Page 53 of Lady Gambit
Mr Flynn was not ashamed, either. He gritted his teeth. “Call her that again and it’s the last word you will ever speak to me. Don’t give me a reason to sever all ties.”
The earl’s eyes burned with indignation. “Have you taken leave of your senses? You could have the world at your feet if only you weren’t so stubborn.”
Mr Gibbs chose that inopportune moment to bring her a mug of ale. He plonked it down on the table and pulled out a chair. “Don’t let that devil’s words upset you. Take a swig of ale. It’s better than most I’ve tasted.”
Her hands shook as she reached for the stoneware mug. “It’s not personal. How could it be? The earl doesn’t know me.” Yet she wished she was a society lady, someone special enough to appease the earl. Someone accomplished in art and music. Someone who walked like they were floating on air.
“Happen it wouldn’t matter if he did,” Mr Gibbs said bluntly.
“Thank you for your confidence, Mr Gibbs.”
“I don’t mean you ain’t good enough for the likes of them. You’re too good if you ask me. I mean nothing pleases a nabob. Their kind are never satisfied. Vanity. That’s the ingredient that spoils the soup.”
In the silence that followed, she heard the earl shout, “Do you know how embarrassing this debacle is?”
“As embarrassing as being the only boy at school on Christmas Day?” Mr Flynn countered. “You lost the right to play God with my life when you left me alone for the sake of appearances.”
“I thought you were with your mother.”
“The school wrote to you on many occasions.”
Like a guilty man in the dock, the earl muttered and mumbled as he attempted to defend the accusation. “What has the past got to do with anything? People make mistakes. I mean to rectify the situation by?—”
“Trying to force me to marry for money and status.”
“Mr Flynn?” A woman dressed in the first stare of fashion entered the fray. She appeared like a golden-haired angel from heaven—all sweetness and light as she gripped her pretty parasol and fluttered her lashes.
Mr Flynn inclined his head and modified his tone. “Miss Montague. Forgive me. I did not see you standing there.”
“I did not mean to creep up on you, sir. I confess, I was to remain in the carriage until your father gave the signal.” She glanced at the Old Swan’s facade, a little knot of confusion forming between her perfectly arched brows. “Is this where you live?”
“Yes,” he said, though Delphine sensed his inner torment. A desire to prove he didn’t need his father’s help or his money. A desperation to keep his private affairs a secret.
“How bohemian.” Admiration swam in the beauty’s blue eyes. “I came to invite you to dine with us tonight. My father has business in town and is here for a week. You know the address. Berkeley Square at seven? I believe we have a great deal to discuss.”
Miss Montague was a delightful picture of perfection.
The Earl of Retford thought so, too.
The lady presented her gloved hand. “Will I see you tonight, Mr Flynn?”
He clasped her fingers and pressed a light kiss to her knuckles, but one of the sotted fools jeered as his coin fell into the pot, and Delphine missed Mr Flynn’s reply.
Dread filled her chest.
She was going to lose him.
This time, her memory would be her tormentor. Every look, every tender touch and unforgettable kiss would become the bane of her existence.
“Is there a rear exit, Mr Gibbs?” Unable to bear the sight of the graceful Miss Montague a second longer, Delphine downed her ale and stood. “Excuse me. I find I’m in desperate need of air.”
Run! Run, my darling. Save yourself.
The desire to flee had her tearing through the taproom. The landlord called to her. Mr Gibbs stomped behind, but she knew running was the only way to numb the pain.
Why had she not heeded Aaron’s advice?
Why did the thought of losing Mr Flynn hurt like the cut of a knife?
