Stroke of Midnight

by Olivia Drake

  The duchess stopped to stare at Alex. “She asked me today if I’d ever had an affair with Haversham. Have you given her any reason to suspect what really happened back then?”

  Good God. Laura would never forgive him if she knew. Ten years ago, he had lied to her. He had courted her purposefully in order to investigate her father—only to fall hard for her.

  “Absolutely not. I gave you my word on that.” He took a step toward his godmother. “But pray be forewarned, she hopes to clear her father’s name. It’s entirely possible that she could unearth the truth on her own.”

  “Then you must discourage her!”

  “I’ve done so. However, Laura is a very determined woman.”

  “She’s an ambitious woman, that’s what. Even if she knows what Martin Falkner did with the diamond, she’ll still try to clear her own name of the scandal. You should consider that!”

  Alex took her hands in his. “I assure you, Your Grace, she has absolutely no knowledge of the whereabouts of the Blue Moon. I would stake my life on it.”

  “No, you’ll squander your life on an adventuress. You should have heard how disrespectfully the chit addressed me today.” Pulling her hands free, the duchess paced away from him, then spun back around. “Who are her family? Nobodies, all of them. Irish through her mother, and a father who is a convicted jewel thief.”

  “According to Debrett’s, Martin Falkner had a distinguished lineage. However, I seem to recall that one of your grandfathers made his fortune as a wool merchant.” When Her Grace’s face flushed a livid red, Alex strove to master his own anger at her denigration of Laura. “I mean no insult, Your Grace. My point is merely that one cannot help one’s forebears. Laura is her own person. You cannot hold her to blame for the actions of her father.”

  “Like father, like daughter. She wants your wealth and all the benefits of your title. She will bleed you dry.”

  Little did his godmother know, she’d touched a nerve. Ever since the previous evening, his mind had dwelled obsessively on the legal agreement that Laura had demanded of him. A house of her own once she’d borne him an heir and a spare. The independence to leave him if she so wished. Her insistence gnawed at his gut. If fate gave them two sons in quick succession, she could be gone from his life in the same number of years.

  By God! Did she really think he’d let her go?

  Would she really want to go? That was the crux of the matter. He hungered to resurrect in her the love that he had crushed ten years ago. If he couldn’t do so, he knew only one way to bind her to him: by making her burn with passion.

  Realizing the duchess was expecting a response, he forced a slight smile. “Pray show a little confidence in my ability to manage my own finances—and my own wife.”

  “Stronger men than you have been taken in by the wiles of a fortune hunter.”

  “Nonsense. There are no stronger men than me.”

  “This is no time for arrogant jests.” Her fingers curling into fists at her sides, the duchess continued to pace as if lost in her own private world. “Only look at how your father’s marriage turned out. He, too, had his head turned by a pretty face. Blanche brought out the worst in him with her silly, madcap ways. He should have married someone more suited to his sober disposition.”

  An entrenched aversion crept over Alex. He had grown up with loud, prolonged quarrels, his father shouting and his mother screaming. They’d both been to blame, Alex knew. But he saw no purpose in correcting his godmother’s misapprehension. “Laura is nothing like my mother,” he said. “We are perfectly well suited.”

  The duchess shook her head. “She’s a selfish upstart who will cause you no end of trouble. Your father would have forbidden this hasty, ill-advised marriage.”

  Women are vain, selfish creatures who will stab a man in the heart. How many times had his father told him that? Too often, Alex had been thrust into the role of his father’s confidant after his mother had run off weeping to her bedchamber. Would he and Laura end up like that, at each other’s throats?

  He buried the thought. It would not prevent him from marrying her. She was a fever in his blood.

  “My father would have no say in my marriage even if he were still alive,” he said. “I shall be wedding Laura in three days’ time at Copley House. I would consider it an honor if you would set aside your objections and attend.”

  “No. I will not be a party to this farce. I will never receive that schemer, do you hear me? Nor will anyone else of the ton invite her into their homes.”

  Her face held a haughty stubbornness that infuriated him. The Duchess of Knowles had been a fixture in his life since childhood, and he had a fondness for her. But no more. He was done with anyone who would malign his bride.

  He took a step closer. “If you mean to spread poisonous gossip or speak ill of Laura in any way, I will consider my vow to you nullified. Is that understood?”

  “Impertinent boy! You would break your word as a gentleman? Is that what this creature has done? Destroyed your sense of honor?”

  His godmother didn’t know it, but he would never reveal her secret. Because then Laura would realize exactly how he’d used her.

  Alex gave a curt bow. “I wouldn’t advise you to test me on the matter. Good afternoon.”

  As he strode out the door, the duchess called after him, “You’ll rue your actions someday. You’ll wish you’d listened to me!”

  Alex clenched his jaw. He kept walking through the grand hall, down the marble stairs, and to the front door. He did not look back.

  Chapter 21

  “Oh, I do love weddings,” Lady Josephine said as the coach rolled though the busy streets of Mayfair. Then her bright smile faded and a hint of befuddlement clouded her blue eyes. “You did say you were marrying Alexander today, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, my lady. Most assuredly.”

  Laura hid a bone-deep quiver behind a pleasant smile. Her palms felt damp inside her kidskin gloves. Sitting across from her ladyship in the luxurious black coach that Alex had sent to fetch them, she ought to feel like a princess—or at least a countess-to-be. Instead she had the anxious sense of being caught up in another masquerade.

  She wore a dove-gray gown of the finest silk, the subdued color in deference to her mourning, with garnet ribbons threaded at her waist and through the short sleeves. The beaded garnet slippers from Lady Milford peeked from beneath her hem. With the help of one of the housemaids, Laura had done up her tawny-blond hair in soft curls adorned with a cluster of deep pink rosebuds that she’d clipped dewy fresh from the garden that morning.

  Her transformation, when she’d surveyed herself in the pier glass of her dressing room, had been remarkable. The dowdy spinster had been vanquished in favor of an elegant lady of the ton. Oddly, it had been the improvement in her appearance that had sparked this attack of doubts. She looked like the naive girl whose world had been shattered by the man she’d loved and trusted. And now she was about to give herself into his keeping again.

  Forever.

  Misgivings churned inside her. Was she taking the right step in wedding Alex? They’d signed the prenuptial agreement the previous day in his solicitor’s office. Alex had been coolly charming, his manner seductively witty, and she’d felt a fervent desire to be his wife.

  But today it was as if she’d awakened from a lovely dream to bitter reality. It could be a terrible mistake to marry the man who had once broken her heart. Perhaps it was not yet too late to turn back …

  The coach drew to a halt in front of Copley House. A footman opened the door and let down the step. Her movements wooden, Laura accepted his aid in climbing out of the coach. While the servant lent his hand to Lady Josephine, Laura glanced up at Alex’s home.

  Situated across from Hyde Park, the imposing residence had a grand facade of pale stone with a columned portico over the double front doors. It rose a full four stories and was crowned by many chimneys. The tall windows of the first floor showed azure blue draperies drawn back b
y gold cord. She had never been inside his house, but one of those chambers must be the drawing room where the wedding ceremony would be conducted.

  A lurch assailed Laura’s stomach. Within the hour, she would be mistress of this house. She would have the right to direct the servants, to redecorate the rooms, to plan parties and entertain guests. She would be wife to a wealthy, handsome earl who would elevate her to an exalted place in society.

  It was every lady’s dream. So why did she feel the urge to turn and flee?

  Lady Josephine clutched Laura’s arm and aimed a guileless smile at her. “Come, my dear, we mustn’t be late.”

  Laura placed her hand over the old woman’s. Curiously, the warmth of those knobby fingers gave her the strength to mount the three shallow steps to the porch, where another footman opened the door. They passed over the threshold into a grand entrance hall with a divided staircase, each side curving upward to the first floor.

  Compared with Lady Josephine’s cluttered house, this one had a minimum of furnishings, each piece clearly chosen for its superb quality. A gilded chair had been placed on either side of the doorway. In the center of the cream marble floor, the alabaster statue of a winged goddess in Grecian robes stood on a pedestal. The pastel green walls displayed a series of splendid landscape paintings that she would have been interested to inspect under normal circumstances.

  The surroundings were so lovely, so vast, and so rich, Laura felt her qualms intensify. Her breath came faster under the force of an incipient panic. Did she really belong here? Or back in her comfortable little cottage in Portugal?

  The patter of footsteps drew her gaze to one of the ground-floor doorways. Her freckled face wreathed in a smile, Violet came hurrying forward. A leaf-green gown draped her pregnant form, and she had arranged her hair in a pretty cascade of russet curls.

  Her brown eyes sparkled with excitement. “Laura, you look absolutely gorgeous! I’ve been waiting for you to arrive. Come with me, we haven’t much time.”

  “But … Lady Josephine…”

  “The footman will assist her upstairs.”

  The strapping servant was already offering his arm for the old woman to hold, and with her customary good humor Lady Josephine hobbled with him to the grand staircase.

  Laura let herself be tugged into a library decorated in masculine tones of coffee and cream with leather chairs and numerous bookshelves. Spying an oversized volume on a table, she distractedly opened it, her attention caught by the colored illustrations of exotic flora. If only she could curl up in a chair and lose herself in these lovely drawings …

  “Whatever are you doing?” Violet chided, reaching out to shut the book. “You can’t be reading now. This is your wedding day!”

  “I know … I only…” Tears burned her eyes, and she lifted her hand to her mouth while gazing beseechingly at her friend. “Oh, Violet, I don’t know if I can go through with this. Truly I don’t.”

  A commiserating look softened Violet’s expression, and she threw her arms around Laura. “Oh, my dearest, I felt the same way the morning of my own wedding. As if I were about to swoon from sheer fright. But you’ll feel so much better once you go upstairs and speak your vows to the earl, I promise you will!”

  As if to add an exclamation point, a tiny foot kicked Laura. She stepped back in surprise.

  Violet lovingly stroked her belly. “See? Penelope is ordering you to cheer up, too.”

  Laura managed a wobbly smile. “Penelope may well be a boy. And please do explain how I am to cheer up. I’m about to wed the man who once attempted to arrest my father.”

  Perhaps that appalling fact lay at the heart of her dilemma. She had despised Alex for so many years. He still believed her father was guilty of theft. How could she even think of binding her life to him forever? It seemed unforgivably traitorous to Papa’s memory.

  “Your father would have wanted you to be happy,” Violet declared. “And the earl will make you happy. I know he will.”

  Laura felt a curl of longing in the midst of her doubts. But what would happen if—when—she proved that Lord Haversham was the true culprit? Would Alex be willing to dredge up the old scandal and send a fellow nobleman to prison? “I wish I could be certain of that.”

  “He spared no expense in buying you a trousseau. He could scarcely wait a moment to be married to you. And look, there’s also his wedding gift.” Violet held forth a small box in her hand. “He asked me to give this to you. That’s why I was waiting downstairs here for your arrival.”

  Laura took the oblong container. It was a jeweler’s case made of rich brown leather with silver trim.

  She bit her lip. The last time Alex had given her such a box, it had contained a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. But today it surely would be jewels, something magnificent and costly as befitting the bride of an earl.

  A lump formed in her throat. Didn’t he know? All she really wanted from him was love—along with his trust that she was a better judge of her own father’s character.

  “Do open it,” Violet urged. “I’ve been dying to see what’s inside. Do you suppose it’s the Copley diamonds? Mama told me just yesterday that the earl’s mother used to wear them everywhere, even when she went out for a drive on Rotten Row.”

  Intrigued by the prospect of viewing a Copley family heirloom, Laura slowly lifted the lid. But it wasn’t the cold sparkle of diamonds that met her eye. Inside, a simple string of pearls glowed against a nest of crimson velvet.

  Her breath caught. In the throes of astonishment, she stared down at the pearls. “It can’t be,” she murmured.

  “Can’t be what?” Violet asked, peering over her shoulder.

  Laura didn’t answer. In haste, she plucked out the necklace, abandoned the box on the table, and hurried to the window to examine the clasp in the sunlight. Her heart throbbed in heavy strokes. There, engraved in tiny letters, were the initials AF.

  Aileen Falkner, who had died shortly after Laura’s birth.

  She blinked to clear the happy tears that misted her eyes. As she cradled the string in her hands, the pearls felt warm and alive. Seeing Violet staring at her strangely, she laughed in delight. “These are my mother’s pearls. They were a gift to her from my father on their wedding day. I wore them at my come-out ball. How did Alex remember? How did he find them—?”

  “Why, he must have bought them at the auction all those years ago,” Violet said in wonderment. “Oh, my stars! I’ve never heard of anything so romantic. That proves he was pining for you back then. He was hoping he’d see you again so that he could return the necklace into your keeping.”

  Was that true? Laura found it difficult to imagine Alex pining. He had a sophisticated wit that belied any hidden, mawkish emotions. Yet she could think of no other explanation for his actions. And she felt suddenly keen to see him.

  She placed the strand around her neck. “Please, will you fasten the clasp for me?”

  Violet obliged, then steered her to a mirror on the wall. “How absolutely perfect! I daresay, the earl will be bowled over to see what a beautiful bride you are.”

  Laura had to agree that the necklace enhanced the delicate dove gray of her gown. But more than that, she loved the way the pearls lay heavy and warm against her skin, providing a connection to the mother she had never known. Had Mama felt this surfeit of emotions on her wedding day, too? This aching desire for happiness?

  Laura drew a deep breath. “I’m ready now. Shall we go?”

  Together she and Violet mounted the marble staircase to the first floor, where a forest-green carpet cushioned their footsteps. This reception hall was even grander than the entry, with an enormous crystal chandelier suspended from a domed ceiling painted with mythological scenes. As they neared an arched doorway, Violet stopped at a gilt table against the wall and handed Laura a nosegay of pink roses.

  She kissed Laura’s cheek, then whispered, “When you hear the music, come inside. And never fear, the earl is madly in love with you. I know he is
.”

  If only Laura could believe that. But she wanted to think so. She wanted it with a desperation that overcame her uncertainties.

  With a twitch of her pale green skirts, Violet disappeared through the doorway. Laura waited on pins and needles for what seemed like an hour, though by the ticking casement clock, only a minute or two had passed. Then, hearing the harmony of harp and violin, she walked to the doorway of a magnificent drawing room.

  The decor had a tasteful simplicity with gold and blue appointments, Laura noted in somewhat of a daze. A quartet of musicians occupied the far corner. In the center of the long room, the wedding guests filled three rows of chairs in front of a mantelpiece of cream marble.

  As one, the company turned to look at her. An excited buzz of whispers ensued, and she spied Violet’s husband Frederick, Lady Josephine, Lady Milford, and several other people she didn’t recognize.

  The Duchess of Knowles had refused an invitation. In a clipped tone, Alex had said that his godmother had washed her hands of them. Laura couldn’t be sorry. At least she wouldn’t have to suffer glares on her wedding day.

  Then she forgot all else as her gaze settled on the tall man standing by the fireplace, his head cocked to listen as the black-robed minister spoke a few words to him.

  Alexander Ross, the Earl of Copley, looked positively alluring in a charcoal-gray formal coat with long tails, a pewter waistcoat, and black trousers. The perfect white cravat complemented his dark handsomeness. He was the epitome of the proud nobleman, and the scar on his cheek added the merest hint of a dangerous rogue.

  Straightening, he looked across the room at her. His stern gaze caressed her from head to toe. As his eyes met hers, a faint smile crooked his lips. Warmth lurked there in place of his customary sardonic disdain. A warmth that stirred a tremor of hope in her heart.

  From the back row, a stoop-shouldered gentleman with thinning brown hair came scurrying to her side. He must be Alex’s cousin and heir, Mr. Lewis Ross, who was to escort her in lieu of her father. With a solemn nod, Mr. Ross offered his arm, and they proceeded up the aisle between the chairs.