“Damn and blast,” Oliver cursed, knocking Baxter to the floor with a backhanded swipe. He turned to Mrs Gripes, to find Miss Flint wrestling the keys from the housekeeper’s grasp.
“You’ll pay for this girl, mark my words,” Mrs Gripes cried through gritted teeth. “The master will have your hide for what you’ve done.”
“I highly doubt it,” Oliver said, dabbing the tips of his fingers to his cheek and examining the spots of blood. Damn. The last thing he wanted was an ugly scar. “Your master is dead.”
A stunned silence filled the room.
Stokes groaned as he came to his feet.
“And you are mistaken in your assumption that I am Lord Cunningham,” Oliver continued arrogantly. He picked up his hat, dusted it off and placed it back on his head. “My father died three weeks ago. Consequently, you are addressing the fourth Earl of Stanton.”
With mouths open wide enough to trap a family of migrating geese, they all stared at him.
“Dead? The earl is dead?” Mrs Gripes shook her head as the keys fell from Miss Flint’s limp hand. “But he can’t be. He owes us a month’s wages.”
“Then you must be Rose’s brother, my lord.” Miss Flint’s beaming smile illuminated her face. Evidently, she was the only person who took pleasure in his announcement.
The mere mention of his sister’s name caused a jolt of excitement in Oliver’s chest. “You’ve seen her? Is she here?” He glanced at the staircase, wondering if the young lady he remembered had altered in the last two years.
“She was here,” Stokes said with a sneer of contempt. “Don’t blame us. The earl paid us to look after Lady Rose, but Miss Flint here helped her to escape last night. Isn’t that right, Baxter?”
“Look after her!” Miss Flint cried. “Since when is keeping a lady prisoner and forbidding her to leave considered good for her well-being. Next, you’ll say it was
for her own protection.”
“It was,” Stokes snarled. “And if anything happens to Lady Rose, you’ll be the one held responsible.”
Oliver ignored the spat. “Is Stokes correct, Miss Flint? Did you help Rose escape from this house?”
Miss Flint pursed her lips. She looked damn attractive with guilt flashing in her eyes. “Rose left last night. She was desperate to return to London, to find Lord Cunningham.”
“Cunningham? What the hell has he got to do with this?” If Cunningham had ruined his sister, Oliver would string him up from the Dead Man’s Tree and leave him hanging.
Miss Flint stepped forward. “Rose is in love with Lord Cunningham. It’s the reason your father sent her here.”
“And the earl hired you to look after her,” Stokes snapped, “not send her off into the night without a penny to her name.”
“She has food and money,” Miss Flint countered, “and will probably be in London by now, safe in the arms of her one true love.”
Her one true love?
Lord Cunningham loved no one but himself. Miss Flint was a hopeless romantic it seemed. Such a foolish notion was the reason some ladies ended up as spinsters. Or ruined by a rogue whose idea of love amounted to nothing more than finding a place to bury his manhood.
“Stokes has a point, Miss Flint,” Oliver said as the hair on his scalp prickled to attention. “Helping Rose to escape may not have been in her best interests. Should she seek Lord Cunningham out before she hears news of our father’s death, I fear the gentleman may attempt to turn the situation to his advantage.”
Water filled Miss Flint’s eyes, and she inhaled to stop the tears falling. “Know I would never do anything to place Rose in danger.” Her voice cracked on the last word spoken. “All I want is her happiness.”
“Then the onus is on you to help me find her.” There was little point dashing about the countryside now. An hour spent asking a few questions at the coaching inn, coupled with a keen eye fixed on the road, was all they could do. But he could not leave Miss Flint at the manor. He’d witnessed the depth of the rogues’ depravity first-hand.
Mrs Gripes coughed. “And what of us, my lord?” The housekeeper’s shoulders sagged. “Are we to be punished for following your father’s orders? When we attacked you, we thought you were Lord Cunningham. We were only doing what the earl told us.”
Oliver couldn’t stop the satisfied grin from forming. “It may surprise you to learn that your fate lies in the hands of another.”
Mrs Gripes blinked rapidly. “Then who is to be our new master?”
Oliver glanced at Miss Flint, at the plump pillow lips made for kissing. He inclined his head. “Miss Flint is now the owner of Morton Manor.”
Chapter Four