Stroke of Midnight Read Free Page A

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