Virginia Heath - The Uncompromising Lord Flint

Jess hated that dismissive tone, the understated English sarcasm he did so well. She wished he would let go of her. Standing within the warm, inviting cage of his arms was distracting. Up close, this unusual, irritating aristocrat looked even more divine and for some reason her nerve-endings were enjoying the feel of his hands on her body. ‘Saint-Aubin does not like loose ends, Monsieur Flint. He will not rest until this loose end is securely tied.’

‘Or more likely, he will come to rescue you if you fail in your own valiant attempts to return to France.’

He thought she wanted to return to that hell hole? A team of horses would have to drag her there lashed to a cart. Death would be more welcome. But at least her performance was convincing despite her two failed attempts at grasping her freedom. Saint-Aubin’s spies might vouch for her outrage and that in turn might make him lenient. And Jess had more chance of harnessing the power of invisibility than hoping that monster might show her any mercy. If they found her here, wherever here was... ‘I do not want to hang, Monsieur Flint.’ But she would rather hang than suffer Saint-Aubin’s punishment.

Caught between the Devil and the deep blue sea. Odd—she had always wondered what that quaint British analogy meant and now, ironically, she understood it fully. Saint-Aubin was the Devil incarnate and Lord Flint the sea. Except Jess never expected she would need to actively resist the urge to dive in.

‘I doubt your dear papa wants that either.’

‘You do not know him as I do. I am better dead than in the hands of the English Crown. He will sacrifice me in a heartbeat.’ And he would enjoy it. In her mind she heard his manic laughter at her screams and shuddered.

‘A father doesn’t—’

‘He is not my father!’ She spat the words with too much venom, making the intuitive Lord Flint tilt his head and eye her in a detached, calculated way which showed him to be every bit the King’s man, out to catch a bigger fish and not at all the compassionate and reasonable man he purported to be. Whatever she said would be used against her in a court of law or at the hands of Saint-Aubin’s henchmen if they made her answer for her actions. Jess needed to play her pathetic hand of cards very close to her chest and keep her impetuous, errant mouth shut.

‘But he brought you up as his daughter, did he not? You grew up in his chateau.’ Lord Flint smiled rather smugly down at her. He had a nice smile, even smug it did peculiar things to her pulse, and she hated him for that more. ‘In Valognes. A sprawling estate, by all accounts, wealthy, too—but then Saint-Aubin is one of Bonaparte’s favourites and continues to support him despite his exile. We know that Saint-Aubin is the Boss’s supplier of brandy, just as we know that you ensured that same illegal brandy arrived safely in Britain. Dates, times, ships. You met him, didn’t you? Old Boney. You were there to see him pin a medal on your adopted papa’s chest after the Battle of Vittoria. I can assure you, our intelligence has been most thorough , Lady Jessamine. We know all about you. Which is why I fail to believe you are in any danger from Saint-Aubin. Your own dear mother is his

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