The Mysterious Miss Flint (Lost Ladies of London Book 1)

by Adele Clee

  And then he was kneeling on the floor, her legs draped over his shoulders as his tongue danced wickedly over her sex.

  She writhed on the desk, clawed at the surface. Books tumbled to the floor and landed with a thud. The globe fell and rolled off the edge. What need had she to examine the world’s expanding horizons? Her world flicked his tongue one more time and sent her soaring up to the heavens.

  And then he was inside her again, easing in and out of her body slowly at first.

  “I’ll give you three days at Morton Manor,” he said as he pounded harder. He gritted his teeth as he took what he needed. “Three days and then I want you back here.”

  His release came upon him quickly. He withdrew and spilt himself over her bare thigh.

  They stilled, their ragged breathing filling the room.

  Nicole looked up into sparkling blue eyes still dark with desire. Heavens above, she would miss this man, she thought, as he wiped her leg with his handkerchief. She trusted him implicitly. He had promised her his protection and had not let her down.

  One thing was certain.

  She would never love another man the way she loved Oliver Darby.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Oliver sat back in the chair in his study and downed a mouthful of brandy.

  The room was cold, for he had promised not to light the fire until Nicole returned, though he would have loved nothing more than to see his father’s words go up in smoke. He supposed he could have sat in the drawing room and warmed his hands in front of the flames. But being in the study reminded him of Nicole. The mysterious lady who’d found the secret door to his heart.

  So why the hell had he let her leave?

  The thought of her alone in that miserable place filled him with dread. It was not for her safety he feared. Jackson had learnt to fight in the back alleys and could handle almost every situation. But she’d spent hours walking the streets in nothing but a flimsy dress.

  What if she took ill in the night? What if Gripes hid in a secret passage waiting to pounce? What if—

  Hell, he seemed to have lost a grip on reality. Worrying was akin to a debilitating illness. He shook his head. Three days would pass quickly. He glanced at the mantel clock. So why had two hours felt like a damn lifetime?

  One swig of brandy was not enough to fill the void in his chest. It would take a bottle to numb these strange feelings inside.

  Cravings subsided. One’s obsessions haunted the mind, not the soul.

  Neither of those things explained the ache in his chest.

  A rap at the door brought Bradbury. “Excuse me, my lord, but we were a little concerned that you’ve not come for dinner. Shall I have a platter brought in instead?”

  Good Lord, he’d spent so much time trying to understand these newfound emotions, he’d forgotten to eat. But he wasn’t hungry. Well, not for food at any rate.

  “Make me up a small plate.” Bradbury would nag until Oliver ate something.

  “There’s pheasant, fowl, turbot and veal.”

  “Veal, then.” The servants would eat anything that couldn’t be saved.

  Bradbury nodded but did not look appeased. He hovered at the door.

  “What is it, Bradbury?”

  “If you don’t mind me saying, my lord, you look tired. Shall I have the fire lit in your chamber?”

  The man did fuss. But after years of being ruled with an iron hand, the servants were grateful to have a new master. Consequently, they went to no end of trouble to make sure Oliver had all the necessary comforts.

  “It has been a busy few days,” Oliver replied.

  Hectic, was a better word. And he was tired of thinking, tired of worrying. Once Miss Flint was safely back at Stanton House, where she belonged, he would rest easier in his bed.

  But Nicole did not belong at Stanton House he reminded himself. Morton Manor was her home now. Yet the thought of her living anywhere else other than with him made him nauseous. The thought of her living in the draughty old house chilled him to the bones.

  Oliver glanced up to find Bradbury rooted to the spot. It appeared his butler had no intention of leaving just yet.

  “It might be nothing, my lord, but there was a carriage parked in the square this afternoon.” Bradbury looked at him apologetically. “I would not have mentioned it, but Thompson, the butler next door, seems to think the occupant was watching his master’s house.”

  “And yet you think they might have been watching mine.” Oliver straightened. After all that had occurred, Bradbury was right to be suspicious. “Was it Asprey?” It stood to reason that Jeremy would continue to harass Nicole. But to return so soon spoke of desperation.

  “Without a description of the vehicle, I cannot be certain. Thompson is somewhat of an unreliable witness.”

  There’d been no one on the street when Oliver stood at the window and watched his carriage rumble out of the square. Indeed, he had stayed there transfixed for ten minutes or more.

  Still, the sense that something was wrong pecked away like a crow on a carcass. From the moment Nicole had said goodbye at the door, he’d felt oddly unbalanced.

  What if Asprey was waiting for an opportunity to abduct Nicole? What if Asprey had followed the carriage out to the manor?

  Oliver jumped from the chair. It was best to be cautious. “Tell Owen to saddle my horse. I’m leaving for Morton Manor.”

  Morton Manor was as dismal as Nicole remembered. The damp stone walls looked shiny in the moonlight, wet with the tears of all those who’d suffered within its confines. The landscape was just as bleak with ugly clumps of grass and prickly brambles spoiling the vista. Tree saplings sprouted but never grew more than an inch or two. Small inky pools of water sat stagnant on top of the sodden clay soil.

  The place was as grim and gloomy as her heart.

  Hours had passed since she’d left Stanton House. Oliver had taken her in his arms, refused to let her go.

  “You can stay a little longer,” he’d said when she tried to leave. “It will be too late to begin your search tonight. Why not wait and leave in the morning?”

  But what was the point of delaying the inevitable?

  She’d cried all the way to The Talbot Inn. They were tears of sadness: for Rose, for the realisation that Jeremy despised her, that she had no family she could trust. There were tears of happiness, too. Some people spend a lifetime without experiencing true love, and she had been lucky enough to find it.

  “I’ll take the horses around to the stables, Miss Asprey.” Jackson’s gruff voice broke her reverie. “And settle them in for the night.”

  It was strange hearing her real name spoken aloud. For months, she’d been Miss Flint. Miss Asprey was a girl, frightened and alone, desperate to flee years of patriarchal dominance. Miss Flint was a woman who defied society’s rigid rules — a woman strong enough to take what she wanted and to hell with the consequences.

  “Are you all right, Miss Asprey?” Jackson’s narrow gaze scanned her face. “If you’d rather spend the night at the Talbot—”

  “No, I’m fine. Thank you, Jackson. Take the horses to the stables. There’s a trough and a water pump. And you’ll find fresh hay bales in the barn. The lantern hangs on a hook near the stable doors.”

  With the carriage lamps lit, Jackson would have no problem navigating the small space in the dark.

  “His lordship said I’m to check the house before you enter. In case that rabble we threw out have found their way back here.”

  Nicole straightened. So much had happened in the last few days, she’d forgotten all about Stokes and Mrs Gripes. “It hadn’t occurred to me that one of them might be hiding somewhere in the shadows.” Stokes had a vicious streak, though his need to seek employment would give him cause not to linger. “But see for yourself.” She gestured to the facade. “There’s not a light in any window. One would need a strong constitution to sit alone in that house come nightfall.”

  “Are you sure, miss? It will take me but a few min
utes to do a quick tour of the premises.”

  Nicole stood in the courtyard and surveyed the depressing building. A frisson of fear rippled through her. Miss Flint might be strong, but she was not a fool.

  “Very well.” She was suddenly thankful that Oliver had sent his man to keep her company. “We’ll walk through the rooms together and then you can see to the horses.”

  Jackson removed the iron key from the pocket of his coat and handed it to her. She’d left Mrs Gripes’ chatelaine on the kitchen table. Later, she would remove every key and burn the blasted thing.

  The front door groaned as she pushed it open. A chill breezed through the hall, brushing against her neck like ice-cold fingers. Darkness engulfed them.

  “Stay close, miss,” Jackson said as a faint scratching noise permeated the silence. “No doubt the field mice are looking for something to nibble.”

  They moved into the dining room. A plate of bones, an empty tankard, and a scrunched napkin littered the table.

  “Someone’s here.” She clutched the sleeve of Jackson’s coat.

  Jackson nudged the plate. “Happen a servant left them.”

  Nicole didn’t think so. They’d not been there when she left.

  In the stillness, one imagined hearing strange noises: creaks and moans, fingers tapping the window, the wind whispering ominous warnings.

  As they rounded the table, the curtain flapped back and forth. She gestured to the window. Jackson strode over and punched the material before yanking it to the side and searching behind. His boots crunched on something underfoot.

  “Mind where you walk, miss. There’s glass on the floor.”

  Nicole stepped closer. Just like the door at the solicitors’ office, one square pane was broken. She glanced back and peered around the room. The candlesticks were missing. Where was the mantel clock?

  “There’s a dead branch on the ground outside. Happen it hit the window.” Jackson offered a reassuring grin. “Once I’ve seen to the horses, I’ll find some wood and fix it up.”

  They continued through the house to the upper floor but found no other evidence of an intruder.

  “Where might I find a candle, miss?”

  “There’s one in my room.”

  Nicole led him to the bedchamber she’d shared with Rose. A thought flashed through her mind. What if Rose had come back to find the house abandoned? What if she’d forced her way in, desperate to take shelter?

  But the room was empty. Their clothes hung in the armoire and lay folded in the drawers.

  Nicole stood on tiptoes and patted the top of the wardrobe in search of the candle. Relief coursed through when she wrapped her fingers around the wax stick.

  “Mrs Gripes refused to light the house at night. The woman was a miser and pocketed every spare penny she could.”

  Jackson pulled a tinderbox from his pocket and with a few precise strikes lit the candle. “Will you be all right here while I go out to the stables?”

  “Of course.” The place was not nearly as terrifying without Stokes and Gripes in residence.

  A look of pity flashed in Jackson’s eyes. “I can sleep downstairs tonight if you like.”

  “Honestly,” she began, about to decline the generous offer. But then a pang in her chest forced her to reconsider. “Just for tonight then. This house can be a little unsettling in the dark.”

  Jackson nodded. “Perhaps you should settle down for the night. I’ll lock the front door while I see to the horses, and then I’ll fix the window and bed down in the dining room.”

  “Thank you, Jackson.”

  Nicole stood and waited for Jackson’s footsteps to recede. The loud thud of a door closing indicated he’d left the house.

  She placed the candle in the holder on the side table, and then undressed and slipped into a nightgown but was too tired to go in search of clean water. Instead, she climbed in between the cold sheets and thrashed her legs about to get warm.

  Since leaving the manor, she’d hardly slept. It wasn’t long before her lids grew heavy and all thoughts turned to dreams of Oliver.

  A loud bang woke her from her slumber. Nicole glanced at the candle. Judging by the length of the wax, she’d slept for thirty minutes, no more. Jackson must have finished in the stables.

  She pulled the covers up to her shoulders, closed her eyes and turned to lie on her stomach. A board on the stairs creaked, as did one on the landing. Jackson was a strong, sturdy fellow with a heavy gait and would call out to warn her if he approached.

  But then perhaps he didn’t want to wake her.

  The hinge on the bedchamber door squeaked. Footsteps padded over to the bed. She could hear heavy breathing and found the courage to open her eyes and look.

  Every drop of blood drained from her body and pooled in her legs.

  “Good Lord. What … what are you doing here?” She couldn’t move. Struggled to speak.

  “I am not a man who takes no for an answer.”

  “Stay … stay away from me. Do you hear?”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Only a single candle broke the darkness. It was enough to cast a sliver of doubt upon the credibility of the scene. Nicole prayed that her tired eyes were playing tricks, that the shadow of the man before her could not possibly be real.

  “Fate has brought us together again, my dear.” Lord Mosgrove stepped closer to the bed. “How fortunate that Mrs Asprey suggested I watch Lord Stanton’s house. Else I might never have found you.”

  Nicole shuffled around to face him. “You followed me to Morton Manor?” Upon noting Mosgrove’s lecherous gaze, she pulled the sheet up to her chin. Her hands were clammy, and her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

  “How else were we to be together?” Mosgrove knelt down and captured her hand in his. “You’re so stubborn, my dear. And your ploy to make me jealous worked a treat.”

  The man had lost his mind. If only the manor were still an asylum. The deranged lord would definitely be at home.

  “Now, we must get this silliness over with and cement our alliance. Birds are kept in cages for a reason. And I cannot allow my little dove to fly off again.”

  Fear had frozen all logical thought. But Jackson was somewhere on the premises. It was only a matter of time before he heard them and came running.

  “But I should like to know how you plan to match Lord Stanton’s offer,” she said, desperate to keep him talking. “My brother is stubborn. Jeremy will hold out for the best price.”

  Mosgrove snorted. “Stanton’s lost out this time. Just this afternoon, your brother accepted another ten thousand pounds to secure your hand.” His eyes widened. “I mean it is a little steep, a little more than I wanted to pay. But it’s worth it, just to know you’re safe and can finally feel settled.”

  What the devil?

  “How can you trust him? My brother has betrayed you once before.” Her gaze flicked to the bedchamber door but there was no sign of Oliver’s coachman.

  After moistening his lips, the lord brought her hand to his mouth and slobbered all over her knuckles. Nicole’s stomach churned with disgust.

  “But I am here, my dear. Your sister offered the perfect solution to the problem.”

  “Rowena is not my sister.” She was a spoilt brat sent to make Nicole’s life a misery. “And I doubt if a woman of her mental capacity could unravel her own boot laces.”

  Mosgrove chuckled. “Well, she has outdone herself this time. You see, once I break you in—”

  “Break me in!” Nicole cried hoping to alert Jackson. “I’m not a wild horse in need of taming.”

  “Of course not, my dear. Of course not. But the first time can be a tiresome experience.”

  A rush of warmth thawed her frozen limbs at the memory of taking Oliver into her body. There’d been nothing tiresome about the act. But if Lord Mosgrove thought to lay a finger on her, she’d fight him with every breath.

  Gathering her courage, she edged back the covers. “But it won’t be my first time,”
she said proudly. “I have already given that prize to Lord Stanton.”

  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.