Stroke of Midnight

by Olivia Drake

  At last she reached Alex. They stood side by side facing the minister, who opened his prayer book and began, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here…”

  The ceremony passed in a blur for Laura. She tried to heed the words, yet all the while she was conscious of Alex’s tall, masculine form beside her. In a fog of wonderment, she reflected that only a few weeks ago, she had come to London in disguise for fear of encountering him. And now here they stood in his house, each in turn speaking “I will” in response to the cleric.

  They turned to face each other. Alex took her right hand in his, his grip firm. Watching her with an unwavering stare, he solemnly recited his vow: “I, Alexander, take thee, Laura, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

  His face was grave, though his eyes conveyed the heat of passion. Was it only bodily desire he felt for her—or did his emotions run deeper?

  Laura repeated her own pledge to him, feeling every word resonate in her heart. She wanted to believe that he meant his, too. If he did not, then by the heavens, she would make him love and cherish her.

  Somehow.

  At last she removed her glove, and he slid a gold ring onto her finger. Then he bent to brush a lingering kiss across her lips. Her hands rested lightly on his lapels, and her heart felt in danger of beating out of her breast. They drew apart, and the final blessings were pronounced by the cleric before he presented them to the gathering as Lord and Lady Copley.

  Alex glanced down at her, and their gazes held for a brief eloquent moment before he turned away to greet their guests. His expression held warmth as well as something oddly like … satisfaction. But Laura had no time to ponder. The string quartet resumed playing, and everyone crowded forward to express their congratulations. She found herself enveloped in hugs by the ladies and pecked on the cheek by the gentlemen. Alex kept his hand at the small of her back, his face relaxed and smiling.

  After a time, they signed the register that the cleric had brought; then Alex directed the milling throng to proceed into the dining chamber for the wedding luncheon—without the bride and groom. “It’s customary to introduce the new countess to the household staff directly after the ceremony,” he said. “My wife and I will join all of you shortly.”

  My wife.

  A shiver of bliss coursed through Laura. She slipped her hand into his, and as they walked out the door and left the guests behind, he looked down at her with a hint of dry humor. “You were late, Countess. I was beginning to wonder if you’d absconded with the pearls.”

  “The pearls!” Her fingers flew to them, caressing their smooth roundness. “Oh, Alex. I can’t begin to tell you how much they mean to me. Did you buy them at the auction when my father’s possessions were sold?”

  “Yes. I have a fond memory of you wearing that necklace on one occasion in particular. It was at a party and we’d gone into an antechamber for a bit of privacy from the crowds. But there were voices approaching, so—”

  “So you dragged me into a linen closet to escape them. And we were trapped there in the dark for half an hour while people talked right outside the door.”

  “We passed the time rather agreeably, wouldn’t you say? I’ve never enjoyed kissing a girl quite so much. Though we didn’t do a fraction of what I was craving to do.” He lowered his voice to a husky murmur. “But now, my lady, proprieties need no longer constrain us. We may indulge ourselves as we wish.”

  His words ignited a burn deep inside Laura. By the faintly smug quality to his smile, she knew the reaction was exactly what he’d intended her to have. So she stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear, “What a pity we have guests, then. Else we might have indulged ourselves right now.”

  His eyes darkened, and his expression took on a look of intense frustration. “I’ll send them all home.”

  “Absolutely not,” she scolded with a smile. “I won’t start our marriage with such scandalous behavior. We will have our wedding celebration first.”

  As they walked downstairs, Laura reflected that he had not acquired the pearls out of love for her. The necklace had reminded him of a passionate encounter, that was all. But she wouldn’t let herself dwell on that disappointment. From the start, Alex had been frank about his desire for her. He had not misled her. She had only her own foolish heart to blame. Nevertheless, she intended to garner as much happiness as possible from this marriage.

  Some twenty servants lined up in the entrance hall, from the lowliest scullery maid to the upper staff. Alex introduced them one by one, and Laura concentrated on committing the names to memory. The butler was a distinguished man named Hodge, while the housekeeper was Mrs. Mayhew, a plump, smiling, grandmotherly type who was quite the opposite of the spiteful Mrs. Samson. A sober, middle-aged woman named Winifred had been hired to act as Laura’s personal maid.

  Having grown up without a mother, Laura had learned from a young age the responsibilities of running a household. She found herself slipping easily into the role as if the intervening ten years had never happened, and she made arrangements to meet with Mrs. Mayhew in the morning to discuss the menus and other pertinent issues, including the procuring of a new companion for Lady Josephine.

  “I intend to conduct the interviews myself,” Laura told Alex as they went back upstairs to rejoin their guests. “In the rush of making our own plans, I fear that I’ve left your aunt in the lurch.”

  “Aunt Josie will be fine. She has a staff to watch over her until other arrangements can be made.”

  “Perhaps we should have moved her here to live with us.”

  “She wouldn’t be happy without all her clutter. You know that.” Reaching the top of the stairs, he drew her close and kissed her brow. “Now, I forbid any more fretting. You’re to enjoy our wedding day—and look forward to the night to come.”

  His smile held a banked desire that filled her with a buoyant sense of expectation. Going into the dining chamber, they took their places at opposite ends of a long table. Laughter and chatter filled the bright sunny room. The champagne flowed freely, while a team of footmen delivered an endless array of superb dishes, and Laura made a valiant effort to sample every one of them.

  Violet sat to her right, with her husband beside her, and Laura was pleased to see that the dull and proper Frederick Blankenship adored his wife. It was evident in the way he smiled at her, the attentiveness with which he watched over Violet, worrying that she might overtire herself. They shared a cozy familiarity that Laura envied. Oh, that her own marriage might hold such mutual affection in the years to come …

  At Laura’s other hand sat Lady Milford, resplendent in a soft plum silk that intensified the amethyst hue of her eyes. “Well, Laura,” she murmured in a moment of relative privacy, “things have turned out rather well, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Something tells me you planned it that way,” Laura said, laughing as she took a sip of champagne.

  Lady Milford smiled rather cryptically. “It wasn’t entirely me, I’m sure. By the by, I’m pleased to see that today you’re wearing the slippers I gave to you.”

  “Yes, I also wore them on the night Alex asked me to marry him.”

  “Then one might say they have brought you good fortune.”

  Gazing into the woman’s serenely ageless face, Laura felt the inexplicable compulsion to reply, “Perhaps I should return them to you. I’ve so many new shoes that I won’t need yours anymore.”

  “An excellent decision, my dear. I’ll collect the pair from you soon.” Lady Milford’s enigmatic smile deepened. “One never knows when there might be another deserving young lady in want of good luck.”

  Chapter 22

  Laura sat propped against a nest of feather pillows in the four-poster bed with its hangings of seafoam-green silk. A low fire burned on the hearth. On either side of the
alabaster mantelpiece, a silver branch of candles cast a soft glow over the spacious chamber with its luxurious furnishings.

  She had readied herself in record time. Preparing for bed had been effortless with someone there to untie the corset strings, to fold the petticoats and stockings, to fetch warm water for washing, to braid her hair. Winifred had been respectful and efficient, and so deferential that it had made Laura very aware of the elevation in her status.

  At any other time, she would have attempted to befriend the woman. Kindness fostered loyalty in a servant, she knew. But tonight her thoughts had been too distracted for conversation. She’d swiftly donned her filmy nightdress and dismissed the maid.

  Anticipation nibbled at her composure. The mattress was cushiony, the linens soft. But she felt no inclination to relax and close her eyes. Instead, her gaze strayed to the connecting door in the corner. That had to be the entry to the earl’s suite of rooms.

  Where was Alex? When they’d parted more than half an hour ago, he had been heading down to the library with his cousin Lewis to lend the man a book on his way out.

  Were they still there talking?

  With a sigh, Laura unbraided her long hair, deciding to leave it loose. If only she had thought to fetch a book, it would have kept her mind occupied. But she could hardly wander downstairs now in her nightclothes. And there was nothing whatsoever to be read in this pristine room.

  That would have to change in the future—though making such a resolve didn’t help her in the present.

  Seeking a distraction, she inspected the white coverlet with its elaborate pattern of embroidered pink roses and green leaves. Had the previous countess done the needlework? Lady Josephine had described Alex’s mother, Blanche, as flighty and whimsical. Would Blanche have bent over a tambour frame for hours on end? Laura knew too little about the woman to be certain.

  But she didn’t intend for such tame pursuits to be her fate. She liked to be active, to stay busy and involved, not to be left to sit … and wait.

  Temporarily abandoning her plan to be ensconced in bed when Alex arrived, Laura threw back the covers. The carpet felt plush against her bare feet as she padded to a bank of pale green draperies. Parting them, she peeked out an open window that overlooked the darkened garden at the back of the house. The cobalt blue of twilight lingered on the horizon, and pinpricks of light shone in neighboring residences.

  At this very moment, members of the ton would be dressing for balls and parties, which often didn’t begin until ten o’clock. How novel to think that while the nobility danced the night away—and gossiped about the scandalous marriage of the Earl of Copley to the notorious Miss Falkner—she and Alex would be lying in each other’s arms, engaged in unknown intimacies.

  Her thoughts dwelled on the consummation. She had a general notion of what went on between husband and wife, though not the specifics, and she craved to learn all of it. Curiosity caused a quickening of her blood, stirring an impatience that she found difficult to assuage.

  Where is my husband?

  Laura paced to a dainty writing desk beside the fireplace and seated herself on a straight-backed chair. The cherrywood surface gleamed in the candlelight. If she could locate the proper supplies, she might pass the time by sketching.

  Opening the single drawer, Laura felt like a thief rifling through someone else’s possessions. She had to remind herself that every item in this chamber now belonged to her—even though her sense of decorum hadn’t quite accepted the reality of that yet.

  Inside the shallow drawer lay a tidy stack of notepaper embossed with the Copley crest. She also discovered sealing wax, a silver ink pot, and an assortment of quill pens. Not seeing a pencil, she slipped her hand into the very back of the drawer in case one might have rolled out of sight.

  Instead of a cylindrical writing implement, however, her fingers encountered a small, oval object. She brought it out, tilted the flat surface to the candlelight, and saw to her surprise that it was a miniature. The protective glass had been shattered, with several cracks directly over the diminutive painting.

  Despite the fractures, she could discern the image of an older gentleman with dour features, a strong jaw, and dark eyes and hair. He bore an uncanny resemblance to Alex.

  Was this the old earl, Alex’s late father? Surely it had to be.

  But why was the glass broken? Had his mother dropped the miniature, then slipped it into the drawer to be repaired later? Or had she smashed it in a rage and hidden the damage from sight?

  Lady Josephine had said that his parents had often fought. It was quite shocking the way the two of them would scream at each other! I daresay poor Alexander witnessed far too many quarrels in his time …

  A door clicked open at the other end of the bedchamber. Startled, Laura guiltily dropped the miniature back in its place, shut the drawer, and turned on the chair to peer over her shoulder.

  Alex strolled into the bedchamber.

  With a wild leap, her heart set off racing. He had changed out of his wedding clothes into a loose linen shirt over a pair of breeches. His feet were bare, and she had the sudden fantasy of him climbing the rigging of a pirate ship with a knife clenched in his teeth.

  He came halfway into the room and stopped, his gaze intent on her. “Pray forgive the delay,” he said in his usual tone of dry wit. “I had trouble pushing Lewis out the door. Once my cousin starts jabbering about military history, it’s nearly impossible to…”

  His words petered out as Laura stood up from the chair and took a few steps toward him. His gaze dropped to her nightdress. She wore nothing underneath it. And she realized belatedly that the backlight of the fire through the gossamer fabric must be giving him a spectacular view of her curves.

  A blush seared her from head to toe. If only she’d waited in bed like a good wife. With the covers drawn to her chin. Then again, she liked the entranced look on his face. She liked it enormously.

  Those thoughts flitted through her mind in swift succession. Since Alex appeared too transfixed to move, Laura felt a compulsion to be bold. And why not? They were husband and wife now.

  She walked forward with a deliberate sway to her hips. “Military history, you say? Do you truly find that more interesting than your bride?”

  “No! I only thought you needed time … to do whatever women need to do.”

  Reaching him, she flattened her palms on the wall of his chest. The heat of his skin penetrated the thin fabric of his shirt. In a soft, throaty voice, she said, “What I need, Alex, is you. Only you. And I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

  To her delight, she found herself instantly caught up in his arms, clasped in a hard embrace, his mouth crushing hers. He kissed her with a ferocity that left no doubt as to his desire for her. She returned his passion with her own wholehearted participation. All the while, his hands traversed up and down her body, cupping her bottom and holding her so close that she could not fail to notice the hardness at his loins. Obeying instinct, she tilted her hips, the better to satisfy her illicit interest.

  A groan emanated from deep in his throat. Alex drew back slightly, his breathing rough as he nuzzled her hair. Against her breasts, she felt the heavy pounding of his heartbeat. “Enough,” he muttered. “There’s no need to rush. We have all night.”

  With that, he caught her up into his arms and she clung to him, inhaling the allure of his spicy scent. He carried her to an overstuffed chair by the hearth, where he sat down and settled her in his lap.

  Laura melted into the solid crook of his arm. She loved being cuddled against his muscled body, yet his action surprised her. “Not … the bed?”

  “In a little while,” he said, pressing a kiss to her brow. “I’ve waited too long to hold you like this. I won’t allow matters to be concluded too swiftly.”

  “But if we desire each other…”

  “Then we should take our time to hone our pleasure. Trust me, Laura. I know exactly what you want.”

  For once, his arrogant man
ner didn’t irk her. She did trust him—in this at least—and she craved to go wherever he led her. Catching hold of his hand, she pressed a kiss in his palm. “Then pray do not delay.”

  Alex chuckled. “As you wish, my lady.”

  He brushed his lips over hers in teasing kisses that made her become as pliant as clay, ready to be molded by his expert mouth and hands. The heat in his dark eyes sent shivers over her skin. Plucking open the row of dainty pearl buttons down the front of her bodice, he reached inside to weigh the globe of one breast in the palm of his hand. The lazy stroking of his thumb over the tip sent ribbons of pleasure unfurling downward to her inmost depths.

  A sigh eased from her lips. “Oh, Alex, that is what I want.”

  He merely smiled, then lowered his head to take her into his mouth. As she gasped in appreciative surprise, he suckled her, unleashing a chaos of new sensations. He turned his attention to her other breast, and Laura could only look down in a blissful bemusement at his head, bent over her open bodice while he feasted on her bare bosom. In all her secret fantasies of lovemaking, never had she expected him to do such divine things with his tongue and mouth.

  Her fingers threaded into the thick silk of his hair to encourage him. How strange to think that only a fortnight ago, she had despised this man with all her heart and soul. She had relegated their youthful romance to the ash heap of history. Yet now she was his wife and she desired him with a desperation that could only be termed unladylike.

  At last he brought up his head to hers again, awarding her another deep kiss that ended with a gentle nip of his teeth on her lower lip. When he tugged at the hem of her nightdress, she mindlessly lifted herself to let him pull the garment up to her waist, leaving her privates hidden beneath a pool of draping. Her breathing had become quick and shallow. The smoothness of his breeches beneath her bare legs felt wickedly wonderful. So did the movement of his hand as it slipped up her thigh and delved beneath the fabric to idly caress her hip.