The Mysterious Miss Flint (Lost Ladies of London 1)

Jameson cleared his throat. “But the manor comes with a thousand acres of arable land.”

“It is of no consequence.” Money mattered not.

He’d give everything he owned just to see her smile. The sudden urge to give her the world came upon him. A carriage, dresses by the cart load, trips to the Continent, were but a few of life’s pleasures he would send her way.

“The price is a one-time offer,” he said as his gaze drifted over her. “The price is a lock of your hair.”

Her eyes grew wide. “My hair?”

Why he wanted it was a mystery. Yet he imagined keeping it in a gold case in his breast pocket. Imagined running his fingers through the soft strands when he needed comfort and she was not there.

“Let us make the deal now.” He was eager to claim his prize. Eager to banish the sudden sense of loneliness all thoughts of her departure caused. “The deeds for Morton Manor in exchange for one silky, red curl.”

She smiled and pulled a tendril of hair loose from her coiffure. “Very well.”

Oliver turned to Jameson. “There must be a knife around here somewhere.”

With a smirk on his face, Jameson rummaged through the top drawer in his desk and removed a pair of scissors. “They’re in need of sharpening, but they should suffice.” He came around the desk and handed them to Nicole.

“Lord Stanton must make the cut.” She held out the glossy strand, and his hand shook as he took hold of the scissors.

Good Lord, he was taking a sample of her hair, not her virginity. With as steady a hand as he could muster, Oliver snipped, happy in the knowledge that some part of her would always belong to him.

Chapter Eighteen

“Now you will always have a place to call home,” Oliver said as he gripped the lock of hair between his fingers. “The decision is made. Morton Manor is yours now, and no one can take it away from you.”

A lump formed in Nicole’s throat.

Jeremy would find a way to stake his claim. He’d made it his life’s mission to see her unhappy. But then it occurred to her that she could leave London come first light and then he’d have no hope of finding her.

“Are you not pleased?” Oliver searched her face. Two lines formed between his brows. “Nicole, you’ve sacrificed six months of your life to care for my sister. The manor is a fitting reward for your love and loyalty.”

“To have a home of my own … well, it’s just a little overwhelming.” A range of emotions filled her chest: gratitude, hope, and fear.

Did it matter that her real name wasn’t on the deeds?

Was she guilty of committing fraud, too?

She should tell Oliver the truth.

“Surely it is not as simple as swapping a lock of hair for a house and a thousand acres?” she said.

There had to be more to the process than that. Would Mr Jameson not need to check parish records? Would someone other than the beautiful man she’d deceived need to verify her identity?

“I shall deal with all the necessary legal proceedings which should take a week or so,” Mr Jameson said. “But it is just a formality.”

There was still time, then. She would make her confession tonight. Besides, in all honesty, she could not accept the generous gift.

After putting the scissors on Mr Jameson’s desk, Oliver removed his pocket watch, flipped open the gold lid and placed the small curl on top of the glass face. The care with which he carried out his ministrations touched her. It was as though she’d given him a rare diamond and he feared another man might come and steal the priceless jewel from under his nose.

“It … it was a thoughtful thing for you to do.” Her heart was beating so fiercely she struggled to form a coherent word. Other than her parents, no one had treated her with such care and consideration. The selfless act meant more to her than he could ever comprehend.

“There is no need to thank me.” He closed the lid on his watch and slipped it back into his pocket. “You came to London when it was the last place you wanted to be. And you deserve some form of recompense for the appalling way my father behaved.”

Was that the only reason he had made the magnanimous gesture?

“Still,” she swallowed deeply, “your gift is more than generous.”