LITMIR.BIZ

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      He released her and swiftly took his leave. Rose brushed her hand against her cheek, wishing the friend were not the marquess but Mr Flynn himself.

       Chapter Three

      Flynn paused a moment when he reached the street, puzzled by this experience. The times he’d risked huge amounts of Tanner’s wealth on some tenuous business matter, he’d been in better control. Nothing had gone as he’d expected. Worse, his senses were still awhirl. Merely looking at the girl had been enough to throw his rationality out of the window.

      With no idea what to tell Tanner, he straightened his hat and started walking in the direction of Covent Garden to find a hack.

      ‘Mr Flynn!’ he heard behind him.

      Turning, he saw Mr O’Keefe running toward him. Flynn stopped.

      The older man caught up to him, breathing hard. ‘Letty said—I mean—I wanted a word with you.’

      Flynn merely waited.

      ‘Tell … tell the marquess how flattered we are—my daughter is, I mean—at his kind interest.’

      ‘I will tell him.’ Although, if Flynn did tell Tanner this, he’d be lying. The daughter did not seem flattered in the least.

      Mr O’Keefe’s mouth twisted into an apologetic smile. ‘My Rose is a sensible girl,’ he said, a fond look appearing in his eye. ‘She’ll just need some persuading.’

      Flynn regarded this man who looked as if a strong wind might blow him away. Flynn could not see him persuading his daughter about anything. The unpleasant Miss Dawes, however, was another matter.

      ‘I must leave.’ Flynn turned away.

      ‘Do try again, sir,’ Mr O’Keefe cried as Flynn walked away.

      Flynn looked over his shoulder. ‘I shall tell the marquess you said so.’

      Mr O’Keefe nodded vigorously, and Flynn hurried on his way to a row of waiting hackney carriages.

      He soon reached Tanner’s Audley Street town house, returning to the familiar opulence, the order, the civility.

      The footman who opened the door said, ‘His lordship wishes you to attend him in the game room straight away.’

      Not even a moment to collect himself, nor to plan an explanation of his incredible meeting with Miss O’Keefe.

      ‘Thank you, Smythe.’ Flynn handed the man his hat and gloves and made his way to the game room.

      When he entered, Tanner was leaning over the billiard table, lining up a shot. Flynn stood in the doorway until the ball cracked into another one, sending it rolling across the green baize and landing successfully in the pocket.

      ‘Flynn!’ Tanner waved him in. ‘Come, tell me all about it. I am most anxious. Could think of nothing else since you left.’

      Tanner settled himself in one of the leather chairs by the window and gestured for Flynn to pour them some claret from the decanter on the side table.

      ‘Well, did you see her?’ Tanner asked as Flynn handed him a glass of claret. ‘Of course you did or you’d have been back sooner. What did she say? Did she like the gift? What the devil did you purchase for her?’

      Flynn poured wine for himself, but did not sit. ‘I purchased a matched set of gold bracelets.’

      ‘And?’ Tanner grinned eagerly.

      Flynn took a sip before speaking. ‘She refused the gift.’

      Tanner half-rose from his seat. ‘Refused?’

      ‘I fear so, my lord,’ he admitted.

      Tanner waved his hand dismissively. ‘It was the wrong gift, then, but I am sure you assured her there would be more gifts. What of a meeting?’

      Flynn averted his eyes.

      The marquess sank back in the chair. ‘Do not tell me she refused to meet me?’

      ‘She did not refuse exactly, but neither did she agree.’ Flynn’s powers of diplomacy had escaped him with Miss O’Keefe, but perhaps they would hold him in better stead with Tanner.

      Tanner raised his brows. ‘What the devil happened then? What did you talk about?’

      Of home. Of Ireland. But Flynn was not about to provide this as an answer. ‘I explained the advantages of your. friendship, and she listened.’

      ‘That is all?’ The marquess’s forehead wrinkled in confusion.

      ‘That is all.’

      Tanner slowly sipped his wine, finishing it, while Flynn could not even put a glass to his lips.

      He placed his still-full glass on the table and reached for the decanter. ‘More, sir?’

      Tanner shook his head, still silent.

      All of a sudden Tanner burst into a wide grin and thrust out his glass. ‘She is playing a deep game, is all. Gold bracelets? You were too cheap, man. The girl wants more and she knows she can get it!’ He laughed. ‘You must deliver a more valuable gift.’

      Flynn refilled Tanner’s wine glass, not wanting to explain that giving Miss O’Keefe a gift was not so simple a task.

      ‘Give her emeralds next time, to set off her eyes. An emerald ring!’ Tanner’s own brown eyes sparkled. ‘What the devil, offer her patronage as well—an allowance. A generous one. Show her I am willing to pay her price.’

      As a business move, Flynn typically would have advised against this. The next offer in a negotiation ought not to be so high. But in Rose O’Keefe’s situation, he was more than willing to try to get her away from the bullying Miss Dawes.

      Flynn nodded. His heart raced at the prospect of seeing her again, even though to see her was merely a function of his duty to Tanner. Still, he could not erase from his memory the sensuous grace of her figure, the irresistible tint of her lips, the eyes that beckoned him home.

      He took his leave from Tanner. There was much to be done to carry out the next phase of the marquess’s plan.

      The very next night Flynn stood below the gazebo’s balcony at Vauxhall Gardens, again listening to the crystalline sound of Rose O’Keefe’s voice filling the evening with song. He’d secured a private box and supper for Miss O’Keefe, leaving a message to her father to escort her to the box when the orchestra broke and Signor Rivolta, the man who played six or eight instruments at once, performed. He trusted her father would approve of the meeting.

      She wore the wine-red gown again, the colour of passionate nights, and her fair skin glowed against its richness. Flynn convinced himself he merely admired her beauty, the way he might appreciate the beauty of a flower or a painting or how the house in Ballynahinch shone golden in the light of the setting sun.

      He watched until she made her final curtsy and disappeared into the dark recesses of the balcony. He then made his way to the supper box to ensure all was as he’d planned—a supper of light delicacies, nothing too fancy, but all very tasteful. Assured everything was prepared and ready, he spent the rest of the time pacing, his breath catching whenever the music ceased, and easing when it resumed again.

      Finally the orchestra was silent. Flynn continued pacing until he heard the O’Keefes approach. Unfortunately, it was Miss Dawes’s piercing voice that gave him warning. He ought to have expected her.

      ‘Behave yourself, miss. I’ll not have you ruining this for your father—’ The woman’s speech cut off when she saw Flynn. ‘Mr Flynn!’ She switched to a syrupy tone.

      ‘Good evening,’ Flynn said to them all, but to the one who wore a hooded cape that nearly obscured her face, his voice turned husky. ‘Miss O’Keefe.’

      She nodded. ‘Mr Flynn.’

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