The Mysterious Miss Flint (Lost Ladies of London 1)

“Indeed,” Jeremy agreed. “Such a slight on a young lady’s reputation must be addressed. Were we discussing your sister, Stanton, I’m sure you’d agree.”

Rarely, did Jeremy appear so confident, so calm and in control. She’d seen the same air of arrogance once before. When he’d partnered a card sharp and was guaranteed success at the tables.

Oliver remained silent as he studied the couple.

What was he thinking?

Nicole clasped her hands in front of her body. There were so many things she wanted to say to him — starting with an apology and ending with a declaration of love.

“Mr Asprey,” Oliver said sternly. “Stop dithering and tell me exactly what it is you want.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Rowena said. “You’ve ruined any chance of our sister making a good match.”

“Either your husband is incredibly gifted at throwing his voice, or your manners are lax, Mrs Asprey. To be blunt, I was not speaking to you.”

Nicole pursed her lips. No one had ever made Rowena’s cheeks flush. For that alone, she wanted to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him.

“Then allow me to answer,” Jeremy said somewhat irritated. “We want what your father promised us.”

Oliver jerked his head back, though it took a moment for the words to filter into his brain. “My father? What has that devil got to do with this?”

A deep sense of foreboding took hold.

Had a man ruined Oliver’s sister, he would have ripped out his throat and fed it to the dogs. Mr Asprey was too calm, too confident. From his cavalier attitude and satisfied smirk, this meeting was all part of a much bigger plan.

“Well?”

Mr Asprey snorted. “Why, your father arranged everything.”

It was as if time stopped — though the tick tick of the mantel clock and the growing tension in his shoulders proved otherwise.

“You have five minutes to explain yourself.” Oliver flexed his fingers. He’d wanted to throttle the man since noting the look of fear in Nicole’s eyes. “You have five minutes before I kick your sorry behind out of my front door.”

“U-under the circumstances, is that wise?” Asprey bit down on his lip, his arrogant countenance faltering.

“Under the circumstances, you’re lucky you’re still breathing.” It was becoming difficult to keep his anger at bay. While he was disappointed, hurt even, that Nicole had not trusted him enough to tell him the truth, were he related to this degenerate he would have done the same.

“Our father was Viscount Farlow’s youngest son,” Asprey blurted. “While his inheritance was substantial, he frittered it away on reckless ventures.”

Oliver snorted. From what Nicole had told him, Asprey was in no place to judge and had frittered away every penny he’d inherited too.

“Hence the need for me to ensure my sister makes a good match,” Asprey continued.

By a good match, no doubt he meant to anyone with the means to pay his gambling debts.

“You’ve four minutes left, Asprey. I’m not interested in your family history, just tell me what the hell this has to do with my father.”

Mrs Asprey opened her mouth but snapped it shut.

“I discovered that my sister had applied for the position of paid companion when I opened the letter confirming your father’s wish to meet her,” Asprey said.

“You opened her private correspondence?”

“It was my suggestion,” Mrs Asprey interrupted. “When one’s sister has a reckless streak, one must do their utmost to stay abreast of all developments.”

Nicole stepped forward. “You knew I was planning to run away? And yet you did nothing to stop me.”

“There was no need.” Asprey shrugged. “The earl feared his son would spend his days entertaining courtesans, that he’d do everything possible to avoid marriage. You are the granddaughter of a respected viscount, from a family the earl trusted.”