Stroke of Midnight (37 page)

“Indeed so. I’d intended to send an anonymous tip to the police, but Copley ruined everything.” Mr. Stanhope-Jones stared at her, his features hard and cold. “I had it all planned out. Once Martin Falkner was imprisoned, you’d have been ruined, shunned by society, with nowhere to turn. You’d have been quite happy, then, to become my mistress. But instead, you vanished.”

The most dreadful realization of all struck Laura. Her father must have come back to England to visit Mr. Stanhope-Jones in the hope of retrieving the diamond and clearing his own name—for Laura’s sake. Not wanting his dastardly scheme exposed, Mr. Stanhope-Jones had ordered Pangborn to attack Papa and leave him for dead.

It all made horrible sense. After all, the officer had been the one who’d found Papa lying in an alley. The officer also had sent the note to Laura in Portugal in order to lure her back to England. He’d known that she would come to the police to find out what had happened to her father. Had she not escaped into the slums, no doubt Pangborn would have hauled her straight here to Mr. Stanhope-Jones.

Laura clenched her teeth to stop them from chattering. These two men had conspired to murder her father. And they would not hesitate to do the same to her—and her unborn baby—if she refused to cooperate.

“This is folly,” she said forcefully. “I’ve a husband now.”

Mr. Stanhope-Jones eyed her. “Indeed. Copley’s been stuck to you like a nettle these past weeks. I’d intended to lure you away this evening during one of the balls. But when this excellent opportunity arose this morning, I seized upon it.” He advanced on her. “And now, darling, it’s time for us to go.”

Laura gripped the back of the chair, but it was no use. He caught firm hold of her arm. “Where are you taking me?”

“First to my estate on the coast, and then to the Continent. If you’d drunk your sherry in the coach, we’d already be on our way. And you’d be happily asleep right now.”

Laura was glad she’d thwarted him. Every little delay shortened the time until Alex could find her. “You won’t succeed in this,” she warned as he tugged her out of the sitting room and toward the staircase. “My husband will come after you. He’ll track you down and kill you.”

Following them, Pangborn uttered a gravelly chuckle. “He’ll have to go past me first.”

“It’ll be hours before Copley learns you’re missing,” Mr. Stanhope-Jones said. “Even then he’ll be hard-pressed to figure out where we’ve gone. We’ll have ample time to set up and wait for him, Pangborn and I.”

“A shot through the earl’s heart as he’s riding up to the house should do the trick,” Pangborn said, pulling back his coat to display a brace of pistols stuck into his leather belt. “I’ll make it appear ’twas brigands who done it. We’ll be long gone by the time the law arrives.”

Laura tried not to panic. Surely Alex would not come alone. He would bring others with him. Unless, of course, he was in a fury and riding ahead at breakneck speed to rescue her.

Yes, Alex would do exactly that. The thought made her tremble.

“Enough,” Mr. Stanhope-Jones told Pangborn. “You’re frightening the poor girl. Go on ahead of us and see if the way is clear. I don’t want any neighbors spying on us as we leave the house.”

“Aye, sir.” Pangborn started down the stairs.

Laura dragged her feet to put as much distance between the men as possible. She could not allow herself to be spirited away from London, transported to a remote manor house, where these men would lie in hiding to murder her husband.

Alex would be heading straight into a trap.

As Pangborn reached the bottom, she and Mr. Stanhope-Jones were only on the third step down. It was now or never. On a pretext of touching the Blue Moon diamond, she drew out the sturdy hatpin from inside her bodice. She turned to her captor, swung back her arm, and stabbed viciously at him.

Biting out a curse, Mr. Stanhope-Jones jammed up his elbow to block her. Instead of plunging straight into his neck, the hatpin gouged his throat. Blood bloomed in its wake and stained his cravat. His grip on her arm slackened.

Desperate, she used her shoulder to shove him away. He staggered, tumbling down a few steps before catching himself. He sprawled there, gasping, his hand to his throat, his fingers seeping red.

Laura scrambled back up to the landing. Her heart pounded wildly. There had to be a servants’ staircase at the rear of the house. The door would be hidden in the paneling of the passageway.

She tripped on her skirts and fell to one knee. Pushing herself upright, she glanced over her shoulder and swallowed a moan. Pangborn was galloping back to the staircase in pursuit of her.

Then, just as he reached the first step, the front door burst open. A man in a crimson cape rushed inside the house. Laura blinked, clinging to the upper railing above the foyer, certain she was dreaming. “Alex?”

He afforded her only the flick of a glance. Then he hurtled forward to seize Pangborn. The two men went down in a crashing flurry of arms and legs, grappling, throwing punches at each other. The constable had the burly build of a pugilist, but Alex had the advantage in height and quickness. He administered a crashing blow to Pangborn’s jaw, which Pangborn countered with a hard jab to the abdomen. The two men traded strikes, the sickening thuds resounding in the foyer. Alex appeared to be winning, though Pangborn had the stamina of a bull.

As the battle raged on, Laura kept a fearful eye on Mr. Stanhope-Jones, who had risen to his feet and stood wavering. Blood soaked his cravat, and he kept his hand pressed to his throat. All of a sudden he reached into an inner pocket of his coat and withdrew a small pistol. Apparently waiting for a clear shot, he aimed it at the two thrashing men.

He would shoot Alex.

Laura didn’t stop to think. She flew down the stairs and threw herself at Mr. Stanhope-Jones, knocking his arm and wrestling for the weapon. The pistol fell clattering onto the marble steps. But Mr. Stanhope-Jones clamped his arm around her waist. His face a cruel mask, he began hauling her back up the stairs.

She cried out, wriggling in an effort to escape his clutches. Despite his injury, he had an iron grip on her. Laura was afraid to struggle too hard lest they both topple down the stairs.

As they reached the landing, she saw Alex strike out at Pangborn with one final murderous blow. He sent the stocky man sliding across the marble floor to land with a thump against the wall. Then Alex came charging up the staircase to her aid.

Looking past her husband, Laura spied a terrifying sight. Still sprawled on the floor, Pangborn had drawn one of the pistols from his belt. He cocked it and took aim.

“Alex, duck! He has a gun!”

But he didn’t duck. Instead, he grabbed her close, flung Stanhope-Jones down the stairs, and shielded Laura with his body. Then a deafening blast of gunfire echoed through the foyer.

His body jerked and he collapsed half on top of her. At the same instant, two men came running through the open front door. One of them was her coachman, a sturdy fellow who seized hold of Mr. Stanhope-Jones as he lay groaning on the stairs. The other man, a constable, used his truncheon to subdue Pangborn with a knock to the head, then divested him of the two pistols and tied his hands behind his back.

Laura frantically wriggled out from beneath Alex’s heavy weight. He lay unmoving, his eyes closed. Touching him, she was aghast to see that his back was wet with blood. Dear God, he’d been shot. How badly was he hurt?

“He needs a doctor,” she called down to the men. “Quickly!”

The constable went dashing out of the house.

With trembling fingers, she stroked her husband’s dear face, battered from the fight, and traced the scar of her own making. He had protected her from being struck by the bullet just now. If only she had known back then how fine a man he was. “Alex. Wake up. Please, you mustn’t
die
. I won’t let you.”

He groaned. His eyes flickered open, and he looked straight at her. His hand lifted as if to caress her, and then dropped as if it were too much effort. “Laura. I must…”

Laura caught hold of his hand and brought it to her lips. “Don’t try to talk, my love. Save your strength.”

Tears blurred her vision. The thought of losing him was a dagger to her heart. She laced her fingers with his and held tightly, determined never to let him go. What foolishness had caused their quarrel? She couldn’t even think of it anymore.

“
Listen
,” he rasped. “I must … tell you…”

He seemed so resolute that she deemed it best to let him speak. “Yes, darling? I’m listening.”

That dark intensity burned in his gaze, revealing a deep river of emotion. “I need to say … I love you, Laura.
I love you
.”

Then his eyes closed and he fell still.

Chapter 30

Tucking her gardening gloves into a pocket of her gown, Laura surveyed the new grave site. Lush green grass covered the mound. At the base of the headstone, she had planted white calla lilies, purple gladiolis, and yellow freesias. The tall marble slab had been carved with haloed angels and a loving tribute.

Wrens twittered in the overhanging oak trees. A pleasant summer breeze stirred tendrils of hair around her face. This peaceful resting place in the neatly manicured grounds of London’s finest cemetery did much to assuage the sorrow in her heart. Nevertheless, her eyes went misty with unshed tears as she contemplated the past. So much had happened, there were so many memories …

An arm slid around her waist, and a kiss brushed her hair. “You’ve done a fine job, Lady Copley. It’s a fitting memorial, indeed.”

Her spirits lifting, Laura smiled up at her husband. His arm in a black sling, Alex looked so tall and handsome in his dark blue coat that her heart performed a little dance of joy.

Four weeks ago, she had feared he would die. There had been several agonizing days when the doctors had not been sure how badly Alex had been injured internally. The bullet had entered his lower back at an angle, gone through his chest, and exited to lodge in his upper arm. He’d been insensible with fever for a time, until one morning he’d awakened alert and able to sit up in bed.

Since then, Alex had had a remarkably swift convalescence. Of late he’d been chafing to resume their intimate relations, but Laura would not allow him to exert himself just yet. They’d contented themselves with kissing and caressing—and talking. The long conversations in bed had enriched their closeness. Her husband had opened up more about his difficult youth, his life during the ten years of their separation, and his dreams of a large, happy family full of love.

Laura intended to give him all that, for he had given
her
so much.

“I have
you
to thank for making all the arrangements,” she said, laying her head on his shoulder. “Papa deserved a better resting place than a pauper’s cemetery. And now at last he can be buried under his true name.”

Arm in arm, they gazed at the finely chiseled headstone.

Martin Falkner

Loving husband of Aileen

Beloved father of Laura

Alex’s good arm tightened around Laura’s waist. “I misjudged him in the worst possible way,” he said heavily. “I don’t know how you’ve found it in your heart to forgive me.”

She reached up to trace the scar on his cheek. “Oh, darling. We’ve both made mistakes.”

“You?” he said rather grimly. “Quite the contrary, the fault for what happened is entirely mine.”

“Nonsense. Rupert Stanhope-Jones placed the earrings in Papa’s desk. Yet
I
was all too ready to blame Evelyn and Lord Haversham for the deed.”

“That’s hardly as reprehensible as forcing you and your father to flee the country, to leave behind everything you’d ever known,” Alex persisted. “You were right to despise me, Laura. I courted you under false pretenses. By God, I should never have heeded my godmother.”

Careful to avoid his injury, Laura pressed herself to his muscled form. The sight of his tormented eyes touched her heart. “Well, I’m exceedingly
glad
that you courted me, no matter what the circumstances. And at least Her Grace seems happy to have the Blue Moon diamond back. It was decent of her to apologize to me.”

“I’m the one who’ll be apologizing for the rest of my life,” Alex declared. “I was far too calculating—”

“If the queen can pardon you for dashing off from her coronation, then
I
most certainly can forgive you, too. Now, there’ll be no more apologies, darling. It’s time for both of us to let the past go.”

To seal her words, Laura gave him a tender kiss. She slid her fingers into the rough silk of his hair, letting her lips convey just how much he meant to her. Alex might give the appearance of a rogue, but deep down he had a strong sense of integrity that only made her love him all the more.

Presently, she drew back, pleased to see the fire of passion in his eyes. A cocky smile lifting one corner of his mouth, he said, “Does this mean I won’t have to buy you a house of your own, after all? When you give me an heir?”

His hand slipped between them to cup her still-flat belly where their child nestled. The gentleness of his touch made her melt. Aside from the minor bouts of morning sickness, she had never felt more wonderful and alive than she did now.

Returning his smile, Laura covered his fingers with hers. “I intend to burn that dreadful contract,” she asserted. “It was my own fears that prompted me to demand it. I thought you didn’t love me.”

His dark eyes held a rakish glow. “My darling Laura, don’t you know I’ve been a fool for you since the moment we met? However, if you want proof, I’ll be happy to show you how much I love you—as soon as we return home.”

Laura gave a flirtatious flutter of her lashes. How dearly she wanted to express her own love for this stubborn, arrogant, magnificent man. “I do believe I’d like that very much, my lord. Now and forever.”

Arms entwined, they started toward their waiting carriage.

“Intrigue, suspense, and sensuality …
Drake is a consummate storyteller.”—
RT Book Reviews