The Uncompromising Lord Flint

by Virginia Heath

  The lawyer listened intently, interjecting with a myriad of questions which seemed to take the story around and around in ever-decreasing circles that dragged the telling on interminably. When she finished the inscrutable Hadleigh sighed. Part of her sympathised as she was now so tied up in knots she hardly believed what she had said herself.

  * * *

  After two hours of solid and intense questioning, Jess’s head hurt. Hadleigh had a way of backtracking and querying every detail that had her second-guessing herself. When he declared it time for a break, it took all her strength not to slump in the chair and demonstrate to the horrid man that he was putting her through her paces. Her brain felt as though it had been wrung out in a mangle. ‘We shall reconvene in an hour.’

  ‘We shall reconvene tomorrow. Jess is still exhausted from her ordeal and needs a decent meal and a good night’s sleep.’ It was the first sentence Peter had uttered during the entire interrogation and, despite her anger at his betrayal and at herself for giving him the power to hurt her with it, she was grateful for his interference.

  The lawyer’s eyebrows raised again, the only emotion he showed with any regularity. ‘I see. Well—if you are sure, Flint?’ The implication was clear. He wasn’t.

  ‘I’m sure. And as I am the ranking agent on this mission, that is the end of it.’

  With nothing registering on his unreadable features, Hadleigh gathered up her letters and stood, looking as cool and as rigid as an icicle. ‘Then we will reconvene at eight sharp.’

  Jess listened to the sound of his retreating feet, sensing Peter’s stare again and wondering where she would find the energy to deal with the next challenge this bizarre day would throw at her. He didn’t make her wait long.

  ‘We need to talk.’

  She allowed her eyes to slowly travel to his face with visible hostility. ‘By that you mean you have things to say and because you are in charge of everything and everyone here, I am expected to listen. I suppose that is an improvement on what I just had to sit through. You might have warned me I was to be interrogated immediately after being so thoroughly scrutinised by your sisters over luncheon.’

  ‘I knew about neither. My sisters and my mother are a law unto themselves, my control over them is tenuous to say the least, and Hadleigh is...well...for want of a better analogy, Hadleigh is the law. As the Crown-appointed prosecutor, he took it upon himself to accompany Gray back here and now that he is here... Oh, Jess. I’m sorry.’ He huffed out a long sigh and raked his hand through his thick hair in agitation. ‘One inquisition I could have prevented—the other I had no control over. Neither were necessary today.’

  ‘I would have preferred hours with your matchmaking family over Monsieur Hadleigh. He is...’ She struggled for the words to properly convey what had just occurred and settled for an expression of absolute bewilderment.

  ‘He is famously thorough and excellent at what he does. His reputation as a brilliant barrister precedes him—canny, sharp and scrupulously fair. His sole purpose, as far as he is concerned, is to get to the truth regardless of who that truth benefits. He’s personable enough when you get to know him.’

  ‘Personable! Je ne crois pas mes oreilles!’

  ‘Yes, I’ll grant you, watching him work was an experience. He is unrelenting. But you did well. I’m glad you have decided to co-operate.’

  She hadn’t. Not fully. Until she was sure about Hadleigh’s true purpose she would keep the rest of the names of the turncoat peers in her back pocket in case Saint-Aubin did find her and made her beg for mercy like a coward. Surely that was sensible collateral? Or perhaps that merely cemented her status as the worst of cowards? Selfishly concerned with only her own future. But she knew Saint-Aubin better than anyone and knew what he was capable of. As a last resort, she had to hold something back—unless it was too late. Which it undoubtedly was.

  ‘What choice do I have? Thanks to you, I am a powerless prisoner in a remote castle with a price on my head.’ She should have escaped on the moors when she had the chance instead of sleeping in his arms and falling for his charm. ‘Un assassin ou un procès. The archetypal Hobson’s choice, non?’

  ‘The simple codes you embedded in those letters certainly suggest you were actively trying to alert the British to what was going on. That fact Hadleigh took them with him means he will check each and every one with a fine-tooth comb. He may well come to the conclusion you were trying to assist the government.’

  She had merely been trying to get Saint-Aubin arrested and in turn gain her freedom. It had all been about her and an end to her suffering. Jess hadn’t considered how desperately the Crown had needed the information. But she didn’t bother correcting him. It was difficult to know how it all affected England when she had been denied all knowledge of the outside world for years. It was a hollow justification and, once again, she was irritated by his lacklustre support. All those letters, letters she had risked her life writing, apparently merely suggested she wasn’t a traitor. Her gaoler resolutely always avoided the clear-cut implications of a simple yes or no.

  ‘Gray has been dispatched to arrange the boarding of your Dutch ship, the arrest warrant for the Marquis of Deal and the safe evacuation of my family. All things considered, we are making good progress...’ He appeared to steel himself then, pulling himself up to his full height and clamping his hands firmly behind his back. Something he did when he wanted her to see he was the one in control. ‘Which brings me to what happened last night...’

  Chapter Twenty

  There was no point in beating around the bush. As awkward as the next few minutes were bound to be, Flint needed to lay down some boundaries for the sake of his own sanity as well as his career. ‘There is no denying there is an attraction between us.’ He found himself rocking on his heels like an admiral inspecting the fleet and couldn’t seem to stop. Her usually expressive face was suddenly unreadable and she stared back at him blankly, making him more nervous and feel ridiculously foolish. But one of them had to tackle the subject head on.

  ‘We are both adults and, under usual circumstances, pursuing that intense mutual attraction would be a perfectly normal thing to do.’ He was certainly inclined to pursue it, but he had to do what was right for the Crown, not the seemingly permanent bulge in his breeches. ‘Unfortunately, our circumstances are as far from normal as it is possible to be, therefore it would be prudent to have matters out in the open in case that unfortunate attraction rears its ugly head again and catches us unawares.’

  Not the exact words he had been rehearsing since the middle of the night, clumsier and annoyingly more officious, but close enough. Whatever his body wanted, his inappropriate attraction to Jess shouldn’t be something he was prepared to risk either her life or his reputation on—no matter how much it hurt to say it all aloud.

  ‘The fact is, neither one of us is in a position to pursue the attraction. As an operative of the government, I have an important job still to do and I have to remain impartial, detached and wholly focused. Something I catastrophically failed in last night.’ If Saint-Aubin had stormed the castle while he had been kissing Jess, Flint would have missed it. The kiss had been that potent. That all-consuming. That dangerous. ‘Giving in to our passions then was foolhardy, as I am sure you will agree, and going forward, I believe it is best that we try to forget yesterday’s kiss ever happened.’ A kiss which he was still reeling from and would likely never forget until he took his dying breath.

  ‘Very wise. It was a mistake.’

  ‘Don’t get me wrong, it was a wonderful kiss and all, spectacular even, and I’m not denying I might want to do it again—once this blasted trial is over we might even consider...’ At the last moment he was able to clamp his teeth together and not say picking up where we left off. What the hell was he thinking? ‘What I mean is...’

  The rest of that potentially damning sentence died in his throat as her hasty agreement finally
permeated his brain. He found himself blinking, stunned and more than a bit offended that she hadn’t made any attempt to contradict him. It had been an epic kiss. Earth-shattering and, God help him, meaningful. Very wise sounded uninspired. Wholly uninspired when women usually fell over themselves to gain his favour, Along with his title, fortune and what he had been assured by countless females was a reasonably handsome face. It was supposed to be him letting her down gently, not holding out the flimsy hand of hope by admitting things he had promised himself he didn’t truly feel—yet clearly did—or almost confessing he was seriously pondering some sort of future! He, who had never ever considered such a travesty, was wounded by her abundant lack of enthusiasm for one. Flint wanted to pause things; she wanted to halt them. Being on the receiving end of a let-down was unsettling.

  ‘Well...splendid. I’m glad we are aligned on that.’ Although they weren’t. The peculiar military rocking was getting out of hand thanks to her turning the tables on him and his heart’s erratic beating of a woeful tattoo against his ribs, so Flint began to pace. ‘As I said, I should like to renew my assertion that once this is over then perhaps we can indulge our passions and...’ Good grief! What was the matter with him? Why did he keep pushing for more when he should be rejoicing in her pragmatic and logical acceptance of his suggestion? He did not want a more. More with her would inevitably lead to other things. Things he resolutely refused to think about and certainly had never wanted.

  ‘I do not think that would be wise, Monsieur Flint.’ What had happened to Peter? And why was she looking at him as if she pitied him? Women never pitied him. Never! He found himself frowning at the outrage.

  ‘You don’t?’ He’d meant to nod and kill the cringing conversation stone dead. That he hadn’t mortified him. But then again, being the one being let down gently was an entirely new experience and not one he was comfortable with. The balance of power between them seemed to have shifted and he didn’t like her categoric no. It hurt. Why was that?

  ‘Of course it wouldn’t be wise.’ She smiled sympathetically like a mother to a child. ‘Surely you don’t think any of it was real?’

  ‘No. No. None of it.’ He had. Still did, truth be told, and by her concerned, almost bemused expression she probably knew it. That rankled. His cravat immediately felt tighter and there was the very distinct possibility of a blush escaping his constricting collar and creeping up his neck. He fought it by clenching his jaw and willing it away. A grown man of the world, a man considered quite the catch by most women in society, a man perfectly delighted with his bachelor status who was a cunning and resourceful spy of twenty-seven to boot shouldn’t blush. Not when he was getting the result common sense told him he wanted and the one he had come here intent on receiving. He forced himself to meet her amused eyes blandly, fearing that bland in fact looked annoyed. Or worse—wounded. ‘I simply wanted to clarify, in case you had interpreted things differently from me.’

  ‘Monsieur Flint—yesterday was a very trying day for me. As were the days before. I was upset, tired, overly emotional and vulnerable and you were being so kind. When you kissed me...well, at the time I was so pathetically grateful you offered some hope and that I was safe here in your beautiful fortress, I allowed it to cloud my judgement. I never should have let it happen. It was a mistake. Don’t get me wrong...’ she had an irritating talent for skewering him with his own words ‘...it was a perfectly pleasant kiss as kisses go—but it meant nothing. I like you. You are a very nice man when you are not being staid and terminally vexing, however, in regard to your suggestion that we can pursue the attraction when this is over is, frankly, preposterous.’

  ‘It is?’ His neck heated unhindered then and he wished the floor would open before it became visible above his collar. She was making a fool out of him and he was rapidly losing the upper hand. Perhaps he had already lost it if the word future was hovering menacingly in the recesses of his mind? He was now so confused and inexplicably hurt. ‘What I mean is... Of course, you are quite correct...’ Whatever he had wanted to say to regain some of his dignity fizzled out when she rose and undulated towards him. For a second, the emotionally bewitched new side to his usually level-headed character hoped her seductive smile and knowing dipped lashes signalled she was lying about her lack of reciprocal feelings towards him and, unacceptably, his silly heart soared against his will.

  ‘I am so glad we have cleared the air.’ She cupped his cheek, her thumb moving in gentle circles which ricocheted down all his nerve endings and set his body on fire all over again. His lips tingled and his eyes dropped to hers hungrily. ‘Tu es très gentil parfois...’ She benevolently gave him a moment to translate those words—You are a very sweet man sometimes. Words that he couldn’t deny made him hope. Then ruthlessly bludgeoned him with the next before he had the wherewithal to control his outrageous thoughts. ‘And despite my horrendous lapse in judgement yesterday, you are sweet. I meant that assertion most sincerely. Let us not muddy the waters with anything else.’

  Flint stood immobile like a statue, until she sailed out of the room, then collapsed into the nearest chair.

  Winded.

  That was the best way to describe how he felt. Winded, offended and embarrassed. Winded because he had genuinely thought the magnificent passion they had shared last night was mutual and all consuming. How had he got that wrong? Yes—he had kissed her first. But she had kissed him back with equal enthusiasm, or so he had stupidly thought. Offended because she clearly hadn’t. While he was still reeling from the after-effects of their passion, Jess was remarkably nonplussed about it today. Which was evidential proof it had been a totally forgettable experience as far as she was concerned.

  What had she disliked about it? It had been a damn fine kiss. One of his best. Hell, who was he fooling, it had been the best. He doubted he was capable of better—which was worrying food for thought when hers had blown him sideways but clearly left her indifferent. And he was beyond galled—bordering on the mortified—because she now knew irrefutably he was not just attracted to her, but willing to pursue that attraction as soon as he was able. Flint had never been so humiliated in his life, yet he had nobody to blame for that state but himself. In trying to regain the upper hand in their confusing relationship, he had handed it to Jess on a plate. ‘You are a very sweet man sometimes.’ What an insipid and insulting compliment that had been. A little pat on the head to soften the succession of body blows she had deftly dealt him.

  Rejection hurt. Almost as much as his carnal yearning for her did. Unconsciously he rubbed the heel of his hand against the part of his chest that ached the most until he realised he was actually rubbing his heart and the pain in it was increasing rather than lessening.

  That stopped him dead in his tracks.

  Surely that couldn’t be right? It was well known that humiliation left a bitter taste in the mouth, fear churned the guts and embarrassment caused the toes to curl. Aches in hearts—painful, clawing, incessant painful aches in hearts—suggested he was either having an apoplexy or... Dizziness swamped him. Good grief! He was heartbroken?

  No...it couldn’t be. His feelings were mired in the carnal. They were desire, lust. An itch that needed to be scratched. Transient. Not a lasting emotion involving his heart.

  Or could it?

  Flint had never allowed his feelings to become romantically engaged before so had little concept of how such things felt. Was this more than lust and sexual frustration? Had his mother been right and he was besotted? It couldn’t be.

  His mind began to whir back through the last few days to clarify, replaying every interaction and his emotional reaction to them. The repeated and visceral need to protect her from harm. The panic he experienced if he considered, even momentarily, she might be taken from him. The need to chase away all her sadness and fear and save her from both Saint-Aubin and the hangman. The way he had held her in his arms as she slept, when behind all the lust lurked an overwhe
lming sense of rightness. The admiration he held her in that transcended the physical. Her bravery. Her tenacity. Her noble stoicism. The way his heart ached when he thought about all she had suffered and ached more simply by looking at her or being with her. The perfect sense of completeness when he had finally succumbed and touched his lips to hers. The pain now clawing his chest because she had dashed all his hopes.

  Flint had brought her home.

  That in itself was damning proof, because his mother was right. Not only would he never bring a traitor home, he would never bring a woman home either and willingly suffer all the meddlesome speculation of his family.

  Unless she meant something.

  There was no denying she now meant something. Something that jumbled up everything inside and left the ground unsteady. Something that made his heart hurt at her rejection and soar when she smiled. Something that had nothing to do with his head or his gut, yet everything to do with them at the same time. Something all-consuming and all-encompassing and wholly unpalatable. Yet oddly not unpalatable at the same time.

  Maybe a little love had crept up on him while he least expected it? Inappropriate, not at all what he wanted, blatantly unrequited and it would seem, ultimately, doomed. How fittingly typical when he never should have looked in the first place and undoubtedly no less than he deserved for the weakness.

  * * *

  Jess didn’t see him for the rest of the day or most of the next. She couldn’t face a family dinner and he deftly avoided both breakfast, luncheon and the interminable and lengthy second interrogation with the Crown Prosecutor in between. She kept telling herself it was just as well, because she was still hurt and angry at the sanctimonious way he had retracted the kiss they had shared and all it had meant, reminding her he had a job to do—one he was more than happy to put before her. While a huge part of her had been expecting it—because she was still his prisoner and very much still headed to the gallows if today’s proceedings with the lawyer were anything to go by—hearing him denounce what was between them as nothing but a foolhardy, carnal attraction that should never have reared its ugly head stung.