Stroke of Midnight (9 page)

“Of course,” he said with a smirk of satisfaction. “They’re fashioned of plain glass. Much more convenient than your old ones, don’t you agree?”

“But … where did you find them? I searched up and down The Strand, but no one sells spectacles without magnification. What purpose would they serve?” She paused, then added, “Except for disguise, of course. But apparently there isn’t a very large market for that.”

“There should be. I plan to put them on my daughters someday to discourage the swains.”

Laura stared at him. His statement caused an earthquake inside her. “You have daughters? From … a mistress?”

He cocked an amused eyebrow. Then he bent down to look straight at her as he adjusted the glasses slightly. “No need to get your maidenly feathers in a ruffle, Miss Brown. I was speaking in mere supposition.”

“Oh.” Laura found herself transfixed by the notion of him with a family. Was he seeking a wife this season? Was that why he’d made such a statement? Having turned thirty-one the previous February, perhaps he was considering the need to beget an heir. He still had a glint in his eyes, so she added, “I’m not in a
ruffle
over anything, by the by. Your private sins are of no concern to me.”

“It’s been my experience that women who declare a lack of interest in my activities are usually ones who are the
most
interested.”

“Clearly you’ve involved yourself with deceitful women, then. Now, you never told me where you found these spectacles.”

“I had them made especially for you.”

An unwelcome thought occurred to Laura. Considering that the rims were gold and the special order had been filled within a day’s time, Alex must have gone to considerable expense on her behalf. “How much did the pair cost? You may deduct the amount from my wages.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “It was a paltry sum.”

“I’m afraid I can’t accept them. I won’t take a gift from you.”

Reaching up, Laura started to remove the spectacles, but he caught her wrist and stopped her. “You can and you will,” he stated. “Consider it a gift to my aunt.”

“Your aunt?”

“She’ll be caught up in the scandal if anyone recognizes you. It would be extremely upsetting to her.” Still grasping Laura’s wrist, Alex pulled her over to a gilt-framed mirror on the wall. He brought her to stand in front of him, and their closeness felt shockingly like an embrace. “See? The disguise works much better now that you aren’t constantly peering over the rims.”

Laura gazed at her reflection. Or rather,
their
reflection—the spinster and the rogue. In the candlelit bedchamber, Alex loomed behind her like a dark angel of temptation. The fluttering of her heart set off a pulse beat deep within her womb. She was conscious of the heat of his body against her back, the weight of his hands resting on her shoulders, the knowledge that she had only to turn in his arms and he would fulfill her most forbidden desires.

She stepped toward the mirror on the pretext of adjusting the spectacles. “I can manage with the old ones.”

“And trip down the stairs or fall over a footstool while you’re escorting my aunt? No. It’s a small price for me to pay to save her from injury.”

She hoped he felt a true duty to his aunt. Better that than having a secret scheme to make Laura feel beholden to him. But she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit her pleasure in keeping the eyeglasses. They were crucial to her masquerade. “All right, then, I suppose it’s reasonable to accept them.”

“Excellent. And just in time—here’s Aunt Josie now.”

Leading the way, Alex navigated the maze of furniture to the dressing room doorway, where Lady Josephine was walking out with the use of her cane. The green brocade gown with its trimming of lace suited her round form and merry nature. Her gray hair had been beautifully styled and adorned with a bird-of-paradise flower. Beneath the multiple folds of her throat gleamed a magnificent emerald-and-diamond necklace with matching gemstones at her ears.

Laura smiled warmly at her. “You look quite festive, my lady. We shall have a grand time tonight.”

A faintly puzzled look came over Lady Josephine’s face. “Why have you not dressed for the ball, Lenora?”

“Laura,” Alex corrected smoothly, offering his arm to the old woman. “She’s a bluestocking, that’s why. It’s a well-known fact that such females lack any interest in fashion. But no matter, being seen in my company ought to lend her at least the veneer of style.”

Laura had been frowning at his assessment of her when his last sentence left her aghast. “You’re going with us?” she asked. “But you don’t attend balls. You told me so yourself just yesterday.”

“Then it’s time for me to mend my wicked ways. I’ve neglected my dear aunt for long enough.”

He patted Lady Josephine’s arm, and she beamed up at him while Laura watched in dismay. He had another objective in mind—she knew he did, because a man of his sinful tastes didn’t tarry with dowagers and spinsters. Perhaps, Laura thought bitterly, he didn’t trust her not to plunder the house of their host.

She intended to sleuth for information, to eavesdrop on conversations and ascertain the location of certain people from her past. But how was she to succeed if Alex watched her all evening?

“I’ve ordered the barouchet,” she said in desperation. “There’s only room for two to sit comfortably.”

“Oh, but I’m certain we can all squeeze in together!” Lady Josephine said. “Don’t you agree, Alexander?”

His sardonic stare bored into Laura. “There’s nothing I would relish more.”

Chapter 9

Laura had not expected to take such pleasure in the ball. She sat in a chair behind Lady Josephine and a group of matriarchs who were chatting about the plans for young Queen Victoria’s coronation at the end of June. Alex had left his aunt in this spot some time ago. The old ladies had fawned over him, while affording Laura only a cursory greeting. She was, after all, a nobody unworthy of their attention.

The arrangement suited her perfectly. Free to observe the swarms of guests, she marveled at the sheer number of them. Having lived so many years isolated in the mountains, she had forgotten just how crowded a London ball could be.

Or how exciting.

The pomp and splendor of it all engulfed her senses. Towering columns stretched up the pale green walls of the vast ballroom. A trio of massive chandeliers spilled golden candlelight over the ladies in their stylish gowns, the gentlemen in finely tailored suits. At one end of the long chamber, a wall of French doors had been opened to the gardens. At the other end, an orchestra played for a multitude of dancers who whirled gracefully over the polished parquet floor.

Laura hoped no one noticed that she tapped her shoe in time to the music. She couldn’t help herself; she hadn’t heard such lovely melodies in ten years. The very air hummed as the guests who were not dancing gathered in clusters to laugh and gossip. She caught snatches of conversation, none of which had any bearing on her investigation.

No matter. The mystery wouldn’t be solved in one evening. It would take numerous forays into society to gather all the facts. For the moment, she could indulge in the luxury of being among the upper crust again.

Her good humor abruptly evaporated as she spied a familiar tall form among the dancers. Alex. She peered through the spectacles at his partner, a petite brunette in a virginal white gown with puffy, elbow-length sleeves. Aware that her lips had tightened, Laura forced her expression to relax. It was of no concern to her if the earl was seeking a bride among this year’s array of debutantes.

In truth, she had every reason to be glad. A courtship would occupy his attention so that he wouldn’t keep a close watch on Laura’s actions. If he saw her leave this spot—as she fully intended to do soon—he might accuse her of prowling for valuables to rob.

Sitting across from him in the small barouchet had been bad enough. He’d taken every opportunity to annoy her by brushing his knees against hers, making a sly remark, or giving her that ironic stare she found so maddening. But once they’d arrived here, Alex had transformed into a lordly stranger. He had escorted his aunt into the party, leaving Laura to trail behind as the lowly companion. He’d ignored her except to offer a dismissive introduction in the receiving line. Consequently, their host and hostess hadn’t cast a second glance at the meek, bespectacled Miss Brown.

Alex claimed to be concealing her identity for Lady Josephine’s sake, although Laura suspected his real reason was to keep her close for the purpose of seduction. Little did he know, he was aiding her quest to find whoever had stolen the Blue Moon diamond necklace. And when she succeeded, she would take great pleasure in exposing the villain to all of society—Alex, in particular.

How she would relish seeing him humbled. He’d be forced to admit his mistake in accusing Papa of the crime. Had Alex trusted in Papa’s innocence, they wouldn’t have had to flee England—and Papa might still be alive.

A lump caught in her throat. At one time, he had been a well-liked member of the ton, having many friendships among the gentlemen. He’d been popular with the ladies, too, always gallant even to the shyest wallflower. But whenever Laura had encouraged him to marry again, he’d declared that his heart belonged to her dear mother, who had died shortly after Laura’s birth. He had been such a warm, kind, affable man that she could not conceive of how anyone could have sought his ruin.

Let alone his murder.

Yet someone had done so. Someone that her father had come back to England to confront. And Laura had two key possibilities, if only she could locate them in this crush of guests.

The enormity of the undertaking daunted her. Many years had passed, appearances had altered, hairstyles had changed. Besides, she had been in society for a scant six weeks when she and Papa had left England. There hadn’t been time for her to learn the names of everyone outside her close circle of friends and admirers.

Scanning the crowd, she spied several former swains, including a dapper man with flaxen hair. What was his name? Something hyphenated … Mr. Rupert Stanhope-Jones. She remembered him because he’d always sent her small, exquisite, expensive gifts—unlike Alex who was more apt to give her a bouquet of daisies plucked at random during a stroll in Hyde Park. At times, Alex also had surprised her with practical presents like a new set of drawing pencils when she’d worn her favorite ones down to nubs.

Or a pair of spectacles.

Frowning, Laura shifted position on the straight-backed chair. She had no interest in Alex. Since Lady Josephine and her friends had spent the past hour alternately discussing the coronation and trading stories about their youth, Laura had learned nothing of value. It was time to take a promenade to see who else might be here.

As she leaned forward to ask permission to be excused, an older gentleman strolled toward her employer and bowed. “Lady Josephine, what a pleasure to see you here.”

That square-jawed, ruddy face beneath a thatch of silver hair looked vaguely familiar to Laura. She tried to dredge a name out of her memory, but came up blank. So, apparently, did Lady Josephine.

“A pleasure indeed, er … sir.”

“Lord Oliver,” he said, gallantly kissing the back of her hand. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten me. I was a friend of your husband’s.”

Lord Oliver also had been acquainted with Laura’s father. She remembered them playing cards together at parties. In the same moment that recognition struck, Lord Oliver shifted his steel-gray eyes to her. A slight frown furrowed his brow, as if he was trying to identify her.

Laura averted her face and rose from the chair, hoping that she hadn’t betrayed herself. Though she didn’t have permission to go, she left anyway, making her way through the masses of people. Only when she was a safe distance away did she dare to glance back.

Lord Oliver stood conversing with Lady Josephine. Thank heavens he wasn’t staring after Laura. That had been a very close call.

Releasing a breath, Laura decided to keep to the outskirts of the throng. She had let down her guard for a moment, and that mustn’t happen again. If she kept her head bowed, people would know by her plain attire that she was no one of consequence, and then she could discreetly survey the company. Here and there, she spied familiar faces, though none were the ones she sought.

Where had Alex gone? She wanted to know only in order to avoid him. Since the orchestra had stopped for an interlude, he wasn’t on the dance floor. Perhaps he’d never intended to watch her. Perhaps he’d come here tonight to pursue his own entertainment—or to seek a bride.

Then, as she neared the great arched doorway, she spotted him. Half a head taller than the other gentlemen nearby, he stood by a grouping of ferns in the far corner of the ballroom. He was engaged in conversation with a slim lady whose back was turned to Laura.

Diamonds glinted in the woman’s elegant auburn coiffure. A pale blue satin ribbon cinched the waist of her marine-blue gown, and the fullness of the skirt enhanced her slenderness. Tilting her head coquettishly, she placed a gloved hand on his lapel and laughed at something he said.

That one gesture stabbed Laura’s heart with recognition. A visceral disgust twisted inside her, an echo of the past. His companion was Lady Evelyn, daughter of the Marquess of Haversham.

A decade ago, she had been Laura’s nemesis. From the moment Alex had shown a preference for Laura, Evelyn had made it her mission to win him for herself. She had flirted with him, coerced him into fetching her drinks, and tried to lure him away when he was dancing with Laura.

Lady Evelyn had learned her predatory nature at her father’s knee. Lord Haversham was one of the few in the ton who’d treated Papa with icy disdain. Their feud dated back to their youth when they had been rivals for the affections of Laura’s mother. Papa had won the girl—and Lord Haversham had never forgiven him.

He
was the man whom Laura suspected of having framed her father—very likely with Lady Evelyn’s help.

Laura had good reason to believe that, because on the day prior to Papa being accused of theft, Evelyn had come to their town house on a pretext. It had been somewhat early for morning calls from the ton. Laura had still been upstairs dressing—unwittingly giving Evelyn sufficient time to plant the jewels in Papa’s desk. There had been no legitimate reason for her visit other than to gloat over a promise she’d finagled from Alex to take her for a carriage ride.