The Mysterious Miss Flint (Lost Ladies of London 1)

Miss Flint exhaled slowly. “As a man who considers himself practical and realistic, surely you see the flaw in your plan.”

Miss Flint’s obstinacy was beginning to grate. Why could she not nod her head and mutter sweet words of approval?

“The events of the morning have left my mind a little frayed. Would you care to enlighten me as to the obvious flaw I appear to have missed?”

“Certainly. With any luck, Rose will make it safely to London without incident,” Miss Flint said in a rational tone. “Therefore, it stands to reason we must do our utmost to protect her reputation.”

“That goes without saying.”

“How will it look if you charge into the inn and ask questions about a missing young woman? A man of your status will attract attention. It takes but one wrong word from the mouth of a gossip to ruin Rose’s reputation beyond all redemption.”

If Rose had eloped with Lord Cunningham, a ruined reputation was the least of her worries.

Oliver gave a resigned sigh. Miss Flint was nothing if not logical.

“I shall bow down to your divine wisdom,” he conceded. “No one in Town knows Rose stayed at the manor or of the circumstances surrounding her incarceration. I would prefer to keep it that way.”

“Then it is settled.” She smiled sweetly this time. “No one knows me here. I shall ask about a friend I was to meet and describe her without mentioning names.”

Oliver raised a brow. “You forget one thing.” Ha, she’d missed an important point, too. “By now, the staff will have informed the landlord that a coach has arrived. Once noting the crest on the door, everyone will know a person of quality has pulled into the courtyard. How do you propose to explain the reason you alighted from an earl’s carriage?”

Without warning, Miss Flint shot forward and seized the door handle. “Then there is no time to waste. Meet me further along the road in ten minutes. I suggest you find a reason for returning should the landlord approach you.”

She opened the door, jumped to the ground and closed it quietly before creeping around to the servants’ entrance at the rear of the inn.

Lord. He’d met one or two spirited women in his time, but Miss Flint had the courage of an army battalion.

Was that why he found her attractive even though she challenged his opinion at every turn?

Was that why desire burned in his veins at the thought of bedding her?

Yes, she was beautiful, but so were many other ladies of his acquaintance. Was lust not supposed to be a simple thing based on nothing more than the sum of her physical attributes?

Oliver was still mulling over his dilemma when the landlord scuttled out into the courtyard. The tubby man rubbed his hands, and his eyes gleamed at the prospect of receiving another paying customer.

Oliver groaned inwardly and lowered the window. “Good day, Mr Parsons.”

“Good day, my lord. Is it Mrs Parsons’ roast lamb that’s brought you back again so soon?”

“Your wife is a culinary genius,” Oliver said, exaggerating the truth somewhat. “And I shall be certain to call in again when on my travels. But I wonder if your maid found a silk handkerchief? I seem to have mislaid a blue one and have no idea where I left it.” Good heavens, he sounded like a scatty-brained fop. No doubt the innkeeper was wondering why a gentleman who could afford to lose a hundred handkerchiefs had travelled back to enquire after this one. “The item was a gift, you understand.”

“It’s my daughter, Fanny, who cleans the rooms. I’ll nip inside and ask her.” Mr Parsons hurried back into the inn.

Some min

utes later, Miss Flint sauntered past the carriage door, her eyes fixed straight ahead.

Oliver watched her walk under the stone arch and disappear off down the road to her right. The lady walked with the poise and elegance of a duchess. A fact he’d not noticed until now. Someone had tutored her in the art of deportment as her movements were far too graceful for a servant.

The clip of shoes on the cobblestones saw Mr Parsons hurrying back to the vehicle. “Fanny found nothing in your room, my lord.” He put his hand on his chest to ease a bout of breathlessness. “But you’re welcome to come inside and speak to her yourself.”

“No, no.” Oliver gave a dandified wave. “No doubt it is somewhere amongst my luggage. That’s what happens when I travel without my valet, though I thank you for taking the time to look.”

Mr Parsons appeared a little shocked at his polite response. Some gentlemen accused a maid of theft to avoid paying for a night’s accommodation.

“Should Fanny find it, my lord, I’ll be sure to keep it safe.”

Oliver nodded, raised the window and tugged on the silk tassel dangling from the roof to communicate his intention to leave. Jackson reacted instantly and manoeuvred the carriage out of the narrow courtyard with the usual expertise.