The Uncompromising Lord Flint

by Virginia Heath

  That sounded ominous. ‘I suppose there is.’ Especially as Jess was now resigned to her fate. In short, and after much soul-searching, she had come to the conclusion it was better to be here in this ancient castle with this unflappable and resourceful man than outside on her own. She would tell him everything and hope that in doing so she hadn’t just signed her death warrant. ‘Where would you like to start?’

  She braced herself for a barrage of accusatory questions. As if he sensed her disquiet, his golden head tilted to one side and his expression softened. ‘Well, firstly, I should appraise you of the castle’s security to put your mind at ease.’ His hand closed around hers on the tablecloth, warm and comforting. ‘I don’t want you worrying about Saint-Aubin.’

  As if he had only just noticed it, his eyes flicked to where his hand lay on top of hers and he briskly removed it, his voice becoming officious once again. ‘As you might have seen when we arrived, Penmor was built with siege in mind. The architect put this castle on a single rock stack that is separated from the main cliffs by a wide gully. Once the drawbridge is raised—which it is now—it is nigh on impossible to reach. To climb the stack would mean approaching from the sea. With the rocks below and the enormous crashing waves, only a fool would be mad enough to attempt it. Even if intruders did get past the sea, the rock they would need to climb is a sheer forty-foot wall of solid granite. The only obvious way in or out is via the drawbridge and up the steep path we climbed. A route which is perfectly visible from inside and is now being watched constantly. There are no other visible entrances.’

  Lady Flint grinned. ‘There is a secret entrance. One that only the family and a few trusted servants have ever been privy to over the centuries. A passageway chiselled into the stone with narrow stairs leading downwards. It must have taken years to complete, but whoever made it took it out on to the moor beyond and disguised its entrance within an old bothy that sits out of sight from Penmor. Nobody would ever know it was there.’

  ‘Should it become necessary, one of us will lead you through it to safety.’ His brisk interruption suggested he was not impressed with his mother’s openness and did not trust Jess enough to share the location. ‘Once my men arrive, some will also be posted out on the moor for additional protection—however, until they arrive we are completely secure. By tomorrow, we will have enough supplies to survive a good month cut off from the rest of the world.’

  ‘The handy thing about having so many daughters with families of their own is the local merchants are used to fulfilling large orders from Penmor and we’ve always stockpiled food anyway and have done since my hus—’

  ‘Jess doesn’t need a history lesson, Mother.’ But Jess saw the cautionary glare in his eyes at the same time Lady Flint’s jaws clamped shut. More evidence he distrusted her. Justified, she supposed, but his lack of faith still stung. ‘I should warn you that there will be visitors aside from my men, so things might be a little cramped in here in the coming days.’

  ‘Visitors?’

  ‘Yes!’ Lady Flint clapped her hands in excitement. ‘All of the family will be here in the morning. My dear girls, their husbands and all my darling grandchildren. We shall have a houseful. Peter insisted.’

  More people to feel self-conscious and gauche around, as if the guilt and her own selfish desire to survive weren’t unsettling enough.

  ‘It isn’t a party, Mother. I summoned them for their own safety.’

  ‘Of course you did—but once they are here and as long as nobody comes searching for Jess, I see no reason why we cannot enjoy one another’s company to the fullest. The children will need entertaining and we ladies can enjoy gossip and tea. I do so love a noisy house.’ She jumped up and bustled over to the sideboard. ‘You stay put, Jess. I shall make you up a plate while my son does his best to make everyone’s arrival sound like a dreadful chore, when it will be nothing of the sort. You’ll see. We’ll all have a lovely time. I know the girls will be curious to meet you.’

  ‘And so it begins.’ Jess watched him roll his eyes at his mother’s obvious exuberance before they settled on hers and locked, all the previous formality instantly gone. The message was clear. His mother was a law unto herself and nothing he said or did would change her. ‘Remember—gird your loins, Jess.’

  ‘Why would she need to gird her loins, Peter? My, you are such a curmudgeon sometimes. Do you want poor Jess to think badly of us? When I said the girls would be curious to meet you, Jess, I meant merely that. There is nothing to fear. They are all sociable and friendly young women. You will adore them all.’

  ‘I am sure I will.’

  While his mother busied herself at the sideboard with her back to them, he raised his palms up and mouthed Gird your loins. Then he winked at her and it did odd things to her insides. His family exasperated him and amused him in equal measure. And an informal, flirty Lord Peter Flint was devastating. ‘Know that I am sorry for putting you through this ordeal and try to find it in your heart to forgive me for exposing you to my boisterous and annoying family.’

  Those kind, hypnotic green eyes were dancing with mischief at her answering smile, the air in the room suddenly shifting so that there was just the two of them. Jess’s pulse quickened as she lost herself in the unexpected but powerful moment. His gaze held hers transfixed, unwavering while the ghost of a smile played on his lips. Then his eyes dropped to her mouth and she watched them darken while the intimate atmosphere about them seemed to crackle with something potent and unspoken. Was she imagining it or did he feel it, too?

  Jess was so immersed in him she nearly jumped out of her skin when a loaded plate landed in front of her. ‘I shan’t rest until you’ve eaten it all, young lady. Lord only knows what awful things you’ve had to live through, but you are here now and I shall look after you. So will Peter, won’t you, Peter?’

  He grunted some response from where he now stood helping himself to food at the sideboard and Jess realised she had probably imagined the peculiar, heated tension because he now seemed decidedly nonplussed and more focused on piling up his plate.

  Lady Flint came closer and patted her hand. ‘Tell me how you came to be left to the mercy of a gang of cut-throat smugglers?’

  * * *

  He kept forgetting his higher purpose and dropping his guard. No wonder she accused him of blowing hot and cold. He flipped from hot to frozen in a heartbeat when his duty to King and country doused the frequent flames with a bucket of ice water, reminding him of his mission, the weight of the responsibility the government had placed on his shoulders and the dreadful consequences of the last time he had allowed carnal lust to cloud his judgement with a prisoner. With each passing day, it seemed he had to fight harder to avoid falling under this particular prisoner’s spell. The rapid about face wasn’t intentional, but entirely necessary. As much as his gut wanted to believe her—and, God help him, he was nearly fully convinced—Flint still needed tangible evidence of her claims before he as much as considered giving her some benefit of the doubt. That was his job, damn it. One he lived and breathed like his father before him.

  It was all well and good Jess telling his mother over dinner her version of events, a story that had been difficult to hear despite sensing she was sanitising it, yet it still made him hate Saint-Aubin with every fibre of his being, but his sympathy had to be founded on fact. Facts more conclusive than her scars and his niggling belief she was as much of a victim as the loyal servants of the Crown who had been murdered by the Boss.

  His head, gut and heart had to be aligned. Whatever his gut and heart said, Lord Fennimore would only listen to Flint’s level, pragmatic, thorough and reasoned head. And rightly so. Too many men had died searching for the Boss and he couldn’t allow the best suspect and lead they had slip away because she had a beautiful and convincing face and his body was more than a little tempted.

  The inappropriate lust he constantly suffered around her could well be clou
ding his judgement. As much as he was coming to like and even respect her, he was damned if he would allow those complicated and unwelcome feelings to destroy his reputation and perhaps his future within the King’s Elite, an organisation his father had helped to set up and shape. One that stood for integrity and justice. One that always did what was intrinsically right no matter how hard that was to do.

  It was Jess who needed to prove herself worthy. He couldn’t and wouldn’t stick his neck out for her otherwise. Not on the strength of a dose of unwelcome and inappropriate lust and the natural sympathy he felt at the wounds inflicted by Saint-Aubin. Emotional reactions would not help him find the truth.

  He stood, quashing the peculiar sympathy and desperate desire to avenge her with a decisive toss of his napkin. ‘Now that dinner is over and you are safe, it is time to stop playing games. If you want to remain safe, you need to tell me everything you know.’ A tad officious, but necessary. Flint didn’t want to ache inside thinking about how she had been chained and beaten. How her mother’s medication had been held to ransom by Saint-Aubin to blackmail her into assisting with his villainy. Didn’t need to picture her alone in a rat-infested cell being whipped into submission to write unspeakable things. Knowing she had been in fear of her life or imagining how lost and alone she had been for half of her life—and probably still was. Frightened, vulnerable. Imprisoned. Didn’t want his impeccable judgement clouded with the human emotion which clogged his throat and made doing what he needed to so very hard.

  ‘I want names, Jess. Names, times, places. Every detail you have stored inside your head.’ The abrupt change in tone had her face turning sharply to his, her expression pained. ‘I can’t help you if you won’t help yourself.’

  ‘Surely that can all wait until tomorrow? Poor Jess has had a terrible few days and a short nap and one dinner is hardly going to restore her fully.’

  ‘I don’t have time for that. I need to send something back to London to stop Saint-Aubin coming here. Something damning and unique. Something only Jess could have leaked. I need something that will convince him irrevocably that she is in the Tower where we say she is and that she is slowly but surely revealing all his secrets.’ And he didn’t need his mother watering down the gravity of his words with her well-meaning interruptions. It was hard enough to focus on his mission as it was. ‘We’ll talk in my study, Jess.’ He glared at his mother. ‘Alone.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  She looked nervous. Jittery and more like a young lady burdened and in trouble than the manipulative vixen he knew she could be when she set her clever mind to it. Where had that vixen gone? He knew where he stood with that incarnation of Jess. Her hands were clasped in front of her, but her fingers could not remain still as she followed him solemnly into the study and waited for him to close the door. Flint could have led her to the two comfortable wingbacks near the window, but he needed the desk between them as both a prop and a barrier, so he gestured to the upright chair in front of it and took his seat behind. ‘Before we get into specific details, what can you tell me right now that would panic Saint-Aubin.’

  For a moment she sat hunched and defeated in the chair, then her head snapped up and he watched with admiration the steel she forced into the proud set of her spine. ‘Define lenient.’

  ‘I can’t make promises nor will I, but you have my word that I will do everything in my power to see that proper justice is done. If you are an innocent victim of a vile set of circumstances, co-operate fully and help us destroy Saint-Aubin and the Boss, then I will move heaven and earth to prove it. I hold some sway over my superiors and my reputation speaks for itself. I will be listened to. If you do not co-operate, lie to me, conveniently twist the truth to suit your own ends, fudge the details or persist in being silent, then I will throw you to the wolves.’ He tried not to wince as he said that, staring back at her with the same stubborn resolve that mirrored hers.

  ‘There is a ship anchored at Folkestone for repairs. An armed Indiaman called the Grubbenvorst. It sails under the flag of the Dutch East India Company, but is in reality one of Saint-Aubin’s biggest and fastest ships. It ran aground in rough seas delivering brandy to the Marquis of Deal in Kent and tore off its rudder. Two of the masts are hollow and there is a secret compartment in the hold which disguises a second hold below. Aside from brandy, it is used to smuggle English guns into France. You will find the latest shipment of guns in that hold and perhaps in those masts. The Marquis of Deal always pays in guns. The captain of the vessel is a man called Boucher. He fought alongside Saint-Aubin during the war. Are those enough details, Monsieur Flint?’

  More than he could have hoped for. Flint picked up his quill and began to scratch them all down. ‘One seized ship, one arrested English traitor, one high-ranking smuggler clapped in irons and a hold full of guns.’ He grinned at the prospect. The smile slid off his face when he gazed back at hers and saw she was hugging herself. ‘You are doing the right thing, Jess.’

  ‘Am I? If your plan fails or the evidence stacked against me in court outweighs what I say, then I die either way. At least an execution will be quick, I suppose. Saint-Aubin will drag the event out for his pleasure.’ He saw the hurt and fear swirling in her eyes before she resolutely turned away and walked with her arms still wrapped around herself towards the window. She gazed out at the night sky and shivered.

  ‘What did he do to you?’ A foolhardy question, because he didn’t need to know. Knowing would eat away at him and make the inconvenient need to protect her more acute.

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘It matters to me.’

  ‘I’ve told you before, he found me a challenge and beat me until I wasn’t.’ Once again her expression became closed and he realised whatever violence she had been subjected to was too raw to discuss. Her tone became flippant. Dismissive. ‘Will you have an arrest warrant drawn up based solely on my accusation or will the government require conclusive proof before they arrest a peer of the realm?’

  He wished she would confide in him. Wished she would trust him with whatever burden haunted her and made her shrink into herself so completely. Of their own accord, his legs lifted him from his chair and took him to her. His errant hands placed themselves on her arms and gently rubbed some warmth into them through the thin sleeves. ‘It will be all right, Jess. I promise.’

  ‘Of course. This coming from a man who cannot make any promises or even confide in me what his own opinion is.’

  ‘I’m not sure I follow.’

  She turned to face him, her eyes locking with his and imprisoning them. ‘You have never said, but I have to know. Do you think I am a traitor?’

  ‘What I think hardly matters in the grand scheme of things.’

  ‘It matters to me.’ He schooled his features at her well-aimed dart, promising himself he would be professional if it killed him, then shrugged, nonplussed. He wouldn’t allow her to know he was having serious doubts. ‘I see.’ He watched the unshed tears of disappointment gather in her dark eyes before she turned away again and hated himself for hurting her with his lacklustre, insincere and officious answer.

  ‘My head and my gut are torn.’ Where had those damning words come from? ‘My head needs evidence. The government, my superiors, even the King himself will require tangible proof that you are telling us the truth that go beyond those scars.’ She made to stalk away and he grabbed her arm and spun her to look at him. Needing her to understand his reticence and hope that in so doing she would stop being so miserably disappointed in him. ‘Please try to see things from my point of view. I have to weigh all of the evidence through a detached and pragmatic lens.’ She was holding back the tears valiantly, but even so one got away. It trickled down her cheek and Flint couldn’t stop himself from brushing it away with his thumb. ‘Don’t cry, Jess. I beg you. I can’t bear it.’ His palm cupped her cheek and more unchecked, unwise words spilled out. ‘I brought you home so I could
protect you, for pity’s sake.’

  ‘That doesn’t answer my question.’

  ‘I can’t answer your question!’

  ‘Always the pragmatist. Hedging his bets and talking in riddles! Blowing hot and cold again. Even now!’ She snatched her head away, so he caught her around the waist instead, needing to make her understand the awful dilemma he was in. Needing also to remind himself, knowing he was wavering because she was sad.

  ‘In my line of work I have to be pragmatic. I am an agent of the Crown. That means I don’t have the luxury of indulging my emotions. I have to listen to my head above all else!’

  Her dark eyes held him mesmerised. They were so expressive. So distraught. So betrayed. He was drowning in them. All at sea. Nothing solid or familiar to cling to. Losing control. ‘I don’t want to hear pragmatic! I don’t want to know what the agent of the Crown thinks. I hate him! I want to hear what you think. The real man. The one I see flashes of when you forget yourself. The kind but irritating one who seems to care about me. Forget your head.’ She pressed her hand flat against his chest, her expression so wretched and beseeching his throat constricted at the sight. ‘What does your heart say, Peter?’

  ‘That you might be innocent, damn it!’ His thumb brushed away another tear as he tried and failed to remain detached.

  ‘Might?’

  ‘It’s the best I can do.’

  And he hated himself for it. Hated the betrayal and despair he saw swirling in her dark eyes. Hated the way it made him want to take back every word. He hadn’t meant to kiss her, but once he did it was like a dam burst inside him. Flint gathered her close and poured every bit of the tangled, confused emotions he was feeling into a soft kiss that was a little too heartfelt—but he didn’t have the willpower to care. Soft changed to passionate in a heartbeat. She clung to him, her fingers curling into the front of his waistcoat while her mouth moved with the same urgency and unsuppressed passion as his, her petite body melting against his perfectly.