by Olivia Drake
Laura sank into a deep curtsy. He didn’t deserve obeisance, but at least it afforded her the chance to hide her face. “Laura Brown.”
“Brown,” he repeated in a faintly ironic tone. “A common name, to be sure.”
“If you say so, my lord.”
His fingers clamped around her upper arm, causing Laura to draw a sharp breath. For an instant she feared he had recognized her and intended retaliation for striking him. But he merely assisted her to her feet before withdrawing his hand.
“I’ve never heard of any Browns among the gentry,” he said. “From where does your family hail?”
“Northumberland,” she lied, hoping the distance would thwart any investigation he might be contemplating. “The Browns are landowners there, though inconsequential by comparison with an exalted family such as yours.”
“Tell me, what are your qualifications for this position?”
Avoiding eye contact, she kept her head tilted down in a modest pose. “I’m well versed in all the requisite skills of a lady, from deportment to dancing, playing the pianoforte to managing a—”
“My aunt requires specialized care. Not someone who is distracted by frivolous pastimes.”
Laura bristled at his interruption. What had happened to the charming man he’d once been? It only proved that his amiability had all been a facade. “If you’ll permit me to finish, my lord. In addition to managing a household, I’ve ample experience in caring for an aging member of my own family.”
It was only a small fib. He needn’t know that her father had been in the peak of health before his fateful trip to England.
“Laura has been a perfect delight,” his aunt said from her seat on the bench. “Truly, Alexander, you will see that once you become better acquainted with her.”
“Thank you, Aunt Josie. However, I’d be remiss in my duties if I allowed just anyone to live in your house.” On that rude remark, he addressed Laura again. “Who was your previous employer?”
“I’ve only the one reference from Lady Milford.”
“To my knowledge, Lady Milford has never engaged a companion.”
Laura knew she was on treacherous ground. His questions were too pointed, his tone too mocking. “She’s a family friend. It was very kind of her to help me since I’ve spent a good deal of my life abroad.”
“Abroad? Where?”
Laura decided to keep as close to the truth as possible. “Portugal. My father had business interests there.”
“What manner of business?”
“Trade,” she said, being deliberately vague. “He seldom spoke of such matters at home. He believed commerce to be a man’s domain.”
The earl took a step closer. “And where, pray tell, is your father now?”
His frigid tone sent prickles over her skin. Risking a peek over the spectacles, Laura took her first clear look at his face. The concentrated force of those dark eyes probed into her. Where once he had smiled warmly at her, now his lips were thinned and hostile. The grim set of his mouth confirmed her fears.
The Earl of Copley knew precisely who she was. Her masquerade had not fooled him one whit.
As if to dispel the slightest lingering doubt, he fingered the diagonal scar that bisected his left cheek. Laura gazed in morbid fascination at the results of her handiwork. The long, thin line had spoiled his once-boyish good looks. No longer was he the carefree charmer she had been foolish enough to love. Maturity had hardened his features, his taut expression making it clear that he was not a man to be crossed.
In a flicker of memory, she saw him staggering backward from the strike of the penknife, his hand to his face, red blood dripping from between his fingers.
Laura banished a faintly queasy feeling. She hadn’t suffered any regret over maiming him back then, and she wouldn’t do so now, either. The attack had gained her enough time to rush her father out of the study. She had slammed the door shut and turned the key in the lock to imprison Alex.
He must have been livid. No man liked being outwitted by a woman, least of all an arrogant lord like him.
Lady Josephine’s raspy voice broke the spell. “Alexander, for shame. You mustn’t quiz the poor girl with questions of a personal nature.”
The old woman sat on the bench, gazing up at the two of them with a vaguely perplexed expression.
His harsh countenance softened somewhat as he turned to his aunt. “I doubt Miss Brown is so easily offended. Someone who’s traveled all the way to Portugal must be made of sterner stuff than that.”
Lady Josephine gave a vigorous nod. “She’s a fine, upstanding girl. And exceedingly pretty, too, don’t you agree?”
The earl shifted his cool gaze back to Laura. “It’s difficult to tell with that unsightly hat. One would think she’s trying to hide something.”
In a quick move, he untied the ribbon beneath her chin and snatched off the floppy straw bonnet. Laura lifted her hands to stop him. But he’d already sent the hat sailing over the garden wall and into the mews.
Furious, she readjusted the lace spinster’s cap and checked her prim bun for any dislodged pins. “That was hardly necessary, my lord,” she said, managing a stiff smile for Lady Josephine’s benefit. “I would have removed it myself had I been allowed the chance.”
“Then I’ll permit you to dispense with the spectacles.”
Her mutinous gaze bored into his. “But I need them.”
“Do you really, dear?” Lady Josephine asked hesitantly. “I don’t wish to gainsay you, but I have noticed that you look over the tops of them more often than not. And they conceal your pretty blue eyes.”
Laura glanced down at the old woman’s guileless face. “I’m not quite used to them yet, that’s all.”
Lord Copley cocked a dark eyebrow. “Stubbornness is not a commendable trait in a companion. I trust you will do as you’re told.”
Everything in her rebelled against obeying him. Yet she didn’t wish to give him an easy excuse to dismiss her from his aunt’s employ. Removing the glasses, she tucked them into a pocket of her apron. “There, I hope you’re satisfied, my lord.”
“Far from it,” he muttered under his breath.
Their gazes locked for a moment, and Laura sensed a seething anger behind his hard mask. It was only to be expected, she told herself. Every time he looked in a mirror, he saw what she’d done to him—and he remembered how she had outfoxed him.
He surely would want revenge.
Well, so did she—though her retribution would be exacted upon the villain who had incriminated her father. She must be very careful lest the earl overturn those plans. Like it or not, she would have to swallow her resentment and placate him in the hope of saving her position here.
He returned his attention to his aunt. “I would like to complete my interview with Miss Brown in private. If you don’t mind, we’ll excuse ourselves for a few minutes.”
“Of course! Pray take as long as you like.” Lady Josephine wagged her finger at him. “Only remember, you mustn’t bully Laura. I won’t have you frightening her away from here.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Chapter 7
Alex hoped the cagey answer would satisfy his aunt. He didn’t want to make a promise to her that he might not be able to honor. The truth was, he had not yet determined how to proceed.
Laura—in his aunt’s garden! Despite the droopy hat and the rimless spectacles, he had recognized her at once. The sight of her walking toward him had knocked him utterly off kilter. He’d long ago made peace with the belief that he’d never see her again.
But here she stood, as headstrong and as beautiful as ever.
What was her purpose in returning to London? Why had she sought employment with his aunt of all people? Did she hope to erase the past and finagle her way back into his good graces?
Heat seared him, but logic swiftly put a damper on it. If that was her reason, then why had she gone to great lengths to conceal her identity? Why did she act as if he was
the last man on earth she’d wanted to encounter?
And where was her father?
Damn, he needed answers from her. At once.
Taking leave of his aunt, Alex noticed that Laura already had marched halfway down the path to the house. Her dark gray gown was high-necked, long-sleeved, and devoid of adornment. No longer the fashionable debutante, she wore the white apron of a servant. Yet the drab costume could not conceal the slimness of her waist or the alluring sway of her hips. Nor could the spinster’s cap hide the glory of her tawny-gold hair. In truth, the plain garb merely served as a blank canvas for her rare beauty.
Head held high, she stepped into the house; he only just caught the door in time before it slammed in his face. Her displeasure could not have been clearer—and it grated on him. Though ten years had passed, she apparently still held him to blame for the fact that she’d been forced to flee England. Him, and not the father who had committed the most sensational robbery of the century.
A crime that had yet to be resolved.
Alex squinted as his eyes adjusted to the dimness inside the house. Halfway down the corridor, Laura had stopped to converse with Mrs. Samson, a gaunt-faced woman with a ring of keys dangling from the waist of her dark gown.
“… shouldn’t leave her ladyship unattended,” the housekeeper was scolding. “You’ll find we don’t tolerate such lax behavior in this household!”
Laura held herself rigidly. “I am perfectly aware of my duties—”
“Is there some difficulty?” Alex interrupted. “I requested a private interview with Miss Brown.”
“Your lordship!” A toadying smile banishing her sour expression, Mrs. Samson bobbed a curtsy. “Forgive me, I wasn’t informed of your arrival.”
“Send a maid outside to wait with my aunt.”
“Yes, my lord. At once.”
As the housekeeper scurried to do his bidding, Laura didn’t appear to appreciate his intercession. She barely glanced at him before leading the way into the back office that had once been his uncle’s domain.
The wall shelves held a few account books along with an array of snuffboxes, horse and dog figurines, and other useless novelties. The clutter exasperated Alex, but his aunt became misty-eyed when asked to part with anything that had belonged to Uncle Charles. Years ago, Alex had given up on the task.
He closed the door as Laura headed to the single window and threw open the tall wooden shutters. Sunlight flooded a pair of leather chairs and the large oak desk. Atop a blotter sat a collection of ink pots, pens, and other writing paraphernalia.
He suspected her choice of venue was purposeful. It conveyed the message that she considered him unworthy of being received in the formal drawing room. He would allow her this one small victory. There were more important battles yet to be won.
Facing him, she crossed her arms, but the action only served to draw his attention to her shapely bosom. He tried not to stare. Laura Falkner still took his breath away—even more so now that she was a mature woman. Despite the passage of time, she had retained her feminine figure, her flawless skin, her natural sensuality. And no one else of his acquaintance had eyes that deep ocean blue. It might be a poetic cliché, but a man truly could drown in those big eyes.
Curiosity twisted his gut. She could not have been without admirers all these years. What other men had she known? Had she given herself to any of them? It seemed impossible that such an extraordinary woman could have reached the age of eight-and-twenty with her virginity intact.
“Is Brown your married name?” he asked.
She frowned. “No. It was merely one that Papa and I adopted. Even though we were living abroad, we feared someone might come looking for us.”
“You must have stayed out of public view, then.”
“We did what was necessary,” she said dismissively. “Now, you’ll be wondering why I’m here in this house. Pray be assured it is only to earn my living. I would never have taken this post had I known Lady Josephine was your aunt.”
Alex didn’t want Laura to change the subject. He craved to learn every detail about what she’d been doing in the decade since she had sliced open his cheek with a penknife. But her personal life was not the line of questioning that he needed to pursue.
Settling onto the edge of the desk, he said, “Lady Milford arranged for you to be employed here. It all makes sense now.”
“Sense?”
“Over the past year, she’s gained something of a reputation as a matchmaker. She must have recalled the ill-fated romance between us and decided to meddle.”
Her lips pursed, Laura walked back and forth. “Your aunt, too, seems to have taken a wild notion that we’ll suit. Clearly neither of them has the slightest inkling of how very much we detest each other!”
He fixed her with a hard stare. Her vehemence spoke volumes. Nothing remained of the naive debutante with the sparkling smile, the adoring girl who’d melted in his arms. Whatever fledgling love Laura had once felt for him had been destroyed on the day he’d found the proof of her father’s crime.
If only he hadn’t discovered those stolen earrings, he wouldn’t have felt honor-bound to apprehend Martin Falkner. And the trust in her eyes would not have turned to hatred.
But the past could not be changed.
“Aunt Josie and Lady Milford are old women with nothing better to do than to play matchmaker,” he said. “However, I cannot profess to being entirely displeased that you’ve returned.”
Laura’s eyes widened; then she gave him a guarded look. “I hope you don’t mean to expose my identity to … to anyone.”
Did she fear he would turn her over to the police?
Alex gave a cool smile intended to keep her as off balance as he’d felt in the garden. “That remains to be seen. Though I’ll wager Lady Milford has no idea that her little scheme will serve an entirely different purpose than she intended.”
“Different?”
“Come now, you must know that we’ve certain matters to settle … given how abruptly we parted ten years ago.”
A militant sparkle entered her eyes. “If you intend to take retaliation for that”—she pointed to his scar—“then you are not a gentleman.”
Rubbing the long ridge with his fingertip, Alex wondered what she’d say if he told her there was no need for reprisal. The score between them was settled already—because he had wronged her, too. He had deceived Laura all those years ago. Initially at least, his courtship of her had been calculated. He had sought her out on purpose in order to investigate her father.
Not that he intended to tell her so now. It would only lead to questions that he was not at liberty to answer.
“All I wish from you is the truth,” he said. “First and foremost, where is your father?”
Her cheeks paled. She averted her face, glancing down at her clasped hands. “He’s … dead.”
Alex could deduce nothing from her bowed head. Jumping up from the desk, he caught her chin in his fingers and forced her to look at him. “You protected him once and you could be protecting him again. So tell me, why should I believe you?”
“He’s lying in a pauper’s grave at St. Giles cemetery,” she said, her voice low and strained. “He was buried there several weeks ago. You may view the gravestone for yourself—look for Martin Brown. He couldn’t even be laid to rest under his real name.”
Tears glistened in her eyes as she wrenched out of his grasp and walked to the window to gaze outside. He didn’t think she was playacting. Laura had always been one to freely express her deepest feelings—that was part of what had intrigued him about her long ago. Unlike himself, she wore her emotions on her sleeve.
Besides, he had to believe her since she’d given him the means to check her claim. Martin Falkner was dead. That left his daughter as the only link to the missing diamond necklace.
Alex walked closer to put himself into her line of vision. The glint of a tear track on her cheek stirred in him the unsettling need to comfort her. But sh
e wouldn’t welcome his embrace. Especially once she realized he intended to probe further into the matter of the robbery.
“Please accept my condolences,” he murmured. “Nevertheless, I do need answers. The Blue Moon diamond has never been found—and I must know what happened to it. Was it sold? Or did your father come back to England to retrieve the necklace from wherever he’d hidden it?”
Laura spun toward him. Her fingers clutched at the windowsill, the knuckles turning white. “No! Absolutely not. I told you long ago that my father was not the thief. He was made a scapegoat by someone else.”
“Then explain why he returned here.”
“I … don’t know for certain. He left Portugal without telling me. I can only presume he intended to confront whomever he thought had framed him for the deed.”
Her voice rang with fervor. It seemed Laura really did believe her father was innocent of the crime.
That fact put Alex in an uncomfortable situation. It meant she knew nothing of Martin Falkner’s private past. The man had had secrets that he must not have seen fit to confess to his daughter. Secrets that gave him ample cause to steal the priceless jewels from the Duchess of Knowles. Secrets that Alex had no intention of divulging.
The devil of it was, he couldn’t reveal the truth even if he was inclined to do so. When he’d been charged with the task of finding the stolen pieces, he had sworn a vow of silence.
“And just who might that be?” he asked for the sake of argument. “Did he ever name the person he’d suspected?”
“I’m afraid not.” Laura lowered her lashes slightly. “However, I’ve a theory of my own. It’s the only one that makes sense to me.”
“Go on.”
“Perhaps, my lord, it was you who placed Her Grace’s gems in my father’s desk.”
If she had drawn a pistol, she could not have startled him more. “What! That is preposterous.”
“Is it?” She gave him a look of reckless disdain. “You were the one to discover the earrings, were you not? Perhaps you thought to avoid a marriage to someone beneath you in rank. Perhaps you wanted my father imprisoned so that I would be ruined by association. Then you could offer me the role of mistress without suffering the encumbrance of a ring upon your finger.”