The Mysterious Miss Flint (Lost Ladies of London 1)

“Then I doubt he would have had a good word to say about me,” Nicole said to lighten the mood. “He would have been horrified to discover you’d taken your mistress to Stanton House.”

The earl smiled. “But you are not my mistress, Miss Flint, though I shall leave the vacancy open should you ever wish to embrace the role.”

When he spoke in such a husky tone, he made the immoral sound so tempting. “Does a kiss not count as an illicit liaison?”

“I think you’ll find the word is kisses. I’ve had the pleasure of tasting your lips twice.” His velvet tone stirred the hairs at her nape. “But no, you would need to give yourself to me, to surrender completely for it to count.”

“But if I refuse financial reward for favours granted, then I would not be considered a mistress. Would I not simply be an independent woman free to choose who I take to my bed?”

His heated gaze pierced her soul. “What are you saying, Miss Flint? Would you want to deepen our acquaintance if I agree to do so on your terms?”

Nicole wasn’t sure what she was saying. All she knew was that she craved his attention, could think of nothing other than kissing him again.

“I am saying I believe one should give their love freely. That it should not be forced out of a sense of duty or be held to ransom.”

To say the words was enough to ruin her for good. But then her reputation was beyond saving. She was a runaway who worked for a living, who slept across the hall from an unmarried gentleman, was a harlot in every sense of the word. It was the sacrifice she’d made to avoid marrying a weasel like Lord Mosgrove.

The earl sat back and rubbed his chin. “Then I find I’ve had a sudden change of heart. I must hope that you do fall in love with me. Only then do I have any chance of exploring the passion that exists between us.”

So he felt the all-consuming hunger, too.

“Considering the fact I only intend to fall in love once in my life, it would not be prudent for you to hope.”

She enjoyed teasing him, although any conversation about love left her questioning the odd sensations growing inside.

“But how will you know when you’re in love? By your own admission, what you expect to feel is something imagined duri

ng moments of fancy.” He shuffled forward until their knees touched. “What if passion is a stepping stone to love? What if the joining of our bodies is the gateway to something far more profound?”

Heavens, this man could induce the Lord to sin.

He made the illicit sound so wonderful. Something to be treasured not treated with disdain. Nicole wanted to believe they were simply the words of a skilled seducer. But she had experienced how compelling passion could be. When Oliver kissed her, her body ached for something more. The voice of logic failed to capture her attention and was pushed to the corner of her mind like an unwanted toy.

Lust was a dangerous thing indeed.

But what good would it do to pander to these new desires? Now that she had no claim to Morton Manor, she could not go back there. She needed to find work. In a day or two, she’d have no option but to head north, to leave London and the Earl of Stanton far behind. Yet she had grown so accustomed to him. She would miss his witty banter, miss his sinful smirk and lascivious lips.

“Perhaps it would be wise to cease all talk of love and passion and concentrate on the matter of Mr Wild.” She did not trust herself when alone with him in a secluded carriage. One touch of his lips and her mind turned to mush. “Are we to call on the gentleman this morning?”

“Your distraction technique might work in the interim, but you cannot avoid the inevitable.” He was much calmer now than when he’d first climbed into the carriage. A wolfish grin had replaced the ugly scowl. His cold eyes were now a brilliant blue. “For whatever reason, we are being drawn down the same path.”

“But you did not answer my question, my lord.”

He inclined his head in acquiescence. “In light of what we have witnessed today, coupled with the fact that Mr Wild has not taken a day off work in the last twenty years, I cannot help but be suspicious.”

There were many questions left unanswered.

Why would Rose’s father hide her in a house meant for his mistress?

Why leave his mistress a haunted manor and not a property in Town?

“If your father died two weeks ago, and Miss Flint was his mistress, as she claims, then why has she not come forward before?”

“I see what you mean. A lady left without provision would be keen to take possession of the property,” he agreed. “And there is no stipulation preventing the sale of the manor. I wonder where she lives now?”

Disappointment flared once again.

While living at Morton Manor had caused Nicole nothing but misery these last six months, the independence that came with ownership would have solved all her problems. Of course, her friendship with Rose was the only good thing to come from the whole debacle.