The Mysterious Miss Flint (Lost Ladies of London 1)

Their gazes locked.

“I'm confident I am the one with the greater prize.” His blue eyes twinkled with the same seductive charm she had thought dangerous at their first meeting.

And she had been right. Oliver Darby was dangerous.

He had crept up on her unawares and captured her heart. Love, it seemed, was blind to a couple’s differences. Love did not play by the rules, did not follow convention.

She swallowed down a gasp as recognition dawned.

Was love’s sacred flame alight in her breast?

Was Oliver Darby the gentleman she’d been waiting for her whole life?

He was the knight who’d rescued her from the prison tower and beaten her jailers. The one who’d burst into the theatre box and wrestled her from the clutches of Lord Mosgrove. The one who’d saved her from making a perilous journey north with nothing but the clothes on her back. He was the one who had given her a home.

How could she not love him after that?

And when Jeremy turned up to make his ridiculous demands, she would ask one more thing of him. Indeed, he had done so much for her, and yet she had not told him the truth.

“I shall help you cover the hole in the window before we leave.” Oliver’s comment to Mr Jameson dragged Nicole from her reverie. “Thankfully, we only damaged one small pane in our effort to discover the truth.”

Mr Jameson held up his hand. “Leave it to me, my lord. It’s late. Take Miss Flint home.”

“Very well. I want the matter of Morton Manor dealt with promptly. Miss Flint must be free to return there whenever she wishes.”

Nicole found Oliver’s determination highly attractive. And while love filled her chest, she could think of nothing other than showing her appreciation with a kiss.

“Rest assured. The documents will be prepared and dealt with as a matter of urgency.”

Oliver inclined his head. “Thank you, Jameson. And you’ll keep me informed as to Mr Wild’s plans once the partnership’s dissolved?”

“Certainly, my lord.”

As they rode in the carriage back to Stanton House, neither of them spoke. Oliver stared at the passing shops and houses, contemplating heaven knows what. Nicole desperately wanted to know what he was thinking.

In the morning, she would leave for Morton Manor. To remain in London would be a mistake. And should Rose return to her former prison, someone needed to be there to greet her.

Fleeting thoughts of Rose entered Nicole’s mind. Were they kindred spirits? Were they destined to live alone? Destined for a life marred by a ruined reputation and a lack of love.

Nicole stared at Oliver beneath her lashes. Morton Manor was but twenty miles away, yet the idea of returning created a cavernous hole in her chest. How had she progressed from a reluctance to accompany the earl, to never wanting to leave his side?

“Are you thinking about Rose?” she asked him, hoping to distract her mind.

“No … well … yes. Is it not right that I should think about her?”

“Yes, of course.”

“It’s just that you look so distraught. It has been two days since I helped her escape. For the life of me, I cannot think where she can be.”

He glanced out into the darkness once more. “She’s out there somewhere. Perhaps she took ill, and a farmer’s wife is tending to her needs. Perhaps Cunningham is lying, and he’s hidden her away while he plans a trip to Scotland.”

Frustration infused every word.

“I doubt the latter is true. Not when he’s bedding Lady Monroe.”

Oliver shook his head as he turned to face her. “Some men care nothing for fidelity. I told you, Cunningham knows what to say and do to secure Rose’s co-operation.”