by Olivia Drake
“Bumpkins,” Mr. Stanhope-Jones said, his lip curling. “They oughtn’t to sully the city with their presence.”
“I beg to disagree,” Laura felt obliged to say. “They’re as much the queen’s subjects as you and I. We’ve all cause to celebrate Her Majesty’s coronation.”
His keen blue eyes drilled into her; then his face relaxed with a charming smile. “You’re quite right, my dear. At any rate, I shall be going away from London very soon and leaving all this chaos behind.”
“Have you an estate in the country, then?”
“Indeed, I do. In Kent, near the coast. I believe you would enjoy the view from the cliffs. Perhaps you’ll see it sometime.”
Laura thought it doubtful. Even if he planned a house party, she couldn’t imagine Alex consenting to attend. On the few occasions when she’d seen the two men together, they’d appeared less than friendly. Of course, her husband jealously guarded her, seeming to view any man who sought out her company as a rival for her affections.
“Ah, here we are at last,” Mr. Stanhope-Jones said.
The coach drew to a halt, and in short order Laura found herself stepping into an elegant foyer. She took fleeting note of the rose wallpaper and statuary on pedestals, making straight for the stairway, where she paused with her hand on the newel post. “Is Lady Josephine in one of the bedchambers? Will you show me to her?”
“We shall go upstairs, of course,” Mr. Stanhope-Jones said, taking Laura by the arm and propelling her up the marble steps and through a doorway. “But pray wait a moment in this sitting room while I check on her condition.”
“But why can I not go to her at once? If she’s in great pain, she’ll want me with her.”
“Patience, my lady. First, do allow me to see if the doctor has arrived. If he’s in the middle of an examination, we mustn’t interrupt.”
Laura didn’t see what difference that would make, but this was his house, after all, and since he’d gone out of his way to help, the least she could do was to respect his request. “As you wish, then.”
He was still holding the goblet, which he set down on a table. “Should you change your mind,” he said in a sympathetic voice, “I shall leave your sherry here. It will do wonders to ease your anxiety.”
Then he bowed to her and went out, shutting the door.
Laura removed her bonnet and tossed it onto a cream-upholstered chair. She walked restlessly around the stylish sitting room. The palette of lavender and cream with touches of green was not what one would expect in a man’s house. Maybe Mr. Stanhope-Jones had a mother or a sister who had chosen the furnishings.
She went to the window and glanced down. The black coach with its team of bays was still parked in front of the house. Was the coachman awaiting instruction in case the doctor allowed Lady Josephine to be taken home? Laura hoped so.
The street had begun to clear, the bulk of the crowds surging toward Westminster Abbey. The ceremony would be under way now, the choir singing and the music playing in a rich display of pageantry. Laura wished with all her heart that she could have seen Alex in his crimson robes seated with the other peers …
At that moment the coachman looked up at the house. She had a sudden, clear view of his face.
A disbelieving gasp choked her throat. That grizzled visage with the beady black eyes was burned into her memory. Constable Pangborn!
She stepped back from the window, her hand pressed to her madly beating heart. No. It couldn’t possibly be him. Why would a police officer be wearing livery and driving a coach? It made no sense at all.
Yet it was him; she felt the sinister certainty of that in her bones.
As she was trying to determine a reason for his presence here, the door opened and Mr. Stanhope-Jones entered, followed by a young maidservant carrying a tea tray. At a motion from him, she set it on a table and scuttled from the room, closing the door behind her.
“I thought you might want refreshment, Laura.”
She had not given him leave to address her so familiarly, but that consideration seemed minor at the moment. Making haste toward the door, she said, “That’s very kind, but I do wish to see Lady Josephine. I cannot think of my own comfort until I’ve assured myself of hers.”
And she must find out why Pangborn was driving that coach. What could it mean?
Mr. Stanhope-Jones caught hold of her arm. “There’s no need to hurry. The poor old dear is sound asleep. The physician has administered laudanum to ease her pain.”
Laura couldn’t shake the disturbing suspicion that he was delaying her on purpose. “I’ll sit at her bedside, then.”
“All in due time. The doctor is still binding her leg. When he’s done, I’ll take you to her straightaway.” He strolled to the tray. “In the meanwhile, might I offer you a cup of tea? It will soothe your nerves.”
Laura waited until he picked up the silver pot and began to pour. Then she darted past him and flew to the door. She wrenched it open and hastened out into the passage, making for the upper stairs.
Mr. Stanhope-Jones came after her and grabbed her arm again. “Where are you going?” he said testily. “I want you to drink your tea.”
“Not until I’ve seen Lady Josephine. If you won’t take me there, I’ll find her myself. One would think she isn’t even here.”
Something secretive flashed in his pale blue eyes, and Laura felt a bone-deep shock. “Dear God. She truly isn’t here … is she?”
“What nonsense,” he said, his tight grip pulling her toward the sitting room. “You’ll see her as soon as you’ve had refreshment.”
Laura dug in her heels. “No. You will tell me where Lady Josephine is.”
“You’re overwrought. Come, sit down before your tea turns cold.”
Her mind raced. His insistence first on the sherry, and now on the tea, struck her as peculiar. Was there a sedative in it? Or … poison? She controlled a shudder. It was rapidly becoming clear that he’d lured her here for some nefarious purpose. Did he desire revenge for her rejection of his vile offer to be his mistress?
Laura pretended to submit, forcing her body to relax. “As you wish, then,” she said in a meek tone. “But just one cup. And please, do loosen your grip on me. You’re hurting my arm.”
His fingers slackened ever so slightly, though not enough for her to entertain hope of escape. He was stronger than he appeared, and she let him draw her back into the sitting room. When he urged her to a chair, Laura balked. “I fear I’m too distressed to sit,” she murmured.
“Perhaps once you’ve drunk your tea, then.” Mr. Stanhope-Jones brought her the porcelain cup and placed it into her hand. “There, my dear. Swallow it all down and you’ll be much improved, I promise.”
She lifted it to her lips and blew on the steaming liquid, noticing that it had the same sweetish aroma as the sherry. Bile rose in her throat. He was watching her avidly, so she clenched her teeth and forced a disarming smile at him over the rim.
She took a step toward him. Then she flung the hot contents of the cup straight into his face.
He screamed, staggering backward, his hands clutching at his eyes. Laura didn’t tarry. She rushed out the door and to the stairs. With the constable waiting out front, she’d have to find a rear exit.
Clutching her skirts, she started down the steps. But at that moment, the front door opened and Pangborn entered the house. He looked up and spotted Laura. Uttering an animal growl, he surged toward the staircase.
Chapter 29
“Where is my wife?” Alex demanded. “My coachman said he’s been waiting out front for nearly an hour.”
Standing by the staircase, Mrs. Samson lowered her gaze to the floor. “I-I don’t know, my lord. She went out the garden gate to look for Lady Josephine some time ago. I haven’t seen her since.”
The news stabbed into him. He had absconded from the Abbey just as the queen had started up the aisle. There’d be hell to pay for his desertion, but he’d give up his earldom to assure himself of L
aura’s safety. He’d stolen one of the processional horses and ridden hell-bent for leather, the crowds giving way for the madman in the swirling crimson cape. But by the time he’d reached Copley House and scanned the note sent by Mrs. Samson, Laura had been long gone.
He knew in his gut that she was in danger. However, it wouldn’t do any good to go haring off until he had all his facts straight.
“So my aunt is missing, too?”
“Er … no, my lord.” The housekeeper darted a quick look at him while clutching convulsively at her white apron. “As it turns out, she wasn’t missing at all. I found her a little while ago, up in the attic of all places, poking through a box of trinkets that Lady Copley had put in storage. I’m happy to say, she’s napping in her bedchamber now.”
The woman’s furtive avoidance of his eyes raised suspicion in Alex. “Look at me,” he commanded.
Mrs. Samson slowly lifted her head. “Yes, my lord.”
“Has Rupert Stanhope-Jones been here this morning?”
Her gaze widened slightly, and then flickered away for an instant. “N-no, my lord.”
He seized hold of her sharp chin and forced her to meet his eyes. “You’re lying. He was here, and he took Laura when he left, didn’t he? My coachman wouldn’t have seen them depart because they went out through the mews.”
“I…”
“Speak up! Or by God I’ll see you locked in prison for abetting in the abduction of my wife.”
She drew a shuddery breath. Alex could see the woman thinking, calculating, deciding how best to save her own skin. “All right,” she burst out, “yes, he did take her. He told her that Lady Josephine had fallen and … and hurt herself. I didn’t know at the time that he was being deceitful … because I hadn’t yet found her ladyship in the attic. I’m truly sorry, your lordship. I-I didn’t wish to be blamed for asking Lady Copley to come here when it was all just an unfortunate mistake.”
Her story was absurdly flimsy. Stanhope-Jones couldn’t possibly have known that Laura had stayed home from the coronation unless this woman had sent word to alert him. She likely had been paid handsomely for her treachery.
But he didn’t have time to deal with her now.
“Where did they go?” he asked.
“To his house on Albemarle Street, I believe.” Mrs. Samson fell to her knees, her head bowed, displaying the lace cap on her graying black hair. “Pray forgive me, my lord. I never meant to cause harm to anyone, I swear it!”
Unmoved by the entreaty, Alex yanked open the front door. He motioned to the footman waiting by the carriage that had brought Laura here. “Come inside and keep a watch on this woman. Don’t let her out of your sight until I return.”
* * *
Laura pounded one last time on the door of the dressing chamber before abandoning the useless endeavor. If there were any servants in the house other than the one timid maid who’d brought the tea tray to the sitting room, none of them would dare to help her.
Especially not Pangborn. The burly man apparently had quit the police force and was now employed by Mr. Stanhope-Jones.
Upon seeing her starting down the stairs, Pangborn had rushed toward her with more nimbleness than when he’d chased her through the slums. Had he been paid by Mr. Stanhope-Jones even back then? Instead of Lord Haversham, had Mr. Stanhope-Jones been the one watching for her return to England?
The very possibility of that shook her. What did it all mean?
Between Pangborn and Mr. Stanhope-Jones, who’d emerged from the sitting room drenched in tea and in a fury, she’d had no chance to escape. The two men had cornered her. At his employer’s instruction, Pangborn had hauled her upstairs to lock her in this dressing room.
She’d been trapped in the dim, stuffy room for at least half an hour, enough time for her to hunt through the empty cupboards and clothes press for anything that might be used as a weapon. To her frustration, there was not so much as a hairbrush on the dressing table.
Daylight came from a small round window fixed high in the wall. Laura dragged over a chair, hitched up her skirts, and climbed onto a chest of drawers. Standing on tiptoes, she could just peer out.
The window faced the rear of the house. Even if she broke the glass, it was unlikely that anyone would hear her cries for help. Especially not with the muffled sounds of celebration all over the city.
What did Mr. Stanhope-Jones intend to do with her?
Chilled by that question, she climbed down and renewed her efforts to find a weapon. This time, she spotted a tiny dull gleam on the carpet beneath the dressing table. Crouching, she reached for it and pricked her finger on something sharp.
A long hatpin. It wasn’t much but it would have to do.
At that moment, heavy footsteps sounded outside and a key rattled in the lock. She poked the hatpin through the fabric inside her bodice.
Just in time.
The door swung open to reveal Pangborn’s grinning visage with its muttonchop whiskers. He gestured to her to walk forward. “The master will see ye now, m’lady. Come along nicely, and ye won’t be hurt.”
Laura did as she was told. Nothing could be gained by resisting this heavily muscled man who looked as if he would enjoy subduing her. She had Alex’s baby to protect. Above all else, she mustn’t invite a battering that could result in a miscarriage.
As Pangborn prodded her through a deserted bedchamber and into the passageway, Laura said, “My husband will pay you extremely well for my safe return. He’s a very wealthy man.”
The officer guffawed. “Too late for that. Like as not, I’d end up swinging from a noose.”
He brought Laura back to the sitting room, where Mr. Stanhope-Jones sat waiting on a chaise, drumming his fingers on the cream-striped cushion. Upon seeing them enter, he jumped to his feet. He’d changed out of his tea-stained clothing, Laura noted. Vanity must be the reason for the delay in whatever he had planned; he couldn’t bear to be seen in disrepair. Now he wore a burgundy coat, tan trousers, and a pristine white cravat. He might have been setting out for a ballroom instead of abducting a woman.
Pangborn took up a stance in the doorway, blocking any hope of escape in that direction.
Nevertheless, Laura refused to quail as she stepped toward her captor. “I demand to know what this is about,” she said. “What gives you the right to lie about my husband’s aunt and then lock me in a closet? I wish to return home at once!”
Mr. Stanhope-Jones gave her a coldly exultant smile. “Your home is now with me, darling. I’ve waited ten long years to possess you. I’ve no intention of giving you up.”
Laura stared at him. “Ten years—?”
“I asked you to marry me back then, remember? I went down on my knees before you. But still, you refused me. You wanted a title—you, a mere commoner yourself.”
She had refused offers from several ardent gentlemen. Because she had fallen madly in love with Alex. “You’re wrong,” she said with a shake of her head. “A title has never mattered to me.”
He curled his lip. “Indeed, Countess? I’d have stopped you from wedding Copley had I not been out of town making arrangements for us.”
“Arrangements? What do you mean?”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” he said slyly. “In the meanwhile, I have something for you, something I’ve longed to see you wear.”
He must be mad, Laura thought in horror. Did he really intend to take her somewhere away from London? Was that why the coach was still parked out front? She must stall him, keep him talking.
Even as the thought flitted through her mind, she despaired at the futility of it. Alex would still be at Westminster Abbey. After the coronation ceremony, all the peers would line up to kiss the queen’s ring and pledge fealty. The process would be slow and tedious. With the traffic afterward, it might take him hours to reach home and realize she was missing.
Mr. Stanhope-Jones went to a table by the window and picked up a jeweler’s box. Opening it, he drew forth a necklace and brought
it to her, holding it reverently in his hands. Sunlight sparkled on a string of diamonds from which dangled an enormous bluish stone.
Laura gasped. “The Blue Moon? Dear God, you stole it.”
“Yes. I’ve kept it all these years just for you.”
He stepped behind her and fastened the necklace at her nape. She was too stunned to object. The Blue Moon lay cold and heavy against her skin. His hand at her back, Mr. Stanhope-Jones urged her toward a gilt-framed mirror on the wall.
She gazed at her reflection, the tawny-gold tendrils that had fallen from her upswept hair, the pale oval of her face, and the spectacular blue diamond that was so enormous it looked almost gaudy.
“Ah,” he said softly. “Just as I’d hoped, it’s the perfect complement for your blue eyes. You, Laura, are truly the most beautiful woman in the world.”
His triumphant face loomed behind her in the mirror. The brush of his fingers on her neck made her skin crawl, snapping her out of the spell of shock. She spun away, stepping behind a chair for protection, her fingers touching the faceted diamond. “I don’t understand. How did you manage to steal it? Did you have an affair with the Duchess of Knowles?”
He laughed. “That old crow? Hardly! Rather, I seduced her lady’s maid. Those of the lower classes can be quite susceptible, you know. Some to charm and some to money.”
Laura glanced at Pangborn, who stood impassively in the doorway. It struck her that Mr. Stanhope-Jones must have paid Mrs. Samson, too. Else how had he known Laura had taken ill that morning and wouldn’t be attending the coronation?
She’d been horribly wrong about Lord Haversham. And Evelyn, too. Having grown up hearing about the feud between her father and the marquess, Laura had been blindly certain of her conclusion. In her own way, she had been as pigheaded as Alex.
“You must have placed the matching earrings in my father’s desk.”
“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.”