The Mysterious Miss Flint (Lost Ladies of London 1)

“We will be reunited soon,” Rose whispered as she tiptoed along the landing.

Nicole returned to the bedchamber and hurried to the window. She watched Rose rush out into the night and make a dash across the lawn. When Rose reached the overgrown topiary hedge she stopped, turned back to the window and waved.

With a heavy heart, Nicole pressed her palm to the glass. Rose was the only person who had ever been kind to her. The only person she regarded as a true and loyal friend. Perhaps their paths would cross again. Perhaps the image of the gentle lady fleeing her prison would be the last memory of all they’d shared.

Baxter’s muffled moans and mumbles forced Nicole to turn around.

“Now the roles are reversed, I doubt you find it half as entertaining.”

With eyes wide, Baxter murmured something incoherent.

“Well, you shall have but one night of misery, whereas we have endured six months.” With the keys in her hand, she strode over to the door and locked it before sliding down to a sitting position. “In six hours, you shall be a free man, whereas I will pay for my disobedience.”

Some would find such a long wait tiring, difficult to bear. But Nicole would use the time to come up with a plan.

Her main objective hadn’t changed. She needed to be far away from Jeremy, far away from his wife, Rowena. Once she’d found a way out of Morton Manor, she would head north, take work as a governess or paid companion.

As always, her mind became engrossed in fanciful daydreams. Where were the knights of medieval times, the men willing to risk their lives to save a damsel in distress? Where were the honourable men, those not preoccupied with lining their purse or finding a willing woman to warm their bed?

Baxter raised his arms and gestured to his wrists. Had the scoundrel shown remorse over playing jailer and master, she might have pitied him.

Instead, she raised a reproachful brow and settled back against the door to wait until morning.

Darkness gave way to the golden rays of dawn. But while daylight heralded a wonderful new beginning for Rose, the sight filled Nicole with dread. Rose’s absence meant there was no need for Stokes to control his vicious outbursts, no need for Baxter to suppress his debased morals.

After all, why would the earl care what happened to the paid companion?

The sound of carriage wheels crunching along the gravel drive dragged Nicole to the bedchamber window. One glimpse of the painted black and yellow conveyance and her heart dropped to her stomach like a lead ball in a well. The Earl of Stanton’s coat-of-arms — two black eagles holding a gold shield — was instantly recognisable.

Good Lord! What wicked turn of fate was this?

How was it the devil had arrived so soon?

Had he stumbled upon Rose at the coaching inn, only t

o bundle her into the vehicle and return her to their rural prison?

The red iron shod wheels stopped rolling. The door flew open before the coachman climbed down from his box seat. Nicole pressed her nose to the glass. The handsome gentleman who vaulted to the ground was most certainly not the grumpy old Earl of Stanton.

With keen interest, she observed the stranger.

He was tall and broad, of athletic build with a slightly rakish air about him. A strong, powerful stance added to his appeal. In a moment of fancy, Nicole wondered what it would be like to waltz with such a gentleman. Would she feel the evidence of those muscular thighs pressing against her legs? Would his masculine scent make her giddy, make her want to bury her face in his neck and inhale the musky aroma?

Nicole shook herself to her senses.

For all the saints, it wasn’t the first time she’d gazed upon a well-proportioned face. Yet it was the first time she’d looked upon a man and felt a rush of excitement. The first time she’d not felt a frisson of fear.

He straightened his coat and brushed the sleeves before surveying the building’s exterior. As he scanned the facade, their eyes met. He jerked his head back and raised a curious brow.

Like a bolt from the heavens, a strange sense of familiarity struck her. This was a scene she’d lived through before, although logic deemed it was impossible. Then again, she’d had many dreams of being rescued by a kind-hearted gentleman.

A need to discover more about the mysterious visitor took hold.

Offering a sinful grin, he inclined his head to her, and she shot back from the window, unnerved by her instant reaction to his dangerous charm. A pleasing countenance was often a mask used to hide the scoundrel within. Perhaps this man would prove to be more of a threat than any she’d come across before.

Baxter’s muffled cries of protest woke Nicole from her musings. The guard shuffled vigorously and wiggled his arms in an attempt to break free from his bindings.

Nicole sighed as she considered her predicament. She would have to release Baxter, eventually. It was only a matter of time before someone came to look for him. No doubt Mrs Gripes was up and dressed in her apron, ready to serve charred toast and coddled eggs.