Chapter Ten
H ere Lou was—awake, of all things—at the totally unreasonable hour of eight o’clock in the morning to get to Hampstead Heath, the famous dueling grounds, at the agreed upon time to meet with Holt. Despite the ungodly hour of the morning, she was respectfully turned out in a brown tweed riding dress which had left Cordelia in high spirits, since it meant she was permitted to allow her skills as a lady’s maid to shine.
In short order, Lou reined her mount to a stop and found a low-hanging branch to tether the horse. She hated that she’d had to leave her steam-cycle at home, but the conveyance wasn’t conducive to an incognito meeting; it was far too memorable to use in daylight hours without good reason. She walked a short distance into the trees before the high whistle of a bullfinch could be heard. A moment later, Holt stepped from the shadows of the trees and joined her on the path.
“It is good to see you alive and well,” she said, allowing an acerbic tone to coat her words.
Her handler wore a top hat and brown leather skirted coat. The harness she knew he usually wore beneath the open coat would hold his steam-pistol and a blade of some kind. Not unlike herself, Holt was typically well armed.
He nodded. “I apologize for putting you off, but when I learned someone had activated our assignment protocol and sent you a coin without my consent, I needed to retreat and watch. I was curious to see just how compromised our communication channels are. Since no one appeared here yesterday morning at the appointed hour, I can assume this channel is still safe.”
“So you are aware that I was activated under false pretenses?” Anger surged through her.
“I am. I’m afraid I could not interfere since I am still trying to sort out who instigated the communication and how. Letting things play out was the best means of uncovering who contacted you.”
“So you let me try and kill an innocent man?” Lou couldn’t hide her upset at that shocking bit of news. How could he?
“I was counting on you to figure it out before things went too far. I’d say that since he was seen leaving The Market late last night—or early this morning, however you prefer to think of it—that you figured out something wasn’t right.” Holt grinned darkly.
“Holton Benjamin Walker I damn near killed the man. It’s a miracle he managed to convince me to stop before it was too late.” She glared at her friend and handler.
“Now that sounds like an interesting story for another time.” He took her hand in his and pulled her into a slow stroll. “But for now, you need to know our assignment protocols are compromised. We shouldn’t meet again for a while, not unless it is an urgent need. Until I figure out how deep the issue goes nobody can be trusted.”
Lou nodded, her pulse thudding a steady, yet inexorable beat. “Agreed. Did you determine who activated me?”
Holt shook his head. “No. They have kept a very low profile since then. I was hoping they knew of the red plumes and would come yesterday morning. But no such luck.”
“I am not surprised. Whoever it was did not come themselves to the warehouse for the dossier drop. They sent to men—real cog-grinder types—with the sparse documents. So they obviously are not aware of the level of detail you normally provide me.” She sighed and rubbed her forehead. “I am still concerned about the men from the warehouse, particularly the man who called himself Mr. Xavier. They all now obviously know who I am.”
“Mr. Xavier?” Holt asked, his head tilting to one side in confusion.
“Yes. The man who delivered the coin. He was disturbing, to say the least.” She repressed the urge to shiver once again at the mere thought of him.
“How so? Did he try to harm you?” Holt asked, suddenly concerned in a fashion she had never seen from him.
Lou slanted him a look of disbelief. “If he had tried to harm me, he would be dead. I am a trained killer, if you will recall.”
Holt rolled his eyes at her. The nerve of the man! “Yes, yes. That doesn’t make you invincible or incapable of being surprised.”
“I shall remind you that I am quite good at my job—or do I need to provide a demonstration?”
“Not at all, Lou, not at all. I am well aware of your prowess. I shall continue to work on sorting out the entire network. Do you or this Lord Melton have any clues who might want him dead?”
“None. I was hoping you might have some ideas.” The dead-end nature of their discussion still weighed heavily on her shoulders.
“I’ll keep poking about and see what I can learn.” He gave her a queer look, as though he knew something and wasn’t saying it, but then continued, “In the meantime, you two need to be careful. Possibly consider retreating from normal activities?” Holt didn’t bother to mask the concern in his voice, nor the question. He was well aware a command would have been pointless.
“We shall be careful. But I doubt I shall be able to keep him from his own investigation, let alone convince him to retreat.” She hated admitting it, but Griff was a determined man. And frankly, she wanted to solve the mystery too.
“Do what you can. And please, keep him alive.” Holt’s serious gaze bore into her as if to emphasize his point.
Surprise pinged around inside her like a thrown rod in an engine. She’d already intended to do exactly that, but to have Holt specifically order her to do so was so extraordinary. But then, what about this whole job had been ordinary? “Not that I was planning to do otherwise, but what precisely makes you order that?”
Holt hesitated. “He is a peer of the realm. Queen Victoria generally frowns upon her peers being killed willy-nilly.” He started to leave but stopped to face her. “And whatever you do, don’t get your heart broken.”
Lou eyed her friend suspiciously. “What do you know?”
“Just that he was seen leaving The Market the other morning, as I said. I assumed you were using your cover as it was designed, since that also allows you to stay close to him.” He half smiled. “But now I can see the soft glow in your eyes when you talk about him. I’ve not seen that before. Not even for that boy you were sweet on as a girl.”
She stiffened at his words, at the subtle reminder of who she’d perhaps once been. “He’s a former mark who I’ve agreed to help in exchange for his information. I am not falling for anyone, not when I’ve only known him for a few days.” Lou pushed the niggling voice of dissent aside.
“You know him far better than you think, if you’ve studied his dossier—even the half-arsed one you were likely given. Just be careful. I’m not sure even in these modern times that a lord can look beyond your history to see the woman worth claiming.”
She hated when Holt flustered her like that. Oh, he sometimes did it simply because he knew it bothered her. But this time his voice held a ring of truth, of genuine concern that rankled far more than his playful reminders that she was more than her job. “You know I have a plan. One plan. Survive and retire by the shore somewhere in a small cottage where I don’t have to be bothered—by anyone.”
“I’ve always pictured you retiring to become an air-ship pirate.” Holt quipped at her, dredging up the old joke between them that started the first time they flew together.
“You know I hate flying, Holt. It doesn’t agree with me.” Lou drew in a deep breath then released it. “I know what I want, and eventually I am going to follow through on my plan. This was never meant to be my life.”
On a soft sigh, he said, “I know what you think you want.” Then he reached up and traced the curve of her cheek. “I just hope you find what you need before it is too late.”
With that, Holt turned and faded into the elm trees, leaving her alone on the secluded path, wondering if she had missed something about her longtime friend.
Could he have a tendre for her?
Holt was an attractive man who, had they met under different circumstances, she might have considered a love interest. But he’d been there when she’d thought she was in love as a young woman—just after the first job he’d hired her and her uncle for. Holt had been the one to ferret out the cruel trick a neighbor boy had been playing on her with his friends, making her think he was smitten with her so he could take her to the spring dance the nearby village held every year. Holt was the big brother she’d never had. It could never be.
She hoped for his sake she was mistaking the signals.
With that thought chilling her, Lou hurried back to her horse. She wanted to see where Holt headed next, then she would speak with Griff. She circled back around and glimpsed who she believed was Holt leaving the heath. Keeping a discreet distance, she tailed him to a house on Portman Square. It was a quaint little affair midway down the street, obviously well kept. Taking note of the address, she barreled past just as a delivery wagon blocked her view.
It was an unusual circumstance that had her following Holt, but she felt compelled to confirm that all was as it should be with him. Something felt off, and her instincts demanded she have answers. Holt’s absence for much of this situation, paired with his guidance at their meeting, worried her. She would need to come back later and look around his home when he was certain to not be here.
With that decided, she departed. She should send for Griff to share her news, though it would be a long wait until this evening, and parts of her ached for him which absolutely should not.
A thought flickered through Lou’s mind. If they had been seen at The Market, there was no reason she couldn’t visit him during the day. After all, mistresses were common visitors to their single patrons’ homes in the Victorian era.
With that notion set in her mind, she headed toward his home on Curzon Street. What harm could come from a late morning visit of his known mistress?