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

by Adele Clee

  Bradbury entered. “A gentleman is asking to see you, my lord. He is most insistent.” Bradbury stepped forward and offered the salver.

  Oliver considered the name on the card — Mr J. Asprey.

  Asprey?

  He could not recall meeting the gentleman, though the family were well known about the ton.

  “Did he give you any indication as to what he wants?”

  “Only that it is a matter of protecting a lady’s reputation.”

  “Good God, do you think he’s heard from Rose?” Oliver raced around the desk. His mouth was so dry he could barely form a word. “S-send him in, Bradbury. Send him in at once.”

  The butler plodded out of the door, and Oliver contemplated prodding his behind with the tip of a quill knife to hurry him along.

  Question after question flooded his mind. Where had his sister been these last few days? Was she hurt, ill? Was there any need for Nicole to return to the manor now Rose was safe?

  Bradbury returned and introduced Mr Asprey.

  “Thank you for agreeing to see me, my lord.” Asprey inclined his head respectfully.

  “I understand it is a matter of great importance.” It was hard to look the man in the eye when the pointed collars of his shirt touched his cheeks.

  Asprey clutched his leather gloves in his hand. “After what I discovered last night, it is a matter of some urgency.”

  Oliver looked at Bradbury, and with a curt nod gestured to the gloves. His butler had never committed such an oversight before.

  Bradbury stepped forward. “May I take your gloves, sir?”

  Asprey shot Bradbury an irritated glare. “As I’ve already said, I shall keep them with me.”

  In his eagerness to learn the reason for Asprey’s visit, Oliver almost made the mistake of asking about Rose. The situation needed tact and diplomacy.

  “Have we met before?” Oliver was merely being polite. He knew the answer as he never forgot a face.

  “I do not believe so, though your father was acquainted with my grandfather, Geoffrey Asprey, the then fifth Viscount Farlow.”

  Oliver vaguely recalled the connection. “I believe my father was friends with his younger brother, Edmund.”

  Oliver couldn’t help but stare at Asprey’s mouth as he spoke. Were his lips really berry red, or was it a tint? Asprey possessed the same foppish air as Lord Cunningham.

  A strange sense of foreboding gripped him. Rose seemed to prefer a certain type of gentleman. Both men were weak and obsessed with their own worth.

  “Would you care to sit?” Oliver gestured to the chairs flanking the hearth. “I can arrange for tea, as it is a little early in the day for brandy.”

  “This is not a social call,” the man replied bluntly, slapping the leather gloves into the palm of his free hand purely to intimidate.

  Then what the hell was it?

  “My butler mumbled something about the need to protect a lady’s reputation.” Oliver kept calm. This dandy would be begging for his life if he’d taken advantage of Rose.

  “Indeed.”

  Oliver was quickly losing patience. For some reason, he wanted to punch the arrogant man on his beak of a nose. “Is this a game, Asprey? Am I to stand here all day, guessing your motive?”

  Asprey looked down his nose and snorted. “You know damn well why I’m here, Stanton. Any brother with an ounce of respect does not play games when it comes to safeguarding his sister’s reputation.”

  So, this was about Rose.

  Was Asprey here to bribe him? Did Rose have another beau willing to offer marriage for a price?

  “If I find out you’ve hurt her,” Oliver jabbed his finger at the pompous oaf, “I swear I will not be responsible for my actions.”

  “Is that what she told you?” The smirk on Asprey’s face was almost Oliver’s undoing. “I would have thought a man of your licentious habits would respect a man’s need to put a woman in her place.”

  For the third time in as many days, Oliver resorted to violence and punched Mr Asprey on the chin. “How can you call yourself a man when your strength comes from terrifying women?” It was a tap really. The only way to calm his raging blood.

  Asprey stumbled back and gripped the chair for support, though managed to keep hold of his damn gloves.

  “After the disgraceful way you’ve treated my sister, you have some nerve punching me,” Asprey bellowed. He cupped his jaw and regained his balance. “Indeed, I shall call you out if you do not give me the satisfaction I seek.”

  “Satisfaction for what?” Oliver threw his hands in the air, taking some pleasure when the foppish gentleman flinched.

  “For my sister.”

  “For your sister?”

  Oliver’s mind whirled as he tried to follow the conversation. But then raised voices in the hall caught his attention.

  “Please, miss,” Bradbury said. “You can’t go in there. His lordship has a visitor.”

  The door flew open, and Nicole rushed into the room.

  The pretentious prig grinned. “Ah, Nicole. I assumed it was you I saw peering out of the window. How good of you to join us.”

  Her frantic eyes settled on Mr Asprey. “I’ll not go with you. No matter what you say. You’ll have to drag me away kicking and screaming.” She turned to Oliver. One look at her fearful eyes and his heart wrenched. “Don’t let him take me.”

  Mr Asprey slapped his gloves into his hand, the sound like the crack of a whip. “As your guardian, I’ll do as I damn well please.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Every muscle in Nicole’s body shook. She wanted to curl up in a ball on the floor, cover her ears and pretend her worst nightmare wasn’t about to unfold. She prayed she’d wake up in a cold sweat to find Oliver’s warm arms holding her tightly, keeping her safe.

  “I … I’m not coming with you, Jeremy.”

  She didn’t dare look at Oliver again. While anger flashed in his eyes, she saw disappointment, too. The truth was out. She was not Miss Flint, but an imposter.

  Trust is important to both of us.

  An icy chill raced across her shoulders at the memory of his words. But it was Jeremy’s smug grin that froze the blood in her veins. She knew of the cruel monster hiding behind the false facade.

  “You cannot stay here a moment longer.” Jeremy’s soulless eyes bored into her. “Good God, the whole world thinks you’re his mistress.” He glanced at Oliver. “Numerous people saw you together at the theatre last night. Have you no shame?”

  Nicole gathered every ounce of courage she possessed. Whatever she had to say, she’d best do so now. Oliver would protect her if Jeremy took umbrage and lashed out.

  “Oh, I feel shame. I’m ashamed to say I am related to you.” She squared her shoulders. “And yes, I am mistress to Lord Stanton. He has provided me with a house and all the comforts I need. Lord Mosgrove won’t want me now.”

  “Mistress! My sister is no man’s mistress.” Jeremy’s face ballooned beetroot red. “What? Are you trying to provoke me? Is that it?” He gripped his beige gloves, as if holding the neck of a dead chicken, and shook them. “This is what she does, my lord, taunts me with her disobedience and disrespect.”

  Oliver simply stared.

  Though the room was large enough to accommodate fifty people, Nicole couldn’t catch her breath. The walls were closing in, the ceiling pressing down.

  “For heaven’s sake, Jeremy. The fact I am here means my reputation is beyond saving. I’m of no use to you now, so you may as well leave.”

  Her heartbeat thumped in her ears. Had they been alone, he would have punished her for that comment. The grandson of a viscount deserved respect even if he was a simple mister.

  “Wait one moment.” Oliver looked at her, his gaze piercing. “This man is your brother? You’re Viscount Asprey’s granddaughter?”

  His voice sounded different, not the playful, teasing tone she loved. Stone-like was the only way to describe his expression. Where were those soft words of
comfort now? Where was the look of hunger she’d seen only a few hours before?

  She hung her head. “Yes.”

  “Then your name is not Miss Flint?”

  “No. It is a name I use, not the name of my birth.”

  “Miss Flint? Her name is Miss Nicole Asprey,” Jeremy interjected. He gave a snort of contempt. “Perhaps she failed to mention her betrothal to Lord Mosgrove.”

  “For all the saints, I am not betrothed to Mosgrove. The man is a leech, a parasite, and I’d rather die than marry him.”

  “That could be arranged,” Jeremy snapped, but then he caught himself. “Forgive me. I say the most ridiculous things when I’m angry.”

  Oliver remained silent as he watched their exchange. Try as she might, she couldn’t read him, had no idea what thoughts were flitting through his head.

  Why was he not shouting?

  Why had he not thrown Jeremy out on his ear?

  A light rap on the door broke the tense silence.

  The butler entered. “My apologies for disturbing you, my lord. Mrs Asprey wishes an audience, too.”

  So, Rowena was tired of waiting.

  “Then you may as well show her in, Bradbury.” Oliver kept his eyes fixed on the butler. “But we’ll not need refreshment as I’m certain their visit will be short.”

  Nicole’s heart swelled with relief. His disdain for her brother was evident. Hope threatened to spring to life, too. Was the Earl of Stanton the gallant knight she’d been waiting for these last five years? Or would he send her packing along with her brother?

  Rowena strutted into the room like an exotic bird. The woman was in need of spectacles if she thought the pea-green turban and spencer complemented the orange gown. But then she liked to think herself ahead of the crowd.

  “My lord,” she gave a reluctant curtsy as she addressed Oliver. “I could not wait in that carriage a moment longer. Jeremy is so protective of his beloved sister I was fearful of what he might do.”

  Oliver clenched his jaw. “Trust me, madam. I am more than capable of handling volatile situations.”

  “Of course you are.” Although Rowena’s voice held a hint of respect for their host, her pinched lips and hawk eyes reflected the anger she held at bay.

  Jeremy cleared his throat. “My dear, I’m afraid to say it is not good news. Our sister has confessed to being Lord Stanton’s mistress. Mosgrove won’t want her now.”

  Rowena sucked in a breath and slapped her gloved hand to her chest. “Lord preserve us. A mistress? Our dear girl is ruined.”

  “Miss Flint is … Miss Asprey is not my mistress,” Oliver insisted.

  “Then there appears to be a discrepancy in the story.” After offering Jeremy a curt nod, Rowena turned to her. “Nicole. There you are, you silly goose. What a pickle you find yourself in. Where on earth have you been these last six months?” She stopped her ramblings to take a quick breath. “I am so relieved to find you alive and well.”

  Oh, Nicole was alive, but she was not at all well. Her heart was breaking. Having learnt of her deception, Oliver refused to look at her. It’s only a name, she thought of saying. But she’d had ample opportunity to tell him the truth. Her failure to do so screamed of mistrust.

  “What are we to do with you?” Rowena continued as she stepped closer and drew Nicole into an embrace. “You’ll pay for this, you evil little witch,” Rowena whispered before pulling away. “Now, we must do our utmost to ensure you receive some form of recompense for the frightful things that have happened here.”

  “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.”

  “What the hell are you saying?” God damn! While Oliver was a thousand miles away, his father was still plotting to control his life.

  “Your father knew he was dying. He placed your sister in a house somewhere to keep her away from the fortune hunters, placed my sister there to trap you into marriage.” A wide grin filled Asprey’s face. “He knew that once you discovered you’d inherited an asylum, you’d assume he’d sent your sister there.”

  “You’re lying.” Nicole shook her head as her face grew pale. She covered her
mouth with her hand.

  “No, he’s not,” Oliver conceded.

  He knew only too well the depths of his father’s duplicity. The old man had meant him to inherit Morton Manor all along. He’d known Nicole was desperate. The bastard had known of Oliver’s predilection for flame-haired beauties. Knew he thought with his cock, not his head. Of course, he’d not expected a crooked solicitor might ruin his plans.

  Oliver swallowed down a weary sigh. So, the whole thing was a product of his father’s imagination.

  He glanced at Nicole. The old earl had chosen wisely this time. How could a man not admire such a kind and courageous woman?

  But none of it was real.

  Were these strange emotions in his chest false, too?

  Nicole heaved a breath. “And … and what did the earl promise you in return for your co-operation?”

  Rowena raised her chin and turned to Oliver. “The earl had every confidence in your integrity, my lord. Though he knew you were too weak to resist our sister, he was adamant you would do what is right.”

  The blood burned in Oliver’s veins. They certainly had the measure of him. He’d ruined a lady and so would do the honourable thing by Miss … Miss Asprey. Still, he wanted to see these snakes squirm.

  “We paid a boy to watch this house,” Asprey added, “although we were somewhat surprised when Nicole arrived without Lady Rose.”

  Regardless of what threats these people made, he would not bow down easily to their request.

  “I’ll not marry on the say so of my father.” He hoped the devil could hear him and was cursing in the grave.

  “But … but you must. The earl made a vow.”

  “And the earl is dead,” he answered coldly.

  Nicole put her hand to her heart. The greater part of him wanted to pull her into an embrace and tell her she had nothing to fear. A small part wanted to banish them all from the room and tell them to leave him the hell alone.

  “And you can be certain I’ll not marry to please you,” Nicole said, directing her comment at her brother.

  “You’ll do as I damn well say,” Jeremy growled. “You still need my permission to wed.”