The Mysterious Miss Flint (Lost Ladies of London 1)

mber over life’s obstacles.”

“Love is a crutch?” she mocked. “And do you speak from experience, my lord, or does your insight stem from lengthy observations?”

“Both.” During his time in Italy, and to a certain extent before he left for the Continent, he’d dallied with courtesans, widows and actresses. Pleasure was all any of them sought. Never had any genuine emotion filled the void in his chest. “My parents’ marriage was a complete disaster. A wild and passionate love affair that grew into a bitter battle of wills. My father’s jealousy and compulsive obsessions are to blame for Rose's terrible predicament.”

Pity flashed in Miss Flint’s bewitching green eyes. “Rose told me of your father’s cruel taunts, that he accused her of being the daughter of a footman.”

“Over the years he accused us of being the offspring of his groom, his coachman, of any gentleman foolish enough to visit the house.”

“Then I can see why you have a distorted view of love.”

“Not distorted, simply realistic.”

She was silent for a moment. “And so, will you break with family tradition? Will you marry someone you don’t love in the hope the partnership is not doomed to fail?”

The steely rod of determination running down the length of his spine forced him to straighten. “I have no intention of marrying anyone.”

Miss Flint snorted in a rather unladylike fashion. “As a peer, do you not have a responsibility to the nation? Is it not your duty to sire an heir?”

She was mocking him.

“As a man, I have a responsibility to myself first and foremost.” How the hell had he ended up having an intimate discussion with a paid companion? Then again, Miss Flint hardly conducted herself like a servant. The woman behaved as though she were his equal in every regard.

Perhaps that was why he found her so damn interesting.

“Hmm …” She tapped her finger to her lips. “So, as well as realistic, you admit you’re selfish, too.”

Had they not been sitting in a carriage, Oliver would have shot to his feet to defend that ridiculous remark. “You call it selfish. I call it practical. Besides, we are straying from the original point, delving into matters that I would rather not divulge to … to others.”

“By others do you mean to a lady or a servant?”

An odd puffing sound left his lips, and he shrugged.

“Then have no fear,” she continued. “I’m told it is acceptable for a man to discuss personal matters with his mistress.”

She cast a sensual smile his way, and it hit him so hard in the chest he could barely breathe.

Damnation.

Now he knew why his father had left Miss Flint the blasted manor. This woman was a beguiling temptress sent to torture him in the old earl’s absence.

“If I were you, I would refrain from mentioning the fact you’re my mistress,” he drawled, feasting on her fine form. Beneath the shabby dress, she had curves in all the right places. A lady possessed of such a forthright manner would make for a satisfying bed partner. Of that he was certain. “I might forget it is all an act and pounce on you when you least expect it.”

Oliver sat back, convinced he’d said enough to rattle her steely composure. When it came to the voracious appetites of men, it was evident Miss Flint lacked experience.

“Then I must thank you for your counsel,” she said, not showing the slightest sign that his remarks affected her. “With your hardened heart, I imagine it would make for a wholly unfulfilling affair.”

Oh, she would be more than satisfied with what he had to offer. “Should you wish to test the theory, I am more than willing.”

The image of Miss Flint writhing and panting beneath him flashed into his mind.

“As that is clearly not an option, I shall have no choice but to die in blissful ignorance.” She gazed out of the window as the carriage rattled through the stone archway and into the courtyard of The Talbot Inn.

Miss Flint’s refusal to pander to his whims or fawn over him as one would a new puppy intrigued him. A few minutes spent at the inn would act as a distraction. It would give him an opportunity to gather his thoughts, calm his heated blood, and adjust his damn breeches. “Wait here while I go inside. I shall—”

“Perhaps it would be best if I went into the inn and asked about Rose.”

“You think the landlord will refuse to speak to an earl?” he mocked.