The Mysterious Miss Flint (Lost Ladies of London 1)

Lady Foster? The one his father insisted he marry. The one who married Lord Foster when Oliver fled to the Continent. Rose had told the story one night when locked in their bedchamber. No wonder he’d stayed away for two years if this was what awaited him at home.

“What I want is an explanation.” Lady Foster was most insistent. “I’ve not spoken to you for two years, and you’ve gone out of your way to avoid me since your return.”

“There is nothing to say.”

Lady Foster gasped. “Nothing to say. You broke your promise. You gave me hope when there was none.”

“No promises were made.” Oliver swallowed deeply. “Not once did I say anything to suggest there could be more than friendship between us.”

“Your father assured mine—”

“I will marry a lady of my choosing. Not one forced upon me to appease our parents.” Oliver cast Nicole an apologetic glance before turning back to Lady Foster. “It was evident we wouldn’t suit. Besides, the topic is irrelevant as you have since married Lord Foster.”

“And why wouldn’t we suit?” The lady ignored the comment about her husband and spoke as though there was a possibility Oliver could still change his mind. “I have everything to recommend me.” She waved her hand down the front of her lavish gown. “It is not just whores who know how to treat a man well in bed. Though I doubt your little friend will agree else she’ll find herself out of a job.”

Oliver gritted his teeth. “Do not dare speak of Miss Flint in such a manner. Now I suggest you leave before I say something I may regret.”

Lady Foster’s gaze fell to Nicole’s exposed flesh, and she snorted. “You would rather cavort with a whore than a lady?”

Oliver straightened to his full height. “Miss Flint is not a whore. Now get the hell out.”

With skin thicker than tanned leather, Lady Foster sneered. “No, she’s simply a woman eager to barter services.”

“Looks can be deceptive, Lady Foster,” Nicole said in her defence. She cared nothing for Lady Foster’s opinion, and Oliver looked ready to throttle the woman. “Indeed, upon first glance, you appeared to be an elegant lady of good breeding.”

“I know what I see.” The cantankerous witch was determined to make her point. “You have a wild, feral look about you that screams of a wench from Whitechapel.”

Oliver’s restraint snapped. “When you insult Miss Flint, you insult me. After all, we are betrothed, soon to be wed.”

Betrothed?

Was the man so desperate to put this woman in her place that he resorted to elaborate fantasies? Well, Nicole was certainly rising quickly through the ranks. From paid companion, she’d earned the status of mistress. The earl had informed Lord Cunningham that she was his cousin. And now, it seemed, the whole world would soon know she was to be the Countess of Stanton.

“You … you can’t wed this harlot?” Lady Foster’s eyes bulged. “Who is she? Who are her parents?”

Panic flared. Nicole did not need a spiteful gossip prying into her affairs.

“Does it matter who my parents are?” Nicole said. She was tired of listening to this woman’s bitter diatribe. “All that matters is that I shall be a countess while you’re a mere lady. Indeed, I may even glance back at you from the front of the supper queue.”

Lady Foster’s lips curled down with disdain. “It will take more than a title to make you a lady.”

“Perhaps.” Nicole gave a coy grin. “But you’re right. Oliver is not marrying me for my manners. It seems our wild antics in the bedchamber have left him besotted.”

Oliver inclined his head. “Thoroughly besotted to the point of madness.” He put his hand to his heart. “I am a man hopelessly in love.”

Even though he'd made the comment in jest, it rocked Nicole to her core. In a perfect world, those were the words she longed to hear fall from his lips.

“How fortunate I am,” Nicole said, quick to dismiss all lofty ideas of love, marriage a

nd a family. “Oliver has expressed his desire to race to St George’s, rather than rush to board the first ship that sails from Dover.”

Lady Foster pressed her lips together so firmly they disappeared into her mouth.

“Now, if you will excuse me, I must find the ladies retiring room.” With her chin held high, Nicole marched from the box and along the curved corridor. She could not linger there any longer for risk of being drawn into a conversation about her family.

A loud applause erupted from the auditorium, and she liked to think it was partly due to her superb performance. She had taken but a few steps when the doors to the other boxes flew open and people burst out into her path.

Suddenly squashed between a pudding of a gentleman and his equally over-sized wife, Nicole could do nothing but follow the crowd. With no idea where to find the retiring room, and caught up in a sea of people surging towards the stairs, she decided to elbow her way back to Oliver’s private box.