The Assassin’s Guide to Falling in Love (The Ladies League #1)

Chapter Three

A fter a long night of debate—and ultimately a victory in killing the Steam Technology Regulation bill—Lord Melton had slept much later than normal, waking well after luncheon to Lou’s dismay. She’d risen early to be sure she could follow him when he went about his day, which meant she was left cooling her heels for hours while she waited for him to appear. When he finally did, she was able to follow him quite easily with all of the normal London bustle to meld into.

When Lord Melton stopped in front of a refined home on Cavendish Square, she cursed as he disappeared inside. She pulled around to the mews and tied off her horses and phaeton so she could sneak about the back of the house. She could not lose him.

As luck would have it, by the time she made her way into the backyard of the house, Lord Melton had reappeared in what was a stunningly beautiful garden. A woman knelt on the ground near a rose bush despite her obviously expensive gown. Her graying blonde hair was swept up under a straw hat which had a wide protective brim. The lady of the house, she suspected. But who was she?

Spying a tall-ish hedge that ran behind the roses, she crept closer, using the greenery as a shield to see if she could hear anything that might be of use. Hopefully my navy driving dress will blend in with the dark green hedge enough to obscure my presence . Thank goodness she hadn’t worn her red gown…

“Good afternoon, Mother.” Lord Melton spoke before he arrived at the woman’s side.

“Griff! There you are. I had begun to worry about you,” she grumbled as one fair brow drifted up in what Lou imagined was meant as a rebuke.

With an excellent view through the hedge, she could see that he got his fair hair and blue-grey eyes from his mother. Perhaps he had gained his square jaw and strong cheekbones from his father?

Griff . She let the nickname roll through her head. She liked it.

“Apologies, Mother. I did not intend to worry you.” The man bent over to buss her cheek and then straightened up. “It was a late night in parliament.”

“Well, I’m glad you came. I need you to come to dinner tomorrow night.” She cut right to the chase—Lou respected that in a woman. So many of the fairer sex simpered and wheedled to get their way.

Lord Melton, however, did not appear to appreciate this. He groaned loud enough for Lou to hear him from where she hid. “Mother, I cannot. I have work to do.” He closed his eyes for a moment as if a pang of guilt ricocheted through him like a bullet fragment. Oh, he is going to lie to his mother! Lou bit her lip in anticipation. “Parliament is in session and there is more legislation to review than I can possibly accomplish.”

“Griff, I refuse to believe such nonsense. You must eat to live, and if you are going to eat, you can simply do so here with me.” Her chiding tone had an edge to it.

Well done, my lady! Lou silently cheered.

Lord Melton’s gaze narrowed at his mother. “Why is it so important to you that I come here to have dinner?”

His mother looked up at him innocently. “Can a mother not wish to share a meal with her beloved son?”

Lou had to suppress a laugh. His mother was wily, she was changing tactics now that he’d lied to her. Brava!

“Will Piers be there?”

Oh my . Who was Piers? A brother? A cousin?

“No. Your brother”— Aha! —“is too busy galivanting around the Ton’s social scene to be bothered with an old woman like me.” The slightly dejected note in her voice was well cultivated.

Lou grinned.

“Mother.” Lord Melton growled the word in warning.

Oh, Lord Melton did not like that. Not at all. Not that Lou blamed him. The older woman was hiding something…but what?

The woman stabbed the small shovel in her hand into the ground. “Help me up.” She held her hand up to her son.

Dutifully, Lord Melton assisted his mother to her feet and eyed her carefully. “Who is the girl, mother?”

Plot twist! Lou nearly gasped at the revelation. A woman? Did his mother thrust women at him often?

Lady Melton huffed. “ Fine . She’s the niece to one of my good friends. She’s just come to London to have her come out and I thought it would be lovely if she knew someone among our set before she was announced, poor thing.”

Lord Melton looked pained as he crossed his arms in front of him. A defensive gesture, Lou noted. “No, Mother. I am not available. I have no interest in a wife at the moment. I am far too busy with parliamentary business. With all the tension between the Tinkers and the Voltacrats, the political maneuvering is infinite.”

Lou shifted as one of her feet began to go numb. She was not dressed for spying today. Her movement behind the hedge drew his eye, but then a bird chirped happily and Lord Melton shook his head before refocusing on his mother. Steaming hells! That was close. Damnit, she’d become far too interested in this conversation and was not being careful. She was here to gather information she could use to kill the man, not become acquainted with him. Lou gritted her teeth and tried to shut down her curiosity.

“Please, Griff.” His mother laid her gloved hand on his arm.

The pleading in her two words seemed to affect him greatly. Lord Melton drew a deep breath and released it slowly. Then he paused for a moment, as though gathering his patience, perhaps? “I need no introductions to country chits. I…I met a woman recently who has caught my eye.”

Oh, well that is a disa —What the bloody hell was wrong with her?

His mother perked up immediately. “Have you?”

Lord Melton shifted uncomfortably. Another lie . Lou steadfastly ignored the leap of her heart at that realization. My, the lies were rolling off his tongue this afternoon. “Leave it at that. Once I know if she returns my interest, I shall tell you more.”

Lou suppressed a snort. No doubt in a few days he’d inform his mother that the woman had rejected his attention. How very convenient.

“Very well. But you are not getting any younger, my boy. It’s time to settle down and do your duty.” Her tone was solemn and redolent with warning.

“There is always Piers if I keel over unexpectedly, Mother.” He grinned unrepentantly.

His mother gasped in horror. “Do not make such jests! You are not much younger than your dear father was when he passed.”

Lou’s heart sank. The pang of sympathy that she felt for what this woman would suffer nearly had her doubled over.

“My apologies. I didn’t consider that when I made the remark.” Lord Melton kissed his mother’s cheek. “Now I should go, I have more errands to run.”

“Very well, I shall just have to disappoint my friend. We had so hoped to become family.” His mother sighed dramatically.

Lord Melton chuckled. “Do pass on my abject apologies.” With that he bowed and headed out of the garden.

Lou quietly gathered her navy blue skirts and crept back the way she’d entered, all the while ignoring the hollowness in her chest. This is why you don’t humanize a mark . Climbing back into her phaeton she shook out the reins and went to pick up the trail of her mark.

And that’s all he was. A mark. It’s all he could be.

A short while later Griff decided that, having run his errands on Bond Street, a walk to the Athenaeum Club would give him some much needed exercise. Of course, that was despite the prickling sensation on the back of his neck which had started in his mother’s garden when she’d tried to trick him into dinner with a debutante. He’d felt bad lying to her about working on legislation, and having met a woman of his own, but he refused to be manipulated by anyone.

Not even his own mother.

Leaving Bond Street, Griff headed down St. James’s Street on his way to Pall Mall. With each step, he grew more certain someone watched him. And he had learned long ago as a member of the 7 th Queen’s Own Hussars to trust his instincts—they had served him well as a soldier. But with his certainty came the nagging worry that his secret had been revealed.

Once again, Griff stopped and drew a deep breath. He was a member of parliament. He made decisions every day which could cause a man to want to follow him, to possibly confront him. It was far more likely to be related to that than the notion that someone had discovered his most closely guarded secret.

Pushing aside his paranoia, Griff stopped at the door of Boodle’s to see if he could catch a glimpse of his would-be tail. Unfortunately, between the overabundance of delivery carts and the hordes of people walking one place or another—some shouting rather loudly about the delivery carts blocking their way—it was difficult to tell who his shadow had been for most of the day.

What he did notice was a stunning brunette—one who’d dared invade the male bastion of St. James’s Street—as she drove past in her phaeton wearing a charming navy driving gown. The brazen woman caught his attention, causing his heart to race and his cock to stir with an interest he’d rarely experienced since the dalliance with his last mistress nearly a year earlier. It wasn’t until the distracting beauty passed that he realized he’d missed the opportunity to identify his spy. Well, damn and blast.

With a sigh of resignation, Griff pressed on down St. James’s and turned onto Pall Mall. The sensation of being watched had disappeared until just before he arrived at the Athenaeum Club. Looking about for who might be watching him, he thought he caught another glimpse of the brunette, but then a dray cart rolled past and she—if she’d even been there—was gone. He entered the club and tried to shake off the odd sensation.

“Good afternoon, my lord.” The club ma?tre’d was waiting for him with his hand outstretched.

“Good afternoon, Helmsford. Have you seen Dellinger or Chapman today?” Griff handed over his coat and hat.

“Mr. Dellinger is in the reading room, my lord.” Helmsford bowed and disappeared with Griff’s accoutrements in tow.

Griff headed down the hall and made a right into the cozy little reading room with a fireplace. There he spied Dell sitting in the large bay window and reading the London Steamer’s daily edition. The Times had latched onto Society’s fixation with all things steam and changed its name nearly ten years earlier. It annoyed members of the Voltacrats, but enough of London was so taken with steam that it kept the paper in step with public sentiment. That woman and the sensation of being watched had truly distracted him if he’d missed Dell sitting in the bay window as he walked in.

“Hello, Dell, how are you this fine afternoon?” Griff settled into a nearby empty chair.

“Good afternoon, Griff. Did you get through all that paperwork you had last night?”

“An unexpected vote in Lords pulled me away. Did you and Cole have any success at the masked ball?” Griff waved over a waiter. “Brandy please, and a copy of today’s paper. Anything for you, Dell?”

“No, thank you,” his friend declined as he set his paper aside. The waiter disappeared. “Drinking this early in the day?”

“Medicinal purposes, I assure you.” Griff flashed a smile at his friend, who seemed to want to return it, but held back. “I have had the distinct impression that I was followed around town today.” Griff rubbed his eyes. “It must be that I stayed up too late. I am sure I am imagining things.”

“Staying up late will do that to you, old man.” Dell nodded in agreement.

“Yes, on the upside, I did see the most beautiful woman because of my paranoia.” Griff grinned wolfishly. “Wouldn’t mind tossing up her skirts if I could ever find her again.”

“Have you ever met a woman whose skirts you wouldn’t mind tossing up?” His friend feigned shock at his own words.

“Of course I have. The Gorgon Twins for two, and that cog peddler down on Church Street.” Griff raised an eyebrow at his friend, who was now bent over laughing.

He’d kept his lack of sexual interest since the departure of his last mistress to himself, certain that things would right themselves in time. The harridan had left a foul taste in his mouth. Imagine, a woman of her temperament trying to trap him into marriage? It was ludicrous! Fortunately for him, his mistress had proven to be akin to his onetime fiancée who, upon learning of his predilection for tinkering, had also departed the field of battle almost immediately. Just a whiff of anything so lowly as working with one’s hands, and both women had fled. Yet one more reason he had ceased to share the same values as his peers. Honestly, he could be done with Society altogether…were it not for his role in Parliament.

“Gad! Nobody would want to dance with the Gorgon Twins let alone bed them, and the cog peddler might not be half bad if she bathed once a month. Well, perhaps twice.” Dell winked at Griff.

The waiter returned with Griff’s snifter of brandy and the latest edition of the newspaper.

Holding the glass, Griff swirled the amber liquid and sniffed, letting it lightly singe his nostrils. “You never said how the masked ball went?”

“Excellent, as always. I ran into a sweet little dove who later became very accommodating. Her husband was less so when he came looking for her in the dark paths of Covent Garden.” Dell flashed a toothy grin.

“Still dallying with the married ladies.” Griff shook his head, befuddled by his friend’s behavior.

“They always seem to find me.” He winked and picked his paper back up.

The pair fell silent as Dell perused his newspaper and Griff mulled over the very attractive brunette. How could he find her? It seemed reasonable that only a very few women would own a phaeton. Perhaps he could ask around his set.

The pleasant silence was broken by a curse from Dell. “Bloody cog suckers! Another riot yesterday in the East End.”

The irate Dell picked up his brandy and slugged the last swallow as Griff cringed inside. “Oh. What about?” He worked to keep his voice neutral.

“The legislation restricting Tinkers from creating things willy-nilly. The piece that failed last night in the midnight reading. Without those much needed regulations, accidents like that steam ship crash that killed one hundred people will continue to wipe out our population.”

“That seems a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” Griff paused and looked at his friend askance. Wipe out the population, indeed.

Dell huffed a breath. “It’s a dangerous situation, Griff. Between the inherent dangers of steam—dangers I am personally acquainted with, I’ll remind you—and the wild risks the idiotic Lord of Cogs takes, it’s a wonder more people haven’t died.”

“Good regulations would certainly be useful.” Griff agreed without agreeing. He had guessed long ago that Dell had Voltacrat leanings, and as a result often gauged his words carefully.

“Good regulations? It’s middle of the road politicians like you, Griff, that allow Tinkers to maim and kill innocent people every day with their crazed inventions.” Dell’s voice hardened to a sharp edge. “Not to mention sinking the stock market,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Increasingly frustrated with his friend’s politics, Griff gritted his teeth. “I daresay regulating safety standards would better serve our working class than replacing steam with an expensive solution such as electricity. If electricity wins the day, half our population would be toppled into darkness.”

Dell grunted. “Electricity is safer than steam and it is certainly cleaner. All around it is the superior power source.”

Griff repressed his instinctive rebuttal, afraid of saying anything further against the Voltacrats. His friend’s ferocious anger was something of a surprise. Was Dell being radicalized? It posed a particular dilemma for Griff, as his friend. What would Dell do if he discovered Griff’s secret? If he knew Griff not only tinkered, but he was responsible for the engine that powered the newest steam-carriages? It was strangely satisfying to randomly see a steam-car pass him on the street.

Previously, he’d worried about simply losing a friend. Now he had to consider potentially far more serious repercussions.