The Mysterious Miss Flint (Lost Ladies of London 1)

With a blank expression, Mosgrove stared at her.

The air stilled.

Just when she thought the temperature couldn’t get any colder, a sharp and bitter wind whipped through the room in the form of Lord Mosgrove’s wrath.

“Is this some sort of joke? Did he force himself on you?” His face swelled as the blood rushed to his cheeks. “Tell me! Was it after the incident at the theatre?”

“Does it matter? I love him.” Saying the words aloud brought a rush of euphoria. Feeling more confident now, she raised her chin in defiance. “There will never be anyone else. Never!”

Mosgrove gritted his teeth. “But I paid your brother a king’s ransom to have you.”

“My brother is not the keeper of my heart. You cannot put a price on love.”

Without warning, Mosgrove lunged forward and grabbed her wrist. “Enough of this nonsense. Your brother was right. You need a firm a hand.”

“Jackson!” Nicole cried at the top of her voice. “Jackson!”

Oh, for heaven’s sake, Jackson, please hurry.

“He cannot hear you.” Mosgrove gave an evil chuckle. “He’s locked in the barn, and my coachman has blocked the door. Thank the lord, someone broke the window, and I was able to pull up the sash and climb in.”

Nicole jerked her hand to break free, but for a man as thin as a pencil he was remarkably strong. The only hope she had was to escape through the same window.

Grabbing the pillow with her free hand, she swung it hard and hit Mosgrove on the head. It shocked him enough to release his grip on her wrist.

There wasn’t a second to waste.

She scrambled out of bed and darted towards the door.

But Lord Mosgrove was light on his feet for a man with gout. He caught her by the waist, picked her up and swung her around in an effort to get her back on the bed.

Nicole kicked out, hit the side table with her foot and sent the candlestick hurtling onto the bed. It hit the coverlet, and the material went up like straw on a bonfire.

She shrieked. But Mosgrove was a man obsessed, oblivious to the flames creeping over every inch of the bed.

“Stop fighting.” He firmed his grip making it more difficult for her to breathe. “Oh, I can see there’ll need to be strict rules once we’re wed.”

“Are you blind?” The words sounded croaky. “Put me down and get some water before the whole house goes up.”

“You’re not getting away from me again.”

Like a naughty child, the flames ran up the wall behind the headboard, seeking every opportunity to cause mischief. Black smoke filled the room, stinging her eyes, clawing at the back of her throat.

“We need water!” Nicole coughed. She could feel her resolve weakening. Surely this wasn’t how her life was supposed to end.

Mosgrove coughed too and was forced to relinquish his grip. He backed away to the window, but just stood there staring as the angry child stuck out its fiery tongue in defiance, licking everything in its path.

“Lord Mosgrove!”

The words fell on deaf ears.

Nicole tugged his arm. “Help me fetch water, damn it.”

She raced from the room and down the stairs. Mosgrove followed in a daze. It was as if his mind had abandoned his body leaving nothing but an empty shell.

“Hurry!”

They fumbled about with the water pump, returned to the room minutes later carrying a bucket each. But they were too late. The flames had ventured out into the hall, swallowing the paintings on the wall, spreading out across the ceiling.