Stroke of Midnight

by Olivia Drake

  Now that Laura knew Alex kept company with the vile woman, she would have to be doubly on her guard around him. The last thing she needed was for him to alert one of her chief suspects.

  Slipping past clusters of guests, she peeked into the busy card room where gentlemen and ladies sat in groups of four at small tables. Did Lord Haversham play whist or vingt-et-un? Laura didn’t know. During her debut season, she’d been too caught up in the excitement of her own youthful pursuits to pay much heed to the older generation.

  The library held a number of gentlemen who had gathered to smoke. Although a haze in the air obscured her view somewhat, Laura didn’t see Haversham’s snobbish features as she strolled past. Perhaps that was just as well. If they were to come face-to-face, she would be hard-pressed to hold her tongue. Until she had all the facts in hand and could prove her case against him, it would be wise to remain incognito.

  Her search took her by a dining room where a long buffet table was being prepared for a midnight supper. A black-suited butler directed an army of footmen on where to place the platters of food.

  Laura continued down the wide passageway lined with gilt-framed paintings. She had suspected for a long time that Haversham, with Lady Evelyn as his accomplice, must have stolen the Blue Moon diamond necklace and put the blame on her father. Papa had never wanted to discuss the matter. It hadn’t been in his gentle nature to seek revenge.

  Yet he must have returned to England to confront his old rival. He had done it for her sake.

  A yoke of guilt weighed on Laura. When he’d brought that London newspaper back to their cottage in Portugal, and she had discovered the little article commemorating the ten-year anniversary of the theft, she had carelessly expressed anger at the injustice that had driven them into exile. It was a quarrel they’d had on and off over the years. This time, Papa’s delight at giving her news from England had vanished into melancholy. Though she’d been quick to reassure him, the damage had been done. The next day, he had kissed her good-bye without telling her his true destination.

  It was the last time she’d seen him alive.

  Laura drew a shuddery breath. Blaming herself wouldn’t bring him back. But she could make certain that justice was done on his behalf. Perhaps someone had seen Papa enter Lord Haversham’s house in Berkeley Square. Had he threatened to expose the marquess for his villainy? Had Haversham then cold-bloodedly arranged for Papa’s murder to keep the truth from coming out?

  Pondering how to find answers, she turned a corner and spied several guests. In the forefront strolled a couple, cooing and chatting, with eyes only for each other. They were too young for Laura to have known. As they passed her by, she saw another pair talking at the end of the passageway. Both were of her father’s generation.

  Laura’s steps faltered to a stop. She stared at the man’s narrow, foxlike features, the balding head with its monkish fringe of brown hair.

  Lord Haversham!

  His companion was a rather stout, middle-aged woman in a gold-and-crimson gown with massive rubies at her throat and ears. Several large rings sparkled on her fingers. She held her chin at a haughty angle, and the most memorable feature of her otherwise ordinary face was a sharp nose like the beak of a hawk.

  The Duchess of Knowles. She was the rightful owner of the Blue Moon diamond.

  Chapter 10

  Alex managed to extricate himself from Evelyn’s clutches on a vague promise to dance with her later. Relieved at his escape, he strode through the crowd and headed for the grand arched doorway.

  Evelyn might be outwardly attractive, but the eyelash-batting and veiled hints revealed her to be just another predatory widow. She had prowled while her husband had still been alive, too. No surprise there, for the ancient Duke of Cliffington had been a doddering bridegroom at their nuptials. It was a wonder he’d survived the ceremony—let alone the wedding night.

  Alex would have paid handsomely for a ringside seat to that event. Or not. He wouldn’t be surprised if Evelyn had slipped laudanum into the old fool’s nighttime tisane and then bedded the footman instead. That was the only way she could have conceived a son and heir before Cliffington had expired a few months later. Since shortly after the child’s birth a few years ago, she had taken a succession of lovers from among the gentry and, it was rumored, the serving class.

  From time to time, she’d tried to lure Alex into her web. But he had no taste for Evelyn’s brand of poison.

  He preferred a woman with principles. A woman who spoke her mind and didn’t pander to him. A woman whose pride made her balk at accepting even a simple gift of eyeglasses.

  Ever since Laura Falkner had walked back into his life the previous day, he had thought of little else but her. There was something about her that had always fascinated him, a vivacity of spirit that the drab disguise could not mask. He found her every bit as appealing now as she’d been ten years ago—perhaps more so.

  Alex nodded to an acquaintance without stopping to chat. A few minutes ago, he’d spotted Laura in that unsightly puritan’s cap. Their gazes had met across the crowded room, and the jolt to his senses had banished his boredom. Then she’d left the ballroom and vanished into the throngs of guests.

  Where the devil had she been heading? Could it have something to do with her foolish plan to clear Martin Falkner’s name?

  Alex hoped not. She played a futile and dangerous game. If she started poking into people’s lives, asking too many questions, someone would guess her true identity. The ton would not look favorably on the daughter of a thief in its midst. At best, she’d be banished from society, unable to fulfill her duties to his aunt. At worst, she’d face questioning as an accomplice to burglary.

  Something else troubled Alex, as well. Laura might dig up secrets that were best left buried. There was one secret in particular that he’d sworn an oath to protect.

  Heading out into the main reception area, he continued walking while he scanned the throngs. His height gave him the advantage of looking over the multitude, though it did him little good, for Laura was nowhere to be seen.

  People spoke to him, ladies smiled and curtsied, gentlemen slapped him on the back. Alex evaded all conversation with a cool nod and a few dismissive words. At least until a dainty woman in magenta silk stepped into his path.

  Lady Milford smiled warmly up at him and extended her gloved hand. “Lord Copley, what a delight it is to see you and your aunt here tonight.”

  Hiding his impatience, Alex bowed over her fingers. He knew precisely why she’d stopped him. She was curious about the results of her matchmaking scheme. “I fear you’ve caught me in something of a hurry, my lady. Perhaps we can speak later—in private.”

  “Pish-posh. This is a party, not a derby race. You must allow me a moment to inquire if Lady Josephine likes the new companion that I found for her.”

  “Yes,” he bit out. “Though it would have been wise of you to have consulted me first.”

  Lady Milford raised an eyebrow. “I trust you’ve shown kindness to the poor girl. She’s been forced to endure much that is not her fault.”

  “I’ve permitted Laura to stay so long as she remains anonymous.” As soon as the words were out, Alex regretted using her first name. He hadn’t meant to give anything away to Lady Milford, whose half smile reflected a shrewd interest. He leveled a hard stare at her. “Pray do not expect anything more. I’m simply not interested.”

  Lady Milford nodded toward a corridor across the room. “In case you change your mind, she went that way a few moments ago.”

  * * *

  As Laura froze with her gaze on the couple at the end of the passageway, Lord Haversham bowed to the Duchess of Knowles, then walked away and disappeared around the corner. Alone, Her Grace started down the corridor.

  Laura panicked at the woman’s approach. She spied an open doorway and veered through it.

  Finding herself in an antechamber, she made haste for another door. She pulled it open and paused in dismay. The large room
held a veritable crush of ladies. The chatter of their voices and the scent of perfume filled the air. A bevy of women vied for a position at the mirrors. Another stood still while a kneeling maid repaired a rip in the hem of her ball gown. There was a long line waiting to use the chamber pots, which were located behind a discreet curtained area.

  Laura decided against taking refuge in the room, for it would be too risky to venture into close quarters with so many women. Here in the antechamber, only a few ladies sat fanning themselves and gossiping. Aside from an initial cursory glance, they paid no heed to Laura.

  She sat on a gilt chair and bent down as if to examine her shoe. Her gaze slid to the outer door where a slice of the corridor was visible.

  How silly to suffer an attack of nerves, she scolded herself. The duchess likely wouldn’t recognize Laura even without the glasses and the prim garb. They’d been introduced only briefly long ago, when Her Grace had acknowledged Laura’s curtsy with a regal nod before strolling away. There had never been any occasion for them to converse further. The woman was a snob who associated only with the bluest of bluebloods.

  Lord Haversham, for one.

  How had the marquess managed to steal the priceless necklace and earrings from Her Grace? According to newspaper reports at the time, the jewels had been taken from her bedchamber. Which meant Haversham had gained access to her private quarters. Was it possible that he and the duchess were more than acquaintances?

  Had they been lovers?

  Laura found the scandalous notion quite plausible. The marquess was exactly the sort of cad who would think nothing of betraying his mousy, browbeaten wife.

  A movement out in the corridor caught her attention. The duchess was walking past the antechamber. Abruptly, the woman stopped so that the back of her opulent gown remained visible in the doorway.

  Then Laura realized why. A deep, distinctive male voice drifted into the antechamber. The duchess had paused to chat with … Alex?

  Laura sat paralyzed. She couldn’t see him; he must be standing just out of sight. But there was no mistaking that smooth, urbane tone. He must have come in search of her after all. Pretending to check her shoe, she strained to hear the conversation.

  “It’s been far too long since you’ve deigned to attend a society event,” the duchess was scolding him. “All the young ladies have been distressed by your absence.”

  “How kind of Your Grace to think me so much admired. Yet they seem to have managed quite nicely without me.”

  “Bah. You’re well heeled, handsome, titled … and you’ve a duty to take a wife. I trust you’re here tonight to examine the prospects.”

  He chuckled, the low sound causing tension in Laura’s bosom. Intensely curious, she found herself leaning toward the door to hear his answer. “You should be pleased, then, that I’ve danced with a number of debutantes,” he said. “Beyond that, I shall keep my own counsel.”

  “Humph. Tight-lipped, are you? As your godmother, I’ve every right to declare that it’s high time you settled down and filled your nursery. Now pray lend me your arm and escort me back to the ballroom. And don’t give me that ironic stare. If you’ve an assignation with some tart upstairs, you shall not keep it. I won’t have you frightening away the young virgins with your rakish behavior…”

  Laura abandoned the phony examination of her foot, sat up straight on the chair, and swiveled toward the corridor—just in time to see Her Grace’s skirts disappear from the doorway.

  Godmother?

  Alex had never mentioned that the Duchess of Knowles was his godmother. Why had he withheld such a vital connection?

  Ten years ago, he’d courted Laura with singular determination, taking her on outings, for drives in the park, to the museums and the circus and the Tower. A fortnight had passed between the theft of the Blue Moon diamond necklace and the fateful moment when her father had been caught with the matching diamond earrings. Surely in all that time, when the spectacular robbery had been the topic on everyone’s lips, Alex should have at least mentioned his link to the victim of the crime!

  How very peculiar that he had not.

  * * *

  Two hours later, Laura helped Lady Josephine hobble toward the waiting barouchet. A long line of coaches and carriages snaked around the darkened square, their lamps glowing like stars. The lilt of music still drifted from inside the mansion. Now that the buffet supper was over, many of the older guests had begun to depart, leaving the younger set to dance away the night.

  Laura had had no opportunity to question Alex, not even the one time when he’d come to check on his aunt. Perhaps it was just as well, she thought. As keenly as she wanted answers from him, there had been too many listening ears in the packed ballroom.

  She had last glimpsed him leading Lady Evelyn toward the dance floor. The sight had fortified Laura’s decision to depart without informing him. Their conversation could wait until the next time he visited his aunt.

  With her assistance, Lady Josephine settled her large bulk in the barouchet as the coachman on his high seat held the pair of horses. The old woman heaved a sigh of weary contentment. “I seem to recall that someone else came with us. Who could it be, do you suppose?”

  “No one of consequence, my lady.” Laura placed her foot on the iron step and clutched her hem so she wouldn’t trip while climbing into the open carriage with its half hood. “It’ll be quite cozy with just the two of us—oh!”

  A pair of male hands caught her waist from behind. Her heart leaped in recognition as the masculine scent of dark spice invaded the cool night air. “So, Cinderella is fleeing the ball,” Alex murmured into her ear, his warm breath stirring the nape of her neck.

  Laura steeled herself against a delicious shiver. “Lady Josephine is fatigued and wished to retire.”

  “Then by all means, let us depart.”

  His grasp firm, he gave her a boost into the barouchet. Much to her dismay, a flush of attraction suffused every inch of her body. It had to be a remnant of youthful folly when she had been susceptible to his charm—because a man of his fickle nature certainly didn’t appeal to her now that she was older and wiser.

  Hastily drawing away, she sat down beside Lady Josephine. The interior was tight, and Alex’s knees bumped hers as he took the fold-down seat that faced the two women.

  Lady Josephine peered through the darkness at him. A smile bloomed on her round face. “Alexander! Oh, I remember now. You escorted us here!”

  “Yes, although Miss Brown apparently forgot that fact when she called for the carriage.”

  His lighthearted mockery irked Laura. “You appeared to be enjoying the dancing,” she said as the barouchet began its gently rocking ride over the cobblestone street. “I assumed you’d have your pick of ladies willing to take you home.”

  “How gratifying that you would notice. Were you watching me all evening and wishing you were on the dance floor with me?”

  “You flatter yourself. I can think of nothing that would interest me less.”

  Lady Josephine glanced quizzically from one to the other as if she sensed the undercurrents but was too exhausted to decipher their meaning. Smothering a yawn, she said, “Did you not dance at all, Laura? I’m sure Alexander would have been happy to squire you.”

  “Indeed so,” he agreed. “The ballroom would have been abuzz with speculation over the identity of the mysterious creature in my arms. If we’d played matters right and piqued everyone’s interest, we could have made dowdiness all the rage. By next week, I vow all the young ladies would be in spectacles and prudish gowns!”

  The picture he painted was so ridiculous that the knot of resentment inside her loosened. “How absurd,” Laura said, subduing the tickle of a smile by glancing out at the passing scene of darkened row houses. “Not even you could accomplish such a feat.”

  “Mind what you say. I’ve been known to accept a dare on far less provocation than that.”

  “No doubt you have. Idle wagers are the province of jaded g
entlemen with too much time on their hands.”

  “I do find challenges irresistible—especially when they involve a beautiful woman.” He leaned forward, his smile glinting through the darkness. “I recall once, a long time ago, a young lady offered me a kiss if only I’d stand up on the back of a horse and ride around the stable yard like a circus performer.”

  Despite the nip of the evening air, Laura felt a sting of warmth in her cheeks. His voice had a caressing intimacy that she feared would betray their past relationship to his aunt. But when she looked over, Lady Josephine’s chin had fallen to her massive bosom and her eyes were closed. Lulled by the swaying of the vehicle and the lateness of the hour, the old woman had dozed off.

  Laura’s gaze returned to Alex. So he hadn’t forgotten that incident. At the time, she’d never expected him to actually remove his shoes, leap onto an unsaddled horse, and rise to a standing position. Nor had she been prepared when a dog had run out to startle the horse.

  Conscious now of the coachman sitting on his high perch just behind the earl, she used an oblique jab. “Did you tumble to the ground, my lord? That would have been your just deserts.”

  “Oh, I had my dessert, all right. When I collected the kiss that was owed to me.”

  Laura vividly recalled that kiss—her first kiss. She remembered how she’d rushed to him, fearing he was hurt, how he had pulled her down on top of him and held her to the hard muscles of his body. And she remembered how his lips had grazed hers, softly at first and then with increasing fervor …

  An echo of desire ached in her innermost depths. She willed it away at once. Alex had always been a master at turning every phrase, every comment into an enticing innuendo. Such banter may have fooled her as a naive girl, but no longer. Now she knew it was merely a mask designed to hide his unprincipled character.

  “I can only imagine all your exploits,” Laura said coolly. “They must number in the hundreds. But I suppose a titled gentleman can get away with virtually anything. Especially when he counts the Duchess of Knowles as his godmother.”