out.
“I-I’m terribly sorry…” Recalling her pretense of being a servant, she adopted a working-class accent. “Beggin’ yer pardon, m’lady. Didn’t see ye there.”
“Apparently not.”
The woman’s cultured voice held a note of dry amusement that made Laura blush. What must she think of Laura’s peculiar behavior?
“I mean ye no harm. I’ll be on me way now.” She scrambled to the opposite door, intending to exit on the street side in order to avoid encountering Alex. But when she tried the handle, it was locked. “Do ye have a key?”
The lady reached a dainty, kid-gloved hand to the door. Instead of unlocking it, she opened the curtains with a flick of her wrist, allowing a flood of dull daylight to penetrate the interior of the coach.
Laura immediately averted her face.
“I presume,” the lady said sternly, “you’ve a good reason for not wishing to depart by the way in which you entered.”
Laura considered how to reply. She didn’t know which would be worse, to be recognized as a fugitive who was wanted in connection with a jewel heist or to be thought a common pickpocket who’d taken refuge here after filching someone’s coin purse.
“’Twas me husband,” she fibbed. “We quarreled an’ he was chasin’ me. Drunk on gin, he is. Makes him fly into a rage.”
“I see. Then it is quite imperative that I spirit you away from here as quickly as possible.”
Laura risked a glance at that veiled face. “Nay! I daren’t involve ye, m’lady. He … he might do ye a harm.”
“Nonsense. I’ve two stout footmen and a coachman for protection.” At that moment, the vehicle rocked slightly. “Ah, there they are now, back from fetching my parcels.” Leaning down, the woman took Laura’s gloved hand and patted the back of it in a motherly fashion. “So you see, my dear, you’ve no cause for alarm. You are quite safe with me.”
Uneasy, Laura withdrew her fingers. “’Tis very kind o’ ye, m’lady. But—”
“I will hear no more objections. Pray take a seat now. Right beside me, if you will.”
The firmness of that voice brooked no disobedience. Laura found herself rising from the floor and gingerly settling onto the squabs. How luxuriously soft the cushions felt, how pleasant it was to rest after walking for hours.
But she mustn’t be lulled into relaxing.
Was Alex still outside, chatting up the girls? To her frustration, she couldn’t see from this angle, for the curtains on that side were still partly closed. In a moment she would have to step out and take her chances. The trouble was, he had always been a very observant man. She would have to hope that the hood sufficiently hid her features …
The coach jerked slightly and then settled into a gentle rhythmic swaying. The other window revealed that the vehicle had started down the street. Her stomach clenched in alarm. Where were they heading? Had she merely traded one perilous situation for another?
“M’lady, please, ye must let me out at the next corner.”
“Nonsense, you’re clearly distraught. And I daresay it is time to end this silly pretense.”
“Pretense?”
The veiled lady caught firm hold of Laura’s chin and tilted it to the window, scrutinizing her in the daylight. “Ah. I knew you were no common servant. And it appears my first impression was correct. You are indeed the notorious Miss Falkner.”
Laura’s heart pounded. She had a wild notion of making a lunge for the unlocked door and jumping out onto the cobblestone street, never mind that the coach had picked up speed.
“Ye’re mistaken.”
“Am I? It is a particular trait of mine that I never forget a face. Perhaps you will remember me as well.”
In one smooth motion, t
he lady swept the black netting up over her hat, revealing a lovely countenance with lushly feminine lips, high cheekbones, and shrewd violet eyes. Though not a young woman, she had dark hair untouched by gray and an ageless beauty that struck a faint chord of memory in Laura. It took a moment to dredge up the name from the mists of the past.
Lady Milford. One of society’s premier hostesses.
Pinned by that astute gaze, Laura refused to quail. She would simply have to brazen her way out of trouble. And she was in trouble, for there could be no doubt this woman knew all about the still-missing diamond necklace. The famous crime had rocked society and dominated the newspapers for weeks even before Papa had been accused by Alex.
The rudiments of a plan took shape in her mind. Perhaps … just perhaps there might be a way to use this twist of fate to her advantage.
“I confess you’re correct, Lady Milford,” she said, throwing back her hood and abandoning the charade. “I remember being introduced to you briefly some years ago.”
“It was in a receiving line during your debut ball. You were an exceedingly lovely girl, the nonpareil of the season.”
Laura was all too conscious of the contrast between that social butterfly and her present appearance. She mustn’t feel embarrassed for a circumstance not of her own doing. “My situation has been vastly altered since then, as I’m sure you know. I am no longer welcome in the best homes.” She bowed her head in not-quite-feigned humility. “Pray forgive me for pretending to be someone else, my lady. I have no husband, drunk or otherwise. It’s just that … I feared I’d been recognized on the street, and I didn’t know where else to conceal myself.”
Laura saw no need to confess that it was Lord Copley she had been avoiding. That near-encounter was still too raw in her mind. To see him again after all these years had rattled her equilibrium.
Lady Milford regarded her with cool hauteur. “Subterfuge seems to come naturally to you, Miss Falkner. After all, you have been in hiding for many years.”
