Stroke of Midnight (20 page)

Much to her relief, she didn’t attract nearly as much attention now. People must be looking for the dowdy companion in the eyeglasses and spinster’s cap. A few guests still stared and whispered, but Laura simply ignored them. If this was to be her last foray into society, then she must make the most of it. For Papa’s sake.

She glanced in the card room, where several foursomes played at small tables, but Evelyn’s father wasn’t among them. There were any number of amusements for those who didn’t care to dance, and Laura decided to inspect all the other possibilities first before she attempted to find the marquess in the packed ballroom.

As she started down the corridor, someone called out, “Miss Falkner?”

Laura turned and then instantly regretted it. Mr. Rupert Stanhope-Jones hastened toward her, his keen blue eyes studying her transformation. He looked debonair as always in a burgundy pin-striped coat over black breeches, a diamond stickpin winking in his snow-white cravat. With his flaxen hair and patrician features, he embodied the consummate English gentleman.

Laura, however, would have preferred a sewer rat over him.

“You,” she said coldly. “You would dare to approach me?”

He took hold of her arm and steered her into a private alcove. “I’ve no right to beg your forgiveness,” he said in a humble tone. “But I shall do so, anyway. When Evelyn recognized you on the street, I should have discouraged her from tracking you down. But she would not allow the matter to rest.”

Laura wasn’t fooled. She remembered how quickly his yellow phaeton had come in search of her. And how avidly he had watched her at tea. “I’m sure you enjoyed helping Evelyn spread the gossip. Thanks to the both of you, I shall no doubt lose my position.”

He lowered his chin in a pose of abject shame. “That was never my intention, Miss Falkner. I have always been an admirer of yours. Have you forgotten how devoted I once was to you?”

He’d been one of several gentlemen who’d sought Laura’s hand in marriage all those years ago. “That life is long behind me. And it seems this one is, too. Good evening, sir.”

As she turned to depart, he stepped into her path. “Wait. If you are to be sacked, where will you go? How will you live?”

Laura frowned, wishing she knew. She had limited funds, and no one would hire her now without references. Not that she intended to tell this man. “Your interest in my welfare is touching,” she said. “However, I cannot see where it is any concern of yours.”

“Please, you must allow an old friend to help you,” he said urgently. “It is a way for me to make reparations.” He caught hold of her wrist, his gaze moving admiringly over her. “You are so very beautiful. I could be of great assistance if only you will allow me.”

A cold knot formed in the pit of her stomach. She tugged at his grip, but his fingers were like iron around her wrist. “Release me at once, or I shall scream.”

“My dearest Laura, do listen. I can give you everything you could ever want—a house, a carriage, jewels. I would ask so little of you in return. Only that you share yourself with me from time to time—”

She brought the heel of her dancing slipper down hard onto his instep. He uttered a strangled exclamation of pain, and his fingers loosened. Pulling free, Laura hurried back out into the corridor.

Her heart was pounding madly. Walking away at a fast pace, she had to force herself not to run lest attention be drawn to herself. Oh, dear God. The vile proposal made her ill. She had expected such an offer from Alex, but not from other gentlemen, too. Was that to be her fate? Was every man at this party either a critic like Lord Oliver or a lecher wondering if she would warm his bed in exchange for a few trinkets?

Tears burned in her eyes, but she furiously blinked them away. If Alex were here, he, too, would make his move on her. After all, she was no longer suitable to be his aunt’s companion. She would be turned out of the house lest the taint of her ruination bring dishonor upon Lady Josephine. As a penniless pariah, Laura would be left without recourse. Hadn’t that been Alex’s diabolical plan all along?

Pain and anger warred within her. How she despised him. If only there was a way to bring about
his
downfall, she would do so without a qualm …

Directly in front of her, a gentleman emerged from the doorway of the library. Balding with a fringe of graying brown hair, he was garbed in black evening clothes and had a familiar haughty tilt to his chin.

The sight of him drove all other consideration from her mind. “Lord Haversham!”

He turned, his narrow features reflecting a cool disdain. His gray eyes revealed not a hint of recognition. Thankfully, his daughter wasn’t beside him to whisper Laura’s name in his ear. “Yes?” he asked.

Laura curtsied. Her mouth felt dry, her pulses racing at the prospect of finally questioning the villain who had arranged for Papa’s arrest and possible murder. Though the circumstances weren’t ideal, she would have no better chance than this. “I wondered if I might have a word with you in private, my lord. If it isn’t too inconvenient.”

“Now? Who are you?”

“The daughter of an old acquaintance.” Laura didn’t want to reveal any more. Not yet. Pasting on a demure smile in hopes of softening his sour expression, she added, “Please, it would be a great kindness if only you would walk with me…”

Another man stepped out of the library. In the space of a blink, his cool dark gaze scanned Laura up and down, paralyzing her tongue.

“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Alex told her. “Haversham is on his way out. He’s going to his club.” To the marquess, he added, “There, I’m claiming this lovely young lady for myself. Unless you’d rather we fight for her fair hand with pistols at dawn?”

Haversham gave a rusty chuckle. “I’m too old for such tomfoolery, Copley. I’d sooner enjoy a few rounds of hazard and a bottle of port, far away from this crush. Good evening.”

With a curt nod, the marquess strode down the corridor leading to the entrance hall. Aghast, Laura found her voice. “Wait—!”

Alex deftly caught her arm and guided her in the opposite direction, his hand at the base of her spine. “Where the devil have you been?” he muttered. “I’ve been searching everywhere.”

“You had no right to interfere in my conversation.” Laura glanced over her shoulder, but the marquess had vanished into the crowd. She turned her gaze back to Alex, who looked infuriatingly handsome from the broad shoulders in a midnight-blue coat to the white cravat at his throat. In an irate whisper, she repeated, “No right at all!”

“I’ve every right to stop my aunt’s companion from creating a scene in the midst of a ball.” His gaze pierced Laura as he drew her farther away from the prying eyes of the other guests. “I know about his feud with your father. I won’t have you accusing Haversham of theft and trickery without a shred of proof.”

“I might have learned the proof if you hadn’t interrupted!”

“Oh? I suppose you thought you could simply ask him if he’d stolen the diamond and he’d confess on the spot.”

“No! I had a plan. But thanks to you, it’s
ruined.
”

Crossing her arms, Laura scowled at him. Actually, she didn’t have a clear idea of what she might have found out. Perhaps a guilty look when she asked Haversham if Martin Falkner had come to call recently. A slip of the tongue might have revealed much. But now she wouldn’t have that chance.

Then it occurred to her to wonder how Alex had determined that her target was Haversham. The earl must have been poking into her father’s past in the two days since last they’d met, perhaps trying to disprove her theory. It was yet another black mark on his character.

Alex’s gaze flicked to her bosom, skimmed over her restyled hair, and then returned to her face. “Well. You’re lucky Haversham didn’t recognize you. Evelyn probably told him you were a drab with spectacles and a spinster’s bonnet.”

“I went upstairs just now and removed the disguise. It served no purpose anymore, as I’m sure you’ve heard.”

“Indeed. From at least ten different people as I walked through the ballroom.” He paused, a smoldering heat in his eyes as he regarded her. “This
does
alter your situation, you know.”

Laura was aware of his palm burning into the base of her spine. His touch felt stirringly intimate—as he surely meant it to be. If things had turned out differently ten years ago, Alex might have asked her to be his wife. Now she was only suited to be his light skirt.

How strange to think that her life had been the reverse of Cinderella’s. She had been a princess first before falling from grace. And her Prince Charming had proven himself to be an incorrigible beast.

“Of course I realize that things have changed,” she said stiffly. “I shall be packing my valise in the morning. Until then, however, I am still employed, and if you’ll excuse me, I must go check on Lady Josephine.”

He shook his head. “First, you and I need to talk.”

“Not now. People are watching.” A half-formed plan sprang to her mind. It was mad, it was reckless, but it also was preferable to being forced to parry another wicked proposition—this time from a man she had once loved with all her youthful heart. “What time is it?”

Frowning, he consulted his pocket watch. “Eleven. It would be wise if we collected my aunt and left here directly after the supper. There are matters to be settled between us.”

Matters! He wanted to lay his claim on her person in the most shameful way possible. Let him think he had her won!

Laura curved her lips into a sensuous smile. “Why wait until we leave, my lord? If you’ll go to the end of this corridor, you’ll see a back staircase. At the top, there’s an empty bedchamber on the right. I’ll meet you there in an hour’s time.”

His eyes darkened, his gaze searching her face. Heat radiated from his body as he bent his lips to her ear. “Laura,” he said in a caressing murmur. “This is hardly the place for an assignation.”

An illicit tryst had been his first thought, just as she had known it would be. A wild fury gripped her heart. At least he had dispelled any doubts lingering in her. His colossal conceit needed to be taken down a notch or two.

Gazing up at him through the screen of her lashes, she lightly ran her fingertips over the back of his hand. “Just be there,” she murmured. “At the stroke of midnight.”

Chapter 18

The rest of it proved simple to arrange. After parting from Alex, Laura went in search of paper and pen. She found those items in a quiet morning room off a deserted passageway. There, by the glow of a candle, she sat down at a small desk to compose a note. The message took her a few tries before it was perfect; then she sanded and folded the paper and sealed it with a bit of red wax. Tucking it into her sleeve and out of sight, she returned to the ballroom.

People didn’t seem to notice her so readily now that the cap and spectacles were gone. Laura was able to slip through the maze of guests without attracting undue attention. She spied Evelyn chatting with a group of gentlemen. From her animated expression, it was clear the duchess was enjoying her popularity as the herald of salacious gossip.

She, too, deserved to be knocked off her pedestal.

Laura stopped a harried footman carrying a tray of champagne glasses. She handed him the note. “Pray give this to the Duchess of Cliffington. She’s the auburn-haired lady in the green gown over there.”

From a grouping of ferns, Laura watched as the footman delivered the missive and then proceeded on his rounds. The duchess stepped to the side and opened the paper to peruse it. When she returned to the group, the secretive smile on her lips told Laura the dupe had been a success.

Now, if only the final piece could be arranged, her hasty, improbable plan might just succeed.

Laura approached the group of matrons where Lady Josephine was sitting. Thankfully, her ladyship’s wrinkled features held a cheery smile. These busybodies must have heeded Laura’s warning.

Hovering at the edge of the group, she gave a little wave to catch the attention of the bulldog-faced woman. Mrs. Dorcas Grayling scanned her without recognition; then her eyes widened and she rose from her chair in a hurry.

“My word, you have tarted up your appearance already,” Mrs. Grayling said disapprovingly. “Have you no shame?”

Laura strove for a woebegone expression. “Please, ma’am, I am not feeling quite well. I only wanted her ladyship to know where to find me. I shall be lying down for a short while. If I’m needed, pray send someone to take the back staircase to the first bedchamber on the right.”

“I hardly think you should trouble Lady Josephine if you’re indisposed.”

“Well, at least assure her not to worry, then. A certain gentleman has very kindly promised to stay with me … in case I am in want of anything.”

The woman’s face turned apoplectic. “A gentleman—? In the bedchamber with
you
—? Who—?”

Pretending not to hear, Laura set off through the crowd. Mrs. Grayling would not be able to resist confiding this latest outrage to the other matrons. They would stew over it for a little while. Then Laura hoped—though she couldn’t be certain—that a bevy of them would take it upon themselves to go upstairs and expose the disgraceful conduct of the notorious Miss Falkner.

Instead of her, though, they would find Alex and Evelyn.

Laura wouldn’t let herself feel any qualms. Yes, her plan might be spiteful, but at least those two might think twice next time before taking advantage of someone who lacked their standing in society.

Out in the reception hall, she spied a casement clock that marked a quarter hour before midnight. There should be just enough time for her to find a hidden spot from which to observe the results of her handiwork.

She kept a sharp eye out to make certain that no one was watching her too closely. Only then did she hasten up the back staircase. In the upper corridor, the glass-globed lamps still burned on tables here and there, and the faraway music of the orchestra drifted from the ballroom.

Otherwise, the place was silent, deserted.

Instead of turning to the right, Laura went to the door on her left. It was not completely closed, so she rapped lightly. When no one answered, she slipped into a gloomy bedroom. Elongated shadows flickered on the high ceiling from the coals that glowed on the hearth. There was enough just illumination for her to see the black outline of a four-poster bed and other furnishings. The banked fire indicated that this room was in use, but the occupant wasn’t likely to come upstairs during the ball.