Stroke of Midnight (2 page)

He moved with the speed of a bull charging a matador. But Laura had an agility and strength born of determination. She refused to be named an accomplice to a crime her father hadn’t committed. Even if she was acquitted eventually, she would languish in prison for months while awaiting a trial. She had no money to pay for a legal defense, no friends or relatives to whom she might turn.

She simply
must
evade capture.

Turning a corner in a burst of speed, Laura glanced about for a hiding place. She ducked into a darkened alley littered with refuse and reeking of foul odors. There she crouched behind an old barrel until the officer ran past.

Her heart pounded wildly. She forced herself to tarry for a moment before cautiously peering out into the dirt lane. Overhead, strings of laundry flapped in the breeze. No one peered out of any windows on this quiet side street.

Pangborn was gone—but he wouldn’t be for long.

As she stepped out of the alley, something moved in the corner of her eye. She spun toward it, her fingers clenching into fists. But it was merely a cat prowling through the shadows. The creature bounded up onto a windowsill and vanished through a broken pane of glass.

Walking swiftly, Laura doubled back and took a different route through the rabbit warren of streets. All the while she kept a sharp watch for the constable. Pangborn likely knew every nook and cranny of these slums. That made it all the more imperative to increase the distance between them.

A slattern in an upper window called out, “Need a bed, Goldilocks? Pretty thing like ye’ll ’ave yer pick o’ customers.”

Ignoring the woman’s crude invitation, Laura hurried onward as she replaced the bonnet, tucking every blond strand out of sight and tying the ribbons securely at her throat. For good measure, she raised the voluminous hood of her cloak over her head. It wasn’t much of a disguise, but it would have to do.

Reaching a crossroads, she paused to get her bearings. Several lanes branched off into identical gloomy byways. Dear heavens, which way would lead her to safety? She was utterly lost in this labyrinth. No, not lost … it was late afternoon, and that faint brightness in the cloud cover must indicate the west.

She veered in that direction, hoping it would lead to better neighborhoods. Would Pangborn have given chase if his sole purpose was seduction? She doubted so. That left her with only one logical conclusion. Somehow, he suspected her true identity. He must believe she knew what had happened to the stolen diamond.

In the eyes of the police, she was as guilty as her father.

Laura reached a main thoroughfare teeming with drays and hansom cabs. Finally she could feel safe among the many pedestrians that thronged the foot pavement. She fit in well with these commoners who were intent on their own destinations, women with market baskets, maids toting parcels, workmen gathered by a street seller of meat pies.

Her stomach growled at the succulent aroma. She’d eaten nothing since breaking her fast with cheese and a crust of bread that morning, nothing while she’d waited for hours at the police station. Beneath the cloak, her precious few coins jingled in a hidden pocket of her gown. After the expense of the voyage, she must guard her savings. Heaven only knew how long the money needed to last her.

But first things first. Her sense of place had been hopelessly muddled by the chase through twisting streets. Where exactly was she? This area looked vaguely familiar.

In her youth, she’d spent a portion of each year in London. Her world back then had consisted of shopping trips to Regent Street, carriage rides in Hyde Park, and social events at the finest homes in Mayfair. There also had been occasional forays beyond those rarefied boundaries: visits to Astley’s Circus, St. Paul’s Cathedral, or the Tower.

A scene blotted out the present.

She sat in an open phaeton, her gloved fingers grasping the reins of a pair of matched bays … Alex had his arm around her as he taught her how to manage the frisky horses … she loved the feel of his strong body next to hers … even more, she loved it when he bent his head to brush his lips over hers …

Someone in the crowd jostled Laura. Jolted back to reality, she spun around with a gasp, half expecting to see the constable.

It was merely a fishwife who aimed a glare over a hefty shoulder. “Move along, miss—’tis n’ place to lollygag.”

Laura realized she’d come to a halt. As she resumed walking, her thoughts dwelled on that long-ago carriage ride. The scent of male cologne lingered in her mind, as did the warm pressure of his kiss. The absolute clarity of the memory rattled her. Ten years ago, she had relegated that naive romance to the dustbin of history.

Alexander Ross, the Earl of Copley, had betrayed her in the worst possible way. He had attempted to arrest her father for stealing the duchess’s jewels—without giving Papa the benefit of the doubt, without even
considering
that someone else might have planted the jewels in Papa’s desk. Laura’s desperate pleas on her father’s behalf hadn’t made a bit of difference.

Bitterness filled her throat. She wouldn’t think about Alex. He meant nothing to her now. Nothing at all.

Laura marched briskly past dingy shops selling everything from tobacco to medicines, groceries to old clothing. At least now she knew her location: she was heading west on The Strand, a wide thoroughfare that cut through the heart of London.

Papa had been attacked not far from here in Covent Garden. Had he been the random victim of a robber? Or had her father
known
his assailant? The question nagged at Laura like a sore tooth. Had he traveled to England for the purpose of finding the villain who had wronged him—only to pay for that confrontation with his life?

Deeply unsettled, she trod onward without any clear destination in mind. If she couldn’t rely on the police, then whom
could
she trust? Her former friends and acquaintances undoubtedly viewed her as a pariah. She had no living relatives—there had only been her and Papa. She was on her own now, a rudderless raft in a vast sea of humanity.

She had come to London with the intention of nursing her father back to health. The news of his passing left her with the sharp ache of loss. The most prudent course of action would be to return to her little cottage in the mountains of Portugal. There she could eke out a living by selling her watercolors of flora and fauna. Yet something inside her resisted the notion of departing on the next ship.

If indeed Papa had been murdered, she could not allow his death to go unavenged.

It had long been her wish to clear his name by rooting out the villain who had set him up as a jewel thief. She would have done so already had not her father begged her to drop the notion as being too dangerous. The topic had come up several times over the years, most recently when she’d spotted that little article in
The London Gazette
commemorating the tenth anniversary of the spectacular crime.

Now he was no longer alive to stop her.

A sense of purpose revived Laura’s flagging spirits. There were several people in society who might have had reason to ruin her father—and her, as well. The trouble was, how could she question them? It wasn’t as if she could pay a call on any fine house in Mayfair. She was
persona non grata
to the ton …

Of a sudden, Laura noticed that the store fronts had become more posh. The signs were gilt-framed, the windows displaying goods of the finest quality. Tall buildings with columned fronts lined the broad, curving road with its elegant carriages and coaches. Footmen carrying parcels trailed after ladies in costly gowns and feathered hats.

Pausing beneath a marble colonnade, she realized that her idle wanderings had brought her to Regent Street. Though perhaps it had not been happenstance. Perhaps she had been drawn here by the allure of the forbidden.

Caution told her to retrace her steps. It would be foolish to risk being spotted by an acquaintance from her old life. Her presence in London must not be known before she’d had time to make plans and determine how best to solve the mystery of her father’s death.

Yet she hungered to view the window displays. To indulge in the pastime that had once been an integral part of her life. To relive the happy times when she had strolled here with Alex. Would it not be wise to study the latest fashions so that she might prepare herself for whatever lay ahead? She would, after all, have to blend in with society.

The temptation proved too powerful to resist.

Adjusting the hood over her head, she lowered her chin in the manner of the lower class. In her drab dark cloak she’d be taken for a maidservant out on an errand for her mistress. Laura started down the foot pavement, taking care not to meet the eye of any of the ladies or gentlemen promenading along the street.

Her own eyes swept their clothing in surreptitious glances. How hopelessly outdated was her much-mended attire. The skirts now were considerably wider, the sleeves more voluminous than when she’d made her debut a decade ago. Living in the mountains, she’d had no reason to keep up with the latest styles, let alone pay for new gowns each season.

But oh, how she would love to enter these shops and order an entire wardrobe without a care for the cost. To once again feel the cool slide of silk against her skin, to set a beribboned hat at a jaunty angle on her upswept hair. She paused in front of a display of fans, admiring the carved ivory sticks and painted folds. How lovely it would be to snap open the fan and peer flirtatiously at an admiring gentleman …

The bell above the shop door tinkled as a trio of ladies strolled out in a waft of expensive perfume. They were too young to recognize her, so Laura saw no need to make haste as they gathered into a little flock of gossipy hens.

“Did you
see
the frightful hue of her lace?” said the plump one with brown sausage curls and rosy cheeks.

“Quite,” replied a bucktoothed girl in pink muslin. “I vow her laundress must have soaked it in bile to create such a putrid yellow.”

The third girl screwed up her narrow, horsey face beneath a hat with too many feathers. “Her father earned his fortune in coal, so what else can one expect but deplorable taste?”

Laura pitied the unknown subject of their tittle-tattle. How well she remembered the spitefulness of debutantes who were competing to make the best marriages. It was an aspect of society that she didn’t miss.

As the three lapsed into giggling, Miss Sausage Curls let loose a squeal. “Oh, my heart! You’ll never guess who just walked out of the boot maker.”

The toothy blonde heaved a romantic sigh. “Lord Copley! I daresay I may swoon. He seldom attends parties—Mama says it’s that unfortunate scar on his cheek.”

“Well,
I
think it makes him look dashing,” Miss Horse Face said, then added in a hiss, “He’s coming this way! Form a line, ladies. Such an eligible gentleman mustn’t be allowed to pass us by.”

They linked arms and preened at someone behind Laura.

Laura stood paralyzed. All rational thought fled her mind. Lord Copley … Alex.
No. No, no, no!

She didn’t dare turn around. Nor could she walk forward. The three girls in their voluminous skirts filled the entire footpath, even blocking the entrance to the fan shop.

Weighing her limited choices, Laura huddled inside her cloak. How close was he? Could she dart across the street in time?

A glance in that direction compounded her bad luck. A large coach was parked at the curbstone. How had she not noticed it before?

Like something out of a fairy tale, the cream-colored vehicle had gilded wheels and a team of matching horses. No coachman sat on the high perch—which meant that the owner of the conveyance must be in one of the shops. A groom held the horses. His back was turned as he chatted up a pretty maidservant.

Laura needed a quick place to hide. With a compulsion born of panic, she made haste to the coach, opened the door, and stepped inside.

Chapter 3

She drew the door shut at once, enclosing herself in a shadowy interior that smelled faintly of lilacs. Laura had a quick impression of plush dark cushions and gold appointments before her gaze riveted to the window. By good fortune, the brocaded green curtains were drawn, which afforded her ample concealment.

Crouching on the floor, she peered through the narrow parting of the curtains. Not a moment later, a tall gentleman in a formfitting coat of cobalt blue strode into view. He tipped his hat while the three youthful gorgons practically fell over themselves curtsying to him.

Alex.

Laura’s breath knotted her lungs. The sight of him after all these years struck her like a blow to her midsection. The cocoa-brown hair, the broad muscled build, the arrogant stance of those long legs—she absorbed it all in one searing glance. His presence set her ablaze with an intensity of emotion that could only be pure vitriol.

How she despised the scoundrel!

He aimed that familiar crooked smile at the trio and engaged them in conversation.
Eligible
, one of the girls had said of him. So apparently he hadn’t married Lady Evelyn, who’d once been Laura’s chief rival for his affections. A pity, for he deserved the witch.

Laura could imagine the smooth banter he directed now at his adoring audience. Clearly he hadn’t changed one iota. Rogues like him never did.

She had learned that truth the hard way. Long ago, she had been as young and foolish as those girls. She hadn’t realized the fickleness behind his charm until the final, terrible meeting between them.

She had been heading downstairs for breakfast when the sound of male voices drew her to Papa’s study. That deep, distinctive tone belonged to Alex, and she thrilled to the unexpected prospect of seeing him so early in the day. Was it possible he’d come to ask Papa for her hand in marriage? Oh, she hoped so! She could scarcely breathe for the tangle of love and longing in her heart …

Then Laura froze in the doorway, unable to believe her eyes. Alex was twisting her father around to face a wall of bookshelves. Papa didn’t resist; his craggy features bore a look of dazed shock. With a length of cord, Alex proceeded to tie her father’s hands behind his back.