The Mysterious Miss Flint (Lost Ladies of London 1)

He rushed downstairs, barked orders at Mr Parsons who took it all with good grace. There were a few reasons why he wanted the moment to be perfect. They were yet to discuss the damage to Morton Manor. There was news of Miss Murray and Mr Burrows. And the burning love in his chest was desperate to find a voice.

Mr Parsons deserved a knighthood, Oliver thought as he escorted Nicole into the private room an hour later. The windows were all open. The innkeeper had not lit the fire, knowing the fumes would be too much for Nicole’s chest, but instead had draped thick blankets over the back of the chairs.

A vase of pink roses stood on the side table. The lit candles in the wall sconces cast a warm glow and gave a feeling of intimacy.

“It’s so good to be out of bed.” Nicole sat in the chair while Oliver took a blanket and placed it around her shoulders.

“Are you warm enough?”

She smiled. “Yes, I’m fine.”

He settled into the chair next to her and resisted the urge to serve dinner, to treat her as a helpless child. “I told Parsons not to bother us for at least an hour.”

She understood his meaning and helped herself to meat and vegetables from the platter in the middle of the table.

“Have you been up to the house since the fire?” she asked.

Oliver put down his cutlery. “I’m afraid to say that there’s nothing left of the manor but a stone shell. The best thing to do would be to demolish the ruins and start again.”

She pursed her lips and stared at her plate. “I suppose I should be upset, but I’m not. After spending an hour alone in the house, I knew I couldn’t live there.”

“The manor is an eerie place,” he agreed. “You could sell the building as it stands along with the land.”

A sigh left her lips, but then she brought the napkin to her mouth and coughed. “Excuse me. Oh, I’ll be glad when I can talk without this awful tickling in my throat.”

He had a nervous tickle in his throat. “You’ll think this odd, but I went to the local church and prayed for your swift recovery.” He’d had another reason for visiting the church.

“It’s not odd at all. I find it rather endearing.”

“Well, I have a lot to be thankful for and so thought it best to show my gratitude.” Oliver took a sip of his wine, though his eyes never left her. “Most of all, I’m grateful I followed my instincts and came to Morton Manor to check you were all right.”

“I’m grateful, too.” She dabbed her napkin to her lips. “Lord knows what would have happened had you ignored the impulse to ride out here.”

Oliver closed his eyes briefly to banish the stabbing pain in his chest. Once the horrific images faded, he cleared his throat. “Though I never thought it possible to utter these words, I’m grateful to my father. Had he not sent you to the m

anor, we would never have met. I would still be an arrogant arse instead of a man deeply in love.”

Nicole’s wide eyes settled on him. “Did … did you just say—”

“I’m in love with you, Nicole.” A smile formed on his lips. “Surely you knew.”

She stared at him and shook her head. “But you don’t believe in love. Love is like opium. Love is a crutch.”

“Yes, yes. I know.” Oliver sighed. God, he was embarrassed to hear the things he’d said. “And you do not believe in the power of passion, yet your delightful pants and moans suggest otherwise.”

Her cheeks flushed red. “Oliver, those were the triumphant sounds of a woman in love.” She offered a mischievous grin. “Although I must admit, lust played a part, too.”

For the last three days, he’d sat at her bedside hoping that she felt the same way. “Then perhaps we should agree that love and passion go hand in hand.” He reached over the table and grasped her fingers.

“How can I not agree with you when I love you with all my heart? And yet, I can think of nothing but stripping every item of clothing from your body and ravaging you senseless.”

His cock throbbed at the prospect, and his heart swelled. Now he could see how the two worked together to make for a more satisfying experience.

“Do you think you might be well enough tomorrow evening, to curl up with me in bed and stroke me to sleep?” He steeled himself. “We must find some way to celebrate our first night as a married couple.”

“A married couple?” Nicole coughed. “Is that a proposal?”

“It is.”