The Mysterious Miss Flint (Lost Ladies of London 1)
Miss Flint was waiting on a grassy bank further along the road. As the carriage rolled to a stop, Oliver opened the door and offered his hand.
She stared at him. Uncertainty flashed in her eyes, but she slipped her palm into his. A shiver of awareness shot up his arm — made a slight detour to another part of his anatomy — before journeying down to his toes. The lady sucked in a breath and averted her gaze. Feeling somewhat triumphant that he possessed the ability to unnerve her, he could not prevent the confident grin from forming.
“I spoke to Mrs Parsons, the innkeeper’s wife,” Miss Flint said as she settled back into the seat while Oliver conveyed his instructions to Jackson and closed the door. “No one of Rose’s description entered the inn last night.”
The news, whilst frustrating, eased Oliver’s fears somewhat. “A lady would need to be desperate to enter an inn, unaccompanied. While Rose would take passage with a family or elderly matron, she would not ride alone with a gentleman. From what I recall, mine was the only carriage in the yard.”
Oliver had stayed at the inn to gather information about the inhabitants of Morton Manor. Had he known of Rose’s escape he would have asked more pertinent questions about the area, would have paid more attention to the other patrons coming and going.
Miss Flint stared through him, her wide eyes transfixed on some imagined scene. “Last night, running away seemed like the perfect plan.” She blinked and heaved a weary sigh. “Now, in the cold light of day, it was foolish of me to let her leave.”
“Rose is far more robust than she appears.” Oliver drew comfort from his own words. But in truth, he remembered her being fragile, easily startled. Like Miss Flint, he bore some of the blame for his sister’s unfortunate situation. “Equally, her experiences at the manor will have given her the ability to cope in trying situations.”
Miss Flint shuffled closer to the window and looked out at the passing fields. “I hope you’re right.”
Chapter Six
As soon as the earl’s carriage passed through the turnpike, the hustle and bustle of city life brought with it a renewed sense of trepidation. Nicole’s heart raced. Two hours spent with her eyes fixed firmly on the road, hoping to spot Rose, had been for nought. The ache in her chest grew more profound with each passing mile. The earl’s frustrated mutterings and mumbled curses only made matters worse.
“Let us pray Rose reached London safely and is in the care of Lord Cunningham,” Nicole said as guilt twisted its sharp blade deep into her chest.
“If Rose is with Cunningham, we shall need more than Divine intervention to save her,” the earl snapped.
It was obvious the earl detested the gentleman, but perhaps he was looking for a way to shift the blame. “But Lord Cunningham has already proposed. They will wed, and all will be well.”
The earl rolled his eyes and sighed. “While your courage knows no bounds, Miss Flint, you have a lot to learn about the dissolute men of the ton. Having alluded to your own harrowing experience with such a gentleman, I’m surprised by your naivety.”
Nicole snorted, albeit silently. She had suffered cruelty at the hands of her brother, not a rakehell. Greed had tainted Jeremy’s heart and blackened his soul. As her only kin, he viewed her as property for sale or barter. But hope lived in her breast, bold and bright. There were good, selfless men alive in the world ready to oppose his wicked plans — there had to be.
“You’re right,” she said. After the abominable way his father had behaved, the earl had every right to question people’s motives. “I know nothing of Lord Cunningham and should learn to base my judgements on the facts. The fact is Rose has far too much integrity to spend her life with a cold-hearted devil.”
Her reply failed to wipe the look of contempt off his face. “Deception is a skill many young bucks strive to master.”
The words suggested he was of an older generation, not a virile man of five-and-twenty.
“Were you not a young buck once?” she teased. “Is this your way of warning me to be cautious of your motives?”
“Of course not. I am not eager to wed you so I may steal your fortune to pay my gambling debts.”
“You believe that is the basis of Lord Cunningham’s interest in your sister?” Nicole swallowed down her surprise. “You underestimate Rose’s appeal. She has so much more to offer than money.” Rose had charm and grace. She possessed a kind, innocent beauty any man would treasure.
“I fear your trusting nature may prove to be your downfall, Miss Flint.”
“And your lack of faith could well be yours, my lord.”
Silence ensued.
Aware of his eyes fixed firmly on her person, Nicole met his intense gaze.
There was nothing he could say or do to intimidate her. Even so, heat crept up her neck to flame her cheeks. Her heart fluttered like an annoying little butterfly desperate for an opportunity to burst free.
It was those remarkable blue eyes of his that roused these strange sensations. While his firm jaw and pursed lips conveyed an aristocratic arrogance, those dazzling blue pools invited one to delve deeper, to dive into the soulful waters with the promise of finding sunken treasure.
She sighed to herself. If only the earl believed in love.
When the carriage turned right into Holles Street and came to a stop outside a row of townhouses, the earl finally diverted his attention.
Nicole studied the elegant facade. Each house was identical to its neighbour. Individuality was considered unfashionable in the ton. “I assume this is Lord Cunningham’s house?” It would be Rose’s home, too, once they wed.