The Mysterious Miss Flint (Lost Ladies of London 1)

“Friendships?” He managed a weak smile. “After our kiss in the alley, I believe we have progressed beyond a mere personal regard for one another. Wouldn’t you agree?”

How could she not?

One did not dream of undressing their friend or caressing their bare skin.

“But did you not instruct me to kiss you?” She had been hesitant at first. But she’d wanted to kiss him from the moment he’d punched Baxter for insulting her. From the moment he’d pulled her hood up to protect her identity. “Was it not merely an exercise to prevent Lord Cunningham from spotting you? Was I not keen to banish a terrible memory?”

He raised a mocking brow. “You’re teasing me, Miss Flint. You may play innocent, but we both know why it happened. A kiss was inevitable.”

He spoke of the attraction that hummed in the air whenever they were together. It was impossible to deny the powerful bond that existed between them.

“And had our search for Lord Cunningham taken us to Lady Chatwell’s ball would you have found a reason to kiss me there?”

He didn’t answer straight away but moved to place her cloak over the chair behind the desk. “Perhaps not at first. Had we attended the ball, I would have taken you in my arms and waltzed around the floor. Of course, with a mere inch between our bodies, it would have been regarded as utterly scandalous.”

“What, even for a mistress?”

“We’d have caused such a scandal the courtesans would have blushed.”

Nicole’s heart thumped against her ribs.

He gestured to the row of crystal decanters on the side table. “Sherry?”

Nicole nodded, although what need had she for a drink? His words and heated gaze had warmed her sufficiently.

“Then, after partaking in refreshment, I would have taken you for a stroll in the garden. Through the rose-covered arbour to a secluded spot with a stone bench made for two.” He stepped forward and handed her the glass of amber liquid. Their fingers brushed and his eyes fixed firmly on hers. “And then, my dear Miss Flint, I would have kissed you. Thoroughly. Deeply.”

Her pulse pumped hard in her throat. Gracious, for once she was sorry not to have left the carriage.

“And … and if I had offered an objection?”

“You would have been just as eager as I.”

She smiled and sipped her sherry. “Then I am sorry to tell you that your fantasy has one major flaw. Having never waltzed, it would have made for an embarrassing spectacle.” Oh, she’d had tuition, danced with her brother and father when she was but a slip of a girl. “Bruised toes and a battered pride would have completely ruined your seduction scene.”

With an arrogant grin, he took a gulp of whatever was in his glass, held the potent spirit in his mouth for a moment before swallowing it down.

“That is where you’re wrong, Miss Flint. Your lack of experience would have made the event far more interesting. Allow me to demonstrate.”

/> Without asking permission, he snatched the glass from her hand and placed both vessels back on the side table. Then he moved the chair next to the desk to create a clear space.

“Now,” he said coming to stand before her. “With my expert tuition, we shall have you waltzing in no time.”

She supposed she should tell him that she knew the cotillion, a few country dances and a reel. That she knew rhythm. Once, when Jeremy was on a winning streak at the tables, excitement had caused Rowena to have a momentary lapse of kindness. She, too, had moved the furniture to demonstrate the steps of the waltz. Although with her nerves wound tighter than a thread on a bobbin, Rowena was soon stomping about in frustration.

“With your right hand, you must clasp my left hand.” The earl’s rich languid tone drew her back to the present.

Nicole suppressed a giggle. He spoke to her as though she had a cabbage for a brain. She slipped her hand into his, palm to palm. The mere touch sent her heart racing.

“What now?” she said feigning ignorance.

“Put your left hand on my shoulder.”

She placed it clumsily on purpose.

“More to the left,” he said as his hand slid slowly around her waist and came to rest on her back.

When she straightened, they stood less than an inch apart. “Is this the required distance?” she asked despite the fact his coat brushed against the front of her dress.