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

Chapter Eighteen

T he next afternoon, Griff sat in Lou’s library waiting for her. Mrs. Moore had seen that afternoon tea was brought in, since he had missed luncheon following up on their investigation. He appreciated that she had the cook make the sandwiches quite a bit larger and heartier than what was normally served with tea—he was absolutely famished.

He bit into a roast beef sandwich, made from the leftovers from the dinner they had shared the night before, prior to their late night prowling. It had been an excellent meal and now made a wonderful late lunch.

A few moments later, Lou whipped into the room, still removing her bonnet. She had clearly been out and about since she was wearing the tweed driving dress she had worn when she had first met his mother. “Good afternoon, Griff.”

“Good afternoon, Lou. Was your fact-finding effort fruitful?” he asked as he sipped his tea.

Mrs. Moore really was an outstanding housekeeper. She had provided two pots of tea: one held Lou’s preferred tea blend and one was a simple black tea for himself, just as he liked it. Strong and dark.

Lou sat down, leaned toward the tea tray and sniffed. She then quickly poured herself a cup of tea—her bergamot and jasmine tea—and grabbed a sandwich. It seemed she had missed luncheon as well. She took a bite and chewed, nodding. Once she swallowed, she smiled. “Delicious! And yes, I did find a nugget or two. How about you?”

“The same. But, please ladies first.” He gestured toward her.

“Pish. I’m starving. You go first, since you’ve already had a chance to eat, if your empty plate is any evidence.” She took another bite and looked at him expectantly.

Griff smiled. He loved the fact she had a healthy appetite and did not hide it. “Very well, though nothing I discovered will come as a shock. I discovered that Sir Francis’ investments in locomotives are all around the conversion of trains from steam power to electricity.” A sardonic laugh escaped him. “Now the meeting Dell had requested last week when we bumped into Sir Francis at the club makes sense. I had thought it odd at the time, but dismissed it.”

He paused and let Lou absorb his ramblings while he took another bite of the delicious food and chewed. Once he’d swallowed and took a sip of his tea, he continued. “At any rate, it turns out that some portion of his monies do go toward the current running of the trains, but a larger portion has been earmarked for research and development of electricity for trains. Which, knowing what we now know, makes a great deal more sense. His other electric investments are more diversified. He has invested in the technology to use electricity for street lamps as well as electric cars, though he has some investments in gas powered vehicles as well since they at least require an electric start. It seems he feels it may be a closer step than full electric vehicles.”

Lou nodded as she finished off her sandwich. “Well, as you said, nothing particularly surprising there.” She took a scone and refreshed her tea. “I found a few more details myself, but again, he has not particularly hidden his leanings, so nothing shocking really. Sir Francis has a pleasant home on Grosvenor Square. He may only be recently elevated gentry—those who hold the highest of standards do not accept him—but he has the coffers to command his place in Society, despite any grumblings.”

Griff snorted. “No doubt that as soon as one of the impoverished nobles has a daughter available, we shall see his full acceptance by marriage. They’re just keeping him in their pockets until they need him, or more aptly his funds.”

Lou nodded her agreement and pressed on. “Nevertheless, he does live amongst them and is deeply aligned with their causes, hence his involvement with electricity and the Voltacrats. He has been coordinating the collection of funds for donation to the Voltacrats through quiet conversations at Brooks and the Travelers Club.”

He tilted his head as he looked at Lou, who had stopped to sip her tea. “Doesn’t one have to travel five hundred miles outside of the British Isles or some such in order to be a member of Travelers?”

“Apparently Sir Francis served in His Majesty’s Royal Navy and was at the Battle of Navarino in the Greek War of Independence, thereby gaining him entrance.” She paused and took another sip of tea, then took a bite of her scone with clotted cream.

Griff watched in rapt attention as she licked some of the cream from her upper lip, his cock jerking to life in his trousers as it often did when he was around Lou. He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat.

Lou cast him a knowing smile as she set her tea down. “So, not much we didn’t suspect about the man. But I do know his direction now and plan to pay him a visit tonight to ask about his ties to the Voltacrats. He may at least know who is the head of the organization.” She smiled tightly, as though relishing the prospect.

“I’ll go with you.” Griff set his napkin on his plate, knowing full well what she was going to say.

“This is best left to me,” Lou said firmly. “I’d prefer it if you stayed holed up here where I have had certain precautions put in place to secure the house. Reinforced steel bars in the doors, Mr. Moore is armed, and the windows all have heavy duty locks in place. Besides, I simply plan to look about and…perhaps ask a few questions if the opportunity presents itself.” She finished her scone.

“Absolutely not. You should have someone to watch your back,” Griff insisted. He refused to let her continue on in the lone-wolf manner that she had previously operated. Is she mad?

Lou sighed, clearly frustrated by his demand she take him along. “Fine. Be prepared to leave by midnight.”

Griff sipped the after-dinner apéritif Lou had given him; not his usual brandy or whiskey, but he needed to have his wits about him if they were going to search Sir Francis’ home. Lou was outlining her plan in painful detail, and that struck him as strange.

He yawned, trying to prevent himself from being so rude. He was a dyed-in-the-wool night owl, so that was downright bizarre. He looked at her for a moment as her face warbled in his vision. “Lou, are…are you feeling all right?”

She offered a small smile to him. “Of course. Are you not?”

He watched her image wobble again, almost as if a steam engine was letting off heat in front of her. And then the tiredness truly set in…and with it the realization of what she’d done. “Damn you, Lou.”

She’d dropped all pretense then, clearly knowing the jig was over. “I am sorry, Griff, but this is a one woman job, and you simply wouldn’t see reason. Now let me help you get to bed before the draught truly takes hold.”

Lou helped him rise from the sofa, pressing her curves against his harder body, and aimed them at the door of the library.

“You bloody wellknow thish will not be the end of this matter.” Griff could hear his words slur as they stumbled toward the stairs but seemed unable to do anything about it. Damn her.

“I am certain you will tell me all about it,” her murmured response sounded so far away.

Damn, he was sleepy. “I swear I shall paddle your bottom when I wake up tomorrow.”

She grinned at him then—not the response he had hoped to elicit with his threat. Of course, she was a madame by day—what else should he have expected? “I mean it Lou. There shall be repurcus—repercush. You know what I’m thaying.”

She nodded. “Yes, Griff. There shall be repercussions for my actions.” She was at least acknowledging his thoughts, even if she didn’t seem the slightest bit concerned. And then she hefted him on to his bed—no wait. What was his bed doing here? It was her bed, perhaps? She hefted him on a bed and then stripped him down, and darkness was creeping in and he was sinking, sinking into softness…

*

Lou crept into the bedchamber of Sir Francis Hathaway alone to find him sound asleep…not unlike she’d left Griff after slipping him a sleeping draught after dinner. Though he hadn’t been able to fight off the draught, the man she loved had been coherent enough to know she’d given it to him. The sleepy tongue lashing he’d given her was admirable, though not particularly fear inducing, and just as he drifted off, he’d mumbled one final curse at her.

And she’d absolutely do it again to protect his stubborn hide.

As Lou stood listening to the deep even breaths of Sir Francis, the man who had likely funded the attempt on Griff’s life—even if he didn’t actually order it—the urge to take permanent action had her fingers curling into her palms. But then she reminded herself why she was there.

I have questions. He hopefully has answers.

Two steps had her out of the shadows and moving across his room. Two more landed her close enough to place a hand over the man’s mouth and a blade to his neck. Whether it was the press of her hand cutting off his air or the chill of the blade didn’t matter: the result was the same.

Sir Francis jerked awake, eyes wide and fear shining like a beacon in the darkness.

“Shhhh…” The sound should have been soothing, but the sibilance sounded menacing in the dark, even to her own ears. And that was her intent. “Now, love, I have a few questions for you. If you yell out I shall slit your throat, answers be damned.” She likely wouldn’t, but he didn’t need to know that. Her threat was far more effective if he believed her capable of killing him,

The man nodded once, very slowly.

“Excellent. You recently gave the Voltacrats a large sum of money to fund an assassination. Who, specifically, did you give that money to?” Lou lifted her hand from his mouth but left the blade poised against his flesh—a warning.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sir Francis denied, a desperate pleading note creeping into his voice.

She shrugged, though it was highly unlikely he saw the movement. “I highly doubt that, since you donated nearly fifty thousand pounds. Regardless, I’d like an answer, and no isn’t an option.”

He stilled for a moment, seeming to pull himself together. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. You obviously know who I gave the money to.” His eyes darted around the room as though searching for something…or someone.

Lou rolled her eyes. Steam save her from fools. “If I knew for certain, would I be here holding a knife to your throat?” She pressed the blade a hair harder, actually drawing a thin trickle of blood. “Talk.”

“I-I-I gave it to the Voltacrats.” Sir Francis tensed up, causing the blade to sink deeper, drawing a larger drop of blood as he whimpered in fear and pain.

“Who?” Lou glanced nervously at the door. This is taking too long . Any moment someone could come through—his valet or a guard if he had one.

“Farrington—I gave the donation to Farrington, the head of the Bureau of Modern Technology. He has been my contact from the beginning.” He sounded convincing, and yet Lou trusted her instincts.

He was absolutely lying. She just wasn’t sure about which part.

“If you’re lying to me, I shall find out and I shall return to finish what we started here,” Lou hissed in frustration.

The sound of a door closing down the hall told her time was up; even if they weren’t likely to enter his chamber, he might decide to take the risk and yell out for help. Damnit . She should have searched his library and study first, but the need to ask questions had driven her straight to his bedchamber. This was why you didn’t get too close to a mark—or the person you were protecting. It clouded one’s judgement.

Slipping back into the shadows, Lou quickly slipped over the balcony where she’d entered his bedchamber and shimmied down the rope she’d used to ascend. As she’d hit the ground, Sir Francis bellowed from his bedchamber about being attacked. There was no retrieving her hook and rope, so she left it and melted into the night. Finding her steam cycle, Lou took it around a corner where she could watch and wait.

All the lights in the house came on—of course the man’s home was wired for electricity. She watched as people moved about behind the curtains and then eventually all the lights were doused. She was just about to leave when a carriage pulled out of the mews and stopped in front of the house. Sir Francis stormed through the front door fully dressed and in a complete rage, yelling at the men manning his carriage. Dressed in plain drab clothes, they were clearly not liveried servants. So he had guards. Guards who had failed in keeping him safe.

Lou smiled to herself.

The carriage took off, and she decided it was prudent to follow behind. She did so at a great distance and with her lights turned off to remain as discreet as possible in the early morning hours, driving for nearly an hour before they turned into the air-port, a gaggle of buildings comprised of a main one where passengers checked in, and a series of outer buildings that served as warehouses and offices for the air-ship companies who hauled both goods and people.

Lou turned off on an earlier side road and utilized a different entrance to the grounds, one that would take her closer to where passengers would board a ferry up to their airship, not the terminal where they checked in.

Powering down her cycle, she crept through the hangars and crates of goods to be transported. The air-port was a hive of activity at any time of day, but seemed especially busy this pre-dawn morning.

Sir Francis stormed out to a ferry and yelled at several people, his voice carrying on the thin morning air. “You will damned well take me to the Sky Chaser this minute. Do you know who I am?”

Lou snorted to herself. If you had to ask that question, you weren’t nearly as important as you thought you were.

The ferryman held up his hands. “The Sky Chaser is about to launch, sir. I can’t take you up there, it isn’t safe. Besides, the captain will have my hide if I do.”

“And I say I shall have it if you don’t! I suggest you call up there and delay their departure. I must speak with one of the passengers on that ship.”

The ferryman gave in and used a voice amplifying tube to call up to the air-ship. A few moments later, he looked sullenly at Sir Francis. “You’re to wait here, sir. Someone will be right down.”

“They’d better be…”

Someone on the ship—who was it? Could it be—

Two sets of hands snaked out of the darkness and clamped down on her arms. Lou jerked her Kukuri knife free of its holster and jabbed back toward the body on her right, but the goon blocked her strike. She heard the clatter of the blade striking the ground after it was stripped from her hand and before she could reach for her blade, darkness dropped over her vision, leaving her blind. She continued to struggle until someone whacked her in the head and it all faded to pain and darkness.