The Mysterious Miss Flint (Lost Ladies of London 1)

“What do you think he’s doing here?” Miss Flint still clung to his arm, though he offered no objection. Rarely, did the lady show any sign of vulnerability. And for some bizarre notion he had not yet fathomed, he was eager to play the hero.

“I haven't the faintest idea.” Cunningham was always up to no good. “But if we wait here long enough, we’re sure to find out.”

They watched the house for a short time. Every visible room remained cloaked in darkness. Strange misshapen shadows appeared before Oliver’s eyes as he strained to focus.

“Good Lord,” Miss Flint gasped. “Are my eyes playing tricks or is there a figure in the front window upstairs?” The sudden panic in her voice prickled the hairs at his nape. “Lord Cunningham knows we’re here. He’s looking straight at us.”

“Nonsense. Cunningham cannot see your face for it is buried in the depths of your hood.”

She turned, her frantic gaze darting over Oliver’s face. “Perhaps not, but he can see yours.”

“There is nothing to fear.” Oliver lowered his head until their foreheads were almost touching. “He will think we are lovers.” The muscles in his abdomen tightened in response. “He will see nothing more than an amorous couple eager to find a secluded spot to indulge their desires.”

Her breathing quickened as she stared at his mouth. The rapid rise and fall of her chest captured his attention. The sweet scent of jasmine filled his head. A strange tingling sensation sprang to life in his body, and he could think of nothing but pressing his lips to hers.

Good God.

Why did she have to be so damnably irresistible?

“But should he recognise you we’ll never know why he came here. We’ll never know if he’s with Rose.”

“There is only one way to obscure my face,” he whispered, his mouth so close to hers now. “You must kiss me before it’s too late.” Of course, he could simply turn his back or step further into the alley. But a rush of masculine pride filled his chest for inventing such an ingenious plan.

“Move closer,” she said, and he could sense her resistance. “Beneath the hood, he will struggle to see you.”

Oliver lowered his head a fraction more. “Then we shall have to hope you’re right.” He could feel the heat from her skin, her hot breath brushing his cheek.

Damnation.

Why the hell didn’t he kiss her and be done with it?

Seconds passed.

Their ragged breath mingled in the air between them, fused into one. Perhaps it was his imagination, but when his gaze focused on her lips, they seemed to edge closer.

A charge of energy sparked around them. Every fibre of his being longed to explore this physical connection. Just one touch, one kiss to appease his curiosity. A look of desire flashed in her glazed eyes, too.

“Have you ever kissed a man, Miss Flint?”

“Once.” She screwed her eyes shut and shivered.

“Am I to understand that the experience was not particularly pleasant?”

“It is a memory that shall haunt me until my dying day.”

Anger threatened to burst to life in his chest. These sudden surges of emotion were entirely new to him. “Was it the rogue you mentioned?”

“No.” She sucked in a breath. “A gentleman called at the house seeking permission to wed me. One stolen kiss during a walk in the garden was supposed to be an incentive to accept.”

Did she speak of a life with her parents, one before she’d found herself destitute?

“A kiss should express affection.” Lord above. He did not sound at all like himself. “But then I suppose it is also a way to test a couple’s compatibility. Perhaps a more satisfying experience would ease the distress caused by the memory.”

The corners of her mouth twitched. “You mean if I kiss you it might banish the nightmares?”

Oliver shrugged. “I have no notion. But is it not worth a try? Besides, we must do everything in our power to avoid detection. For Rose’s sake.”

The last comment made him sound like the worst of rakes. But he was desperate to taste her, desperate to rid himself of this craving so he could concentrate on the task ahead.