The Mysterious Miss Flint (Lost Ladies of London 1)

She was flattered by his determination for it showed that he cared. But stealing from one’s solicitor was the most preposterous thing she’d ever had cause to witness.

“Do you know what will happen if you’re caught?”

“Nothing.” An arrogant chuckle left his lips. “I am the Earl of Stanton, simply looking over my father’s documents. All I need to do is mention the word fraud, and there’s not a judge in the land who’d see fit to condemn me.”

Nicole sighed. “Then I pray you’re right.” Life was so simple when one possessed a title. So simple when one wore breeches. “When Mr Jameson discovers the file is missing he will suspect you.”

Oliver tapped the tip of her nose with his finger. “And yet he will not have the nerve to accuse me.”

A dull thud in the corridor caught them by surprise, and their heads shot to the door.

“Did you hear that?” Nicole wanted to move but felt as though her silk slippers were made of lead. “Is it the wind do you think?”

The overhead bell tinkled once … twice.

Oliver pressed his finger to his lips. But he had nothing to fear, Nicole had no intention of making a noise. Even so, to her ears, her light breathing sounded more like a thunderous roar.

Oliver came around the desk and crept over to the door. Easing it away from the jamb, he shut it quickly and waved his hand at her.

“Quick, hide behind the bureau.” His whispered words conveyed extreme panic. He placed his father’s file gently on top of the desk. “Jameson is here and is heading this way.”

When in a fearful state, one’s body reacted at half the pace of one’s brain. Nicole’s mind was already squatting behind the furniture, while her legs struggled to follow. Oliver hid behind the drapes. Judging from the thick layer of dust coating every surface, Nicole suspected it was a mistake.

The door to Mr Jameson’s office creaked on its hinges as the solicitor stepped inside. The faint hum of a country tune broke the silence. He placed a leather satchel on the desk, moved to the cabinet and rifled through a drawer. Removing two files, he stuffed them into his bag and fastened the buckle.

With her breathing growing progressively louder, Nicole covered her mouth with her hand.

Jameson picked up his satchel but then stopped. He stared at the Benting file lying on top of the desk, but then shrugged and moved to the door.

Nicole swallowed down a sigh of relief. But then she heard an odd gasping, the sucking of breath followed by a sneeze loud enough to shake the heavens.

“Who … who’s there?” Jameson dropped his satchel, stepped back into the room and grabbed the poker from the stand next to the hearth. “I know you’re in here. Show yourself.”

Silence ensued.

But then the earl sneezed again.

Amid a sudden whip of material, Oliver appeared from behind the drapes. “Good God, man. Does no one ever clean this blasted place?”

Mr Jameson waved the poker like a sword. “Who are you? How did you get in here?” He jabbed the metal rod at Oliver and swished it back and forth. “I’ve a weapon, and I’m not afraid to use it.”

“Watch out, man.” Oliver raised his hands in surrender. “You’re liable to take an eye out waving that thing about.”

“Put the poker down, Mr Jameson.” Nicole stood and stepped out from behind the bureau. “We mean you no harm.”

The tension in the room was palpable.

Jameson’s frantic gaze darted back and forth between them.

Oliver stepped forward. “I know how this looks, Jameson, but I can explain.”

How would he talk his way out of this? What could he say — that they were passing via the back yard and noticed the broken pane?

“Lord Stanton? Is … is that you?” Jameson lowered his weapon. “What are you doing here at this time of night? How on earth did you gain entrance? And why are you hiding in my office?”

They were all pertinent questions.

“Perhaps we should sit down.” Nicole gestured to the chairs. An air of calm and composure was needed. “It is better to discuss this rationally.”