Stroke of Midnight (16 page)

“I believe you can.” Alex deemed it time he confronted her on the issue of her sleuthing. “You took this position with my aunt so that you could go into society and investigate on your own. I only wonder why you didn’t come back to London sooner. Perhaps your father forbade you to do so.”

She crossed her arms. “You can’t prove anything of the sort.”

Frustrated, Alex pushed back his coat and placed his hands on his hips. He wanted to strangle her—or kiss her until she forgot all about her foolish plan. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he warned. “You can’t be poking into the lives of the nobility, making accusations of prominent members of the ton. You’ll lose your post here, and then where will you be?”

“So you would dismiss me from Lady Josephine’s service. Why does that not surprise me?”

He scowled. “Don’t twist my meaning. I won’t let my aunt be dragged into a scandal.”

“There is no scandal—nor will there be.”

“You can’t be certain of that. Now, who is it that you suspect of this deed?”

When she stubbornly pressed her lips shut, a plan sprang full-blown into his mind. A plan that would allow him to shield her—and his aunt—from harm. A plan so brilliant, he wondered that he hadn’t thought of it before.

He went directly to Laura, gripping her hand with both of his so that she couldn’t retreat from him again. “I can help you. I have all the connections that you lack. In your present station, you can’t call on people or ask them questions. But I can. I’ll find out whatever it is you wish to know.”

“You? That’s like asking the fox to guard the henhouse.”

“At least you’re no longer denying your real purpose here.”

A flush of high color sprang into her cheeks. For a moment she looked charmingly befuddled. Then she tossed up her chin in defiance. “All right, so why would I trust
you
to help me? You, who tried to arrest my father. You, who told me little to nothing about your past.”

“
My
past? What the devil does that have to do with anything?”

She gave him a sly look from beneath her lashes. “For one, you never told me the Duchess of Knowles was your godmother. She must have a close connection to your family. Tell me, is she a blood relation?”

“No. She was a friend of my father’s. They grew up in the same household.”

Laura raised a quizzical eyebrow. “But you just said they weren’t related.”

“She’d been orphaned and my grandfather was her appointed guardian.” Alex had no intention of discussing the duchess any further. It was too risky a topic if Laura were to probe deeply. “But all that is immaterial. What matters is the name of whomever it is you suspect.”

Laura eyed him warily. Then she gave a shake of her head that stirred a few wisps of golden hair around her face. “I daren’t say. You might warn that person—or persons. The nobility protects its own.”

“Nonsense. If someone other than your father stole the Blue Moon diamond, I’d suffer no qualms over tracking down the villain, no matter how high his rank.” He drew her hand to his lips and pressed his lips to the smooth back. The faint scent of flowers stirred his blood like an aphrodisiac. “I promise you that, Laura. I don’t know how much clearer I can be.”

Alex meant every word, although he remained certain the culprit was Martin Falkner. But maybe she needed to go through this exercise to set her mind at ease on the matter. Maybe convincing her that she was chasing a ghost was the only way she could ever trust him again.

Laura drew a deep breath that lifted her bosom. Releasing a sigh, she gazed warily at him, their hands still joined. Those expressive blue eyes were a window to her soul, though he couldn’t read her thoughts as readily as he once could. She had an intriguing sense of mystery about her now. He burned to uncover all her secrets, from the taste of her lush mouth to the feminine curves beneath the concealment of her gown.

With any other woman, he would have already asserted his desires. Yet with Laura he felt as hesitant as a callow youth. One precipitous move and he might wreck this fragile peace between them …

Quite shockingly, she lifted up on tiptoe, placed her hands on his shoulders, and held her face close to his. Her nearness affected him in a visceral rush of lust. Her parted lips hovered half an inch from his mouth, so close he could feel the warmth of her breath. She murmured, “I shouldn’t trust you, Alex … truly I shouldn’t.”

“Truly, you
should
.”

He needed no further enticement to join their mouths in a deep kiss. A tidal wave of desire inundated him. At last he had Laura in his arms again, exactly where she belonged. Hot blood pumped through his veins and pooled in his loins. No other woman had ever become an obsession to him as she was. He thought of her constantly, day and night. Yet he was conscious now of the need to woo her.

As fiercely as he wanted to explore the uncharted territory of her body, he would not—could not—debase her with the full force of his passion. With great effort, he focused on pleasing her with his hands and mouth. He cupped her face, letting his fingers thread into her hair as he used the kiss to cajole and caress. Whenever Laura thought about him in the days to come, he wanted her to ache with longing. He wanted her to pine for his touch. Then perhaps she finally would regard him again with the same loving adoration she had once lavished upon him.

She ended the kiss, though her eyes were slumberous and her body soft against his. “This doesn’t mean anything, you know.”

In the grip of a fever, Alex was charmed by her need to dupe herself. He ran his fingertip over her moist lips. “It’s merely the wine we drank at dinner.”

“Yes,” she murmured. “The wine.”

Laura let him nuzzle her face for a few moments longer, tilting her head like a kitten indicating where she wished to be petted. Then as abruptly as she’d entered his arms, she retreated a few steps. Despite the faint flush in her cheeks and the redness of her lips, she appeared otherwise composed.

“You will give me a few days to consider,” she said.

Alex gawked at her. His passion-soaked brain refused to comprehend her meaning. Had he asked her to—? No, he couldn’t have. He would have remembered
that
. “Consider?”

“Whether or not I shall allow you to help me find who stole the diamond. You may call on me in two days’ time.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he commanded.

“No. I insist upon having time to think.” Her mouth curved in a slight smile as if she found his impatience amusing. Amusing! “Good night, my lord.”

Turning, she walked out of the drawing room, leaving him alone in the circle of candlelight. Alone with his unquenched lust. Alone without any certainly about her intentions.

Alex scowled at the darkened doorway. He should be delighted that Laura had initiated that kiss. She had come willingly into his arms at last. Yet she also had ended the kiss on her own terms. And he had the irksome suspicion that somehow, she had gained the better of him.

Chapter 15

On such a fine springtime afternoon, Mayfair teemed with pedestrians out for a stroll in the sunshine. A few fleecy clouds grazed in the blue meadow of the sky. During the night, a rainstorm had blown away the stench of coal smoke and left in its wake the scent of blooming flowers and fresh greenery.

His long ears flapping, Charlie trotted happily along the foot pavement with Laura. The young spaniel paused now and then to sniff a bush or to lift his leg on a lamppost. He was remarkably well mannered, never barking at other dogs or trying to chase after carriages in the street. At the slightest infraction, he responded obediently to a firm word and a tug on his lead, so Laura felt confident that he would not draw undue attention to her.

She had taken care to dress the part of the paid companion in a drab gray gown devoid of any trimmings. Keeping her chin down in a modest pose, she avoided the gaze of any passersby. Her features, she hoped, were obscured by a combination of the wide-brimmed bonnet and the round spectacles.

Laura had been worried that morning when the eyeglasses were nowhere to be found. She hadn’t wanted to venture outside without the disguise. Then a footman had delivered them to her along with a sealed note. The bold black script of the message was burned into her memory.

I look forward with great anticipation to our next meeting. May I propose we drink more wine? I remain,

Yours, Alex

An unseemly elation suffused Laura, making her heart flutter despite the cudgel of common sense.
May I propose we drink more wine?
It was the height of foolishness to dwell on the teasing hint that they indulge their desire for each other. Perhaps it also had been the height of foolishness for her to kiss Alex in the first place.

In the bright light of day, she couldn’t escape the truth. The mad attraction to him that she had felt as a debutante had survived disillusionment and ten years’ separation. She had been certain of her scorn for him … until his kindness to Lady Josephine on her birthday had tempted Laura to look more charitably upon his character.

The disturbing glimpse into his unhappy childhood had further eroded her resentment of him. Try as she might, she couldn’t keep from picturing him as a mistreated little boy who had suffered the cruelty of his own father.

Then later, when they had been alone in the drawing room, Alex had been candid in their discussion of the missing necklace. Instead of shielding her as many gentlemen would have done, he had spoken frankly. He had even offered to help Laura in her investigation.

She intended to accept his aid. That was why she had kissed him, to ensure that he truly would dedicate himself to her quest. She had put him off for two days solely as a means to make him cool his heels in the hope of heightening his determination to please her.

His standing in society would give him a greater chance of success, she knew, although there were drawbacks. For one, Alex had seemed reluctant to discuss his godmother, the Duchess of Knowles. He might not be willing to reveal whether she had had an affair with Lord Haversham. For another, Alex still believed Papa to be the true culprit. Worst of all, there was a distinct possibility that the earl was merely humoring her in an effort to make her his mistress.

Pursing her lips, Laura spotted Berkeley Square just ahead with its lush greenery and numerous plane trees. It had been a pleasant stroll from the town house where she’d left Lady Josephine napping on the chaise. Laura paused at the corner to let a carriage rattle past, and Charlie strained at the leash, clearly eager at the prospect of another long route to explore with all its myriad new smells.

They proceeded at a brisk pace across the street. Instead of going to the gardens, where fashionable people promenaded along the paths, Laura headed on a circuit of the residences surrounding the square. She studied the row of elegant buildings, occupied by many of London’s finest families. Multiple chimneys topped the tall, four-story homes. Here at the ground level, most of the windows had lace under-curtains that blocked the interior rooms from view. Checking the polished brass numbers over the doors, Laura ascertained that the domicile of interest to her lay at the far end of the broad road.

She passed other people on the street, a postman in his cap and red coat, a governess shooing a little boy and girl toward the park, two elderly gentlemen ambling along in deep conversation. Laura avoided looking directly at any of them. Yet despite the gravity of her purpose, she found an irrepressible smile softening her mouth.

It had to be the fine weather that caused the buoyancy of her mood. The breeze tugged at the brim of her bonnet, birds twittered and swooped in the trees, and the sunshine bathed her in warmth. In Portugal, she had been accustomed to spending much time outdoors in the garden, and she’d missed that. As much as she liked Lady Josephine, it was a relief to escape the confinement of her cluttered house. Most of all, Laura finally could take action in her quest to investigate Lord Haversham and his snooty daughter Evelyn.

Alex didn’t know it, but he had provided this opportunity when he had given Charlie to Lady Josephine. Now Laura had a ready excuse to take frequent walks through Mayfair.

Her thoughts lingered on Alex. Perhaps she should admit that their kiss also played a part in her high spirits. It was gratifying to recall how discombobulated he’d looked afterward, and to realize that she could stir such passion in him. For all his cool, urbane air, the almighty Earl of Copley had been deeply affected by their embrace.

But she must
not
allow him to kiss her again. No. It would be dangerous to encourage him. Her present situation was entirely different than it had been ten years ago as a lady of privilege. Now her father had been convicted—albeit unfairly—of thievery. With her reputation ruined, she could only ever be Alex’s mistress. A man of his stature would never make an honorable offer to a fallen woman.

Nor did she want one from him. For as long as she lived, Laura would never forget the sight of him tying Papa’s hands behind his back with the intention of taking him to the magistrate at Bow Street Station. Had she not struck out at Alex with the penknife, Papa would have been locked in Newgate Prison to await sentencing to death.

Laura took a deep breath to clear her mind of those disturbing memories. Nearing her destination, she needed to observe without distraction. The last house on the corner was the address the footman had provided her. She had never visited Lord Haversham’s home because of his feud with Papa.

Unlike the other row houses with their brick facades, this one was built of gray stone. Triangular pilasters topped the tall windows on the first floor where the reception rooms were located. A decorative iron railing ran along the front of the property, with a narrow strip of well-tended red tulips on either side of the short front walk.

Had Papa come here on his return to London? She desperately needed to find out.

A smart yellow phaeton, of the type driven by dashing young gentlemen, was parked along the curbstone with a groom holding the horses. The Marquess of Haversham must be entertaining a caller.