Page 4 of Lady Gambit
“He is! His father is the Earl of Retford.” Miss Darrow straightened the buckle, looking quite pleased with her efforts. “Mr Flynn was born on the wrong side of the blanket. He has no airs and graces. He’s a straight-talking gent, much like your brothers.”
Mr Flynn was the son of an earl?
Her throat tightened.
Panic fluttered in her chest.
A working man posed no threat. But her self-assured facade would falter when pitted against a gentleman of refinement. Like the pompous peers who graced her brothers’ club, did Mr Flynn thrive on making a woman feel inferior?
She should cancel the appointment. Hire someone who would keep his disparaging remarks to himself. But before she could speak, Theo called Miss Darrow and made a teasing remark about the lack of hot beverages.
Everything happened quickly then.
Theo popped his head around the curtain as she entered the corridor with Miss Darrow. Shocked to see her wearing something other than blue, he gasped. “Good Lord. You look divine. Miss Darrow has excelled herself.” He gazed at themodiste with glowing admiration. “How the devil did you persuade her to wear gold?”
Aware Mr Flynn might arrive at any moment, Miss Darrow acted quickly. “Shoo, you wicked devil.” She chuckled and waved her arms, encouraging him to retreat. “It’s supposed to be a surprise.” Glad for an excuse to engage with Theo, the modiste ushered him back to his seat.
The light rap on the back door made Delphine jump.
Fearing Mr Flynn would enter the premises, she hurried to greet him. Oh, why had she concocted this hare-brained plan? The strain would kill her long before she learned the names of her parents.
She opened the back door, slipping into the yard before closing it behind her. There was no time to gather her wits. She swung around to face the gentleman and almost swooned.
“Mr F-Flynn?”
Good Lord! She’d been expecting a much older man, one who had to roll out of bed in the morning. One who spilled his dinner down his waistcoat because he functioned better when sotted.
The shock—and the sight of Mr Flynn’s athletic physique—left her somewhat lightheaded. Swaying slightly, she gripped the man’s forearm, which was another mistake. It was strong, like his powerful shoulders. Firm, like his sculpted jaw.
“Are you well, madam?” His tone was as smooth as fine wine. He clasped her upper arm to steady her balance, touching her where no man had ever touched her before. “Allow me to escort you inside.”
She stared at him, mesmerised by the amber flecks in his confident brown eyes. A little lost in the fullness of his lips and the fact his unruly brown hair was in contrast to his pristine black coat.
“Miss Heartwood?” He called her by the name she had invented to avoid any association with her brothers. “I must askyou again. Are you well?” His thumbs shifted, the unintentional caress stealing her breath.
No, she was not well.
Mr Flynn was a handsome man of thirty.
An earl’s ill-begotten son to boot.
If her brothers caught them together, they’d drag him to the altar, a pistol pressed to his back until he recited his vows verbatim.
“Let me help you inside.” Like a gentleman of good breeding, he was guiding her towards the door, not mauling her like a drunken oaf who conducted business from a tavern.
“No! Wait! I assure you, I am perfectly well. But time is of the essence. It’s imperative we discuss our business posthaste.”
His gaze moved to her bare shoulders, his grumbles incoherent. “Before we begin, allow me to convey my terms.” Aware they were still gripping each other like lovers about to part ways, he released her.
“Your terms?” She stiffened her spine and drew a calming breath, though she could still feel the imprint of his hand on her skin. “I was told the initial consultation was free.”
His expression turned as sombre as a judge donning a black cap. “It is, though I demand honesty from my clients. You have lied to me, madam. I want your name, not an alias, and I want to know why we’re conversing in Miss Darrow’s yard. If I’m satisfied with your answers, you may explain your problem.”
She was used to dealing with blunt men, so she replied with utter confidence. “I used an alias to avoid causing my family distress. We’re conversing in the yard because my brother Theodore is reading the newspaper and drinking coffee a mere ten yards away. He cannot know you’re here. The punishment will be worse than death if he finds us.”
Unperturbed, Mr Flynn said, “What is worse than death?”
“Marriage, sir.”
