The Mysterious Miss Flint (Lost Ladies of London 1)

“Lord … Lord Stanton? What the hell do you want? Are … are you aware of the time?”

“Of course. It’s time you came downstairs and opened the bloody door.” The noise of grinding teeth made Nicole wince. “I’ll not tell you again.” The earl’s blue eyes were a cold, steely grey.

“Come back tomo—”

“You’ve got until the count of five else I’ll find a way inside.” The earl marched up to the door. “One!” He’d reached the count of four before the pad of footsteps echoed in the hall beyond. “Five,” the earl shouted as soon as Cunningham appeared.

Despite attempting to hide his body behind the door, it was evident from Cunningham’s loose shirt and missing cravat that he planned to do more than offer Rose a safe place to rest her tired bones. A golden lock of hair hung rakishly over his brow. The potent scent of exotic perfume hung in the air between them.

The earl was right.

Seduction was Cunningham’s objective for meeting Rose at the house.

A low growl rumbled in the earl’s throat. A volatile energy sparked like a firework ready to explode. At any second, Lord Stanton was liable to grasp Cunningham by the neck and squeeze until his eyes popped from their sockets.

There was only one way to defuse the situation. Rose needed her now more than ever.

Before doubt crept in, Nicole darted forward. She ducked under Lord Cunningham’s arm, braced against the doorframe to prevent anyone from entering, and raced towards the stairs.

“Rose! Rose!” Nicole called out, eager to be reunited with her friend. Eager to confirm that the earl was wrong and there was nothing licentious about the encounter.

“Bloody hell,” Cunningham shouted. “Who the hell are you? I did not invite you in.”

“Move out of my way, Cunningham,” the earl snapped. “Else you’ll have to beg your creditors for an extension so you can pay for new teeth.”

Nicole reached the top of the stairs, aware that the earl and Lord Cunningham were racing behind in pursuit. She opened the door to the first bedchamber but then remembered they’d seen Cunningham embracing Rose in the front window.

“Rose,” Nicole called out again as she moved further along the landing.

“Don’t go in there!” Cunningham yelled, but the earl pushed him into the wall, barged past and mounted the last few stairs.

Nicole entered the room first, knowing she may have to prevent the earl from entering should she find Rose in a state of dishabille.

Though the rest of the house lay in darkness, a faint glow from the street lamp outside made it possible to see more clearly. At first glance, the figure in the corner, shrouded in a white sheet, could well have been a ghost. Numerous times whilst at Morton Manor, Nicole had glimpsed the outline of a lady in white walking through the corridors at night.

“Rose. There is no need for alarm.”

The lady’s golden tresses hung loosely about her shoulders. Despite Nicole’s friendly reassurance, she kept her head

bowed.

“Look at me, Rose.”

The earl burst in through the door. He took one look at the lady standing in the corner, turned on his heels, grabbed Lord Cunningham by the shirt and lifted him clean off the floor.

“If you have laid a finger on my sister, I shall string you up from the nearest tree and leave you dangling.” The earl shook him, giving the lord a healthy dose of what he could expect.

Lord Cunningham kicked his legs, desperate to find a solid surface to place his feet. “That … that is not your sister.” Cunningham’s strangled words were barely audible. “I … I haven’t set eyes on Rose for … for nigh on six months.”

The earl released his grip on Cunningham’s shirt, and the fellow sagged to a heap on the floor.

“Rose left … left London without a word,” the lord continued as he scrambled to his feet and straightened his shirt. He put his fist to his mouth and coughed. “I took her absence as a sign of indifference. Indeed, your father made it clear she had made a mistake and desired never to lay eyes on me again.”

The earl frowned. “Then who in God’s name is that?” He stabbed a finger at the lady in the corner, standing as still as a marble statue found in a museum foyer. Perhaps she hoped they would peruse her semi-naked form and move quickly on.

“Does it matter?” Cunningham stuck his nose in the air in an attempt to appear affronted. Yet with his blemish-free complexion and weak chin he looked more like a spoilt child.

Was this the gentleman Rose dreamed of marrying? Surely not? It made no sense. He seemed so feeble, so weak and insipid. They were not at all suited.