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

Chapter Nineteen

G riff woke to the sun glaring into his eyes through a slit in the drapes. His head felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton. I must really need a stiff cup of tea .

He dragged his hands down his face and paused. Wasn’t I supposed to go search Sir Francis’ house with Lou? He sat with the sheets pooled around his hips and tried to remember the previous night. He remembered insisting at dinner that he would accompany her and he distinctly remembered her giving in—though admittedly not with much grace. After dinner they had a light digestif, and then he got very sleepy…

She bloody drugged me!

Anger blossomed in his chest as Griff looked down at himself, then around the room. Well, he wasn’t naked in her bed as he’d thought, she’d just made him more comfortable by removing his shoes, coat, and waistcoat. It soothed his ego only a very little that she had chosen to install him in her chamber. It also eliminated him running about the house with his head a mess from the drug, whatever it was. Blast .

By the time he’d dressed and put some food in his stomach to quell the aftereffects of the drug, it was mid-morning and Lou had not returned. Now Griff was worried. Beyond worried. At first, he’d assumed she was avoiding him, and rightly so. He was furious with her. But now a pervading sense of dread pushed him to take action.

He could search her study and see if she had left any clues there. Yes, that is a start.

Griff was heading there when he bumped into Mrs. Moore, who he hadn’t seen all morning. “Good morning. I assume your mistress—um, Miss. Bellows, has not returned home?” He realized how fuzzy his thoughts were as he struggled to pull up information he knew. Perhaps it was the after-effects of the draught she’d given him?

“She has not.” The housekeeper’s voice carried a note of worry that he found hard to ignore.

Griff stifled his sigh and forged ahead. “Mrs. Moore, I am worried something has happened to her.”

The woman looked more worried at his expression of concern. She looked him up and down again, seemed to size up his reliability. Finally, as though deciding that he might be trustworthy, she nodded. “As am I. She slipped out the back of the house late last night. I haven’t seen her since, though her bed has been slept in. I was a bit worried, but hoped she’d gone over to The Market, but she would have been back for luncheon—”

“I’m afraid I rumpled those sheets, and alone, last night.” Griff’s gut clenched. Lou is in danger. He could feel it in every writhing twist of his stomach.

Mrs. Moore lifted a worn, wrinkled hand to her forehead and rubbed the crease between her pinched brows. “Now I’m worried something happened to her.”

Griff grunted his agreement because he couldn’t push a single syllable past the lump currently wedged in his throat. He took a deep breath and nodded. “We are agreed. Would you mind if I searched her library for possible clues?”

“Please help yourself, my lord. If you can locate her with something you find in there, I’d be grateful.” Mrs. Moore clenched her hands together, clearly agitated by Lou’s absence.

“Thank you. I shall keep you informed.” Griff nodded and turned to search the library, but it took him all of ten minutes to realize she had nothing of merit in her desk. It was clearly not a space she’d used to any extent since returning to her childhood home. He informed Mrs. Moore before he departed the residence and headed to his next stop in search of answers. In search of Lou.

In search of the woman he loved.

Without hesitation he went straight to The Market; it was the seat of her power base, the place where she controlled everything around her, and so in the face of her absence it should be a place of resources, if not information.

Elena answered the door, all sultry disheveled elegance in her robe, with her sable brown hair mussed as though she had just come from the bed. He felt certain artifice was at play, though he’d be hard pressed to pick any one indicator.

“What can I do for you, Lord Melton?” Her thick Spanish accent made the question sound more like a purr and only heightened her sensual appeal, except for the fact that he was entirely occupied by thoughts of her employer.

“I am looking for Madame LaRoux. Is she at home?” Griff tried not to allow his anxiety to bubble up from the deep pit he’d shoved it in—but with every moment that ticked by, he found it more and more difficult to keep the dark worry at bay.

Elena made a moue and shook her head. “She is not. As you know, she moved out of The Market temporarily. There was no reason to expect her back here last night.”

Griff couldn’t help the worry that sliced through him. “Does she go missing often?”

“No, senor. She is usually home at some point. This absence from The Market is unusual to say the least, but then you seem to have become something of a special case with her. But she is not at her other residence, you say? That is most concerning.” Elena straightened and the facade of lazy sexuality slipped away like a mask removed at a midnight masquerade.

The notion that Lou might see him as special struck him like a knife to the heart under the circumstances. His woman was missing, and even if he found her he had to convince her to give him a real chance, to be partners when that was clearly not how she was accustomed to operating—as last night had highlighted so very clearly. “Very well. I shall send word if I locate her.”

“As will I, my lord.” The woman nodded and promptly shut the door in his face.

He’d be offended at both being left on the stoop and the door slam, but with his warning bells ringing that something was off, he was grateful to be able to make a hasty departure—but halted on the front stoop of The Market. Where exactly should his next stop be? Should he go back to Lou’s home or to his own? Perhaps he should visit Sir Francis’ home?

After debating for a moment, he decided it was best to head home—via Sir Francis’ house.

The hansom cab Griff had hired drove him past Sir Francis’ house, but there was nothing that appeared out of the ordinary. He even stopped and searched the mews behind the house only to find nothing; Lou’s steam cycle was nowhere to be seen.

He considered knocking on the door to see if Dir Francis was home, but hesitated. What if his staff were involved? And just because Sir Francis was or was not home did not prove anything about Lou’s whereabouts. No, better to remain circumspect for now. It wouldn’t help Lou at all if he got himself nabbed. Cog it all! With that in mind, he decided to head home and send word to Cole. Perhaps he could offer some assistance.

Upon arriving home he took refuge in his library, far too distracted to tinker with anything at the moment. He considered working on his steam loom design, but found the notion objectionable in the absence of Lou. Not knowing where she was or what happened to her made him…restless.

Pouring a drink seemed as good an option as any, so he reached for the decanter, but a knock interrupted him. He bade the person to enter and found Higgins bearing a piece of correspondence. “You may leave the note on my desk.”

Invitations were the least important thing on his list of things to do on a good day. Today was a decidedly bad one.

“The messenger said the missive was of the utmost importance.” Higgins hesitated, not precisely countermanding his order, but not following it through either.

“Very well, I’ll take it.” Griff was more annoyed by the inconvenience than anything, but a quick look would allow him to dismiss the note with a clear conscience.

He took the parchment and broke the unfamiliar seal. The wax was imprinted with what appeared to be a lightning bolt and the words ipsa scientia potestas est . He translated the phrase easily, relying on the Latin he learned in school: knowledge itself is power, before he unfolded the page to find a barely legible scrawl.

Meet me on Hampstead Heath, near the elms, at half-past one.

—Lou’s H

Griff glanced at the clock on the mantle. He had just enough time to make the meeting. Abandoning the decanter and the parchment, he bolted to the mews. Within ten minutes he was thundering down the lane on the back of Cimmerian, his black Arabian. As he neared the heath, he slowed his mount before sliding off his back and walking the rest of the way. He approached through the back side of the elms, using the leaf strewn ground to muffle both his and the horse’s steps. It was easy to assume that ‘Lou’s H’ was her handler—possibly too easy.

Is it a trap? I must risk it.

He'd arrived first, since it appeared no one else was there, but only a moment later a soft rustle of leaves—it could have been the wind, but the prickling on the back of his neck said otherwise—alerted him to the presence of another.

Griff spun around and crouched in readiness for an attack, only to find a tall man with dark auburn hair grinning at him. For a moment, he feared he had fallen into a trap, but then the man laughed.

“Either Lou has taught you well, or fear has made you a cautious man.”

Griff knew it was a little of both, so he simply shrugged a shoulder. “One can never be too careful where spies and assassins are concerned. I assume you’re her handler?”

The stranger nodded as his smile broadened. “A wise man. I assume she has not shared my name, so you can call me H.” They shook hands. “We should press on to business. I believe you have noticed the absence of a particular lady?”

“Indeed. She seems to have vanished like steam vapor.”

The man nodded. “I know who has her, or at least who took her.” He stepped in closer. “Sir Francis.”

Griff reared back. “Taken? Damnit! I told her I should go with her to search the bastard’s home.” He cursed himself as a fool for not securing her promise to not go without him when they’d argued. “And Sir Francis? The financier? He’s the one who took her?”

“Yes. He has taken her in an air-ship headed for the Isle of Wight.” H dug into a satchel he carried. “I do not know what his plans may be or who he is meeting, but if he has left London, it can only mean danger. I also found this at the air-field where I tracked her to—it was on the ground behind some crates where I also found her steam-cycle.”

Griff’s hands shook as he took the cloth wrapped item. When he opened it, his gut twisted as though the knife he held had been thrust into it. Her knife. If she had been parted with her weapon, then there was no doubt she’d been taken and was in danger. Damn . Griff disliked air travel; but for Lou, he’d endure anything. “I have access to a ship. When did they leave?”

“If my sources are right? A few hours ago. Remember, we don’t know who Sir Francis is meeting, it could be anyone.”

Griff shook his head. “No, it has to be whoever hired her to kill me. She went to Sir Francis’ house to investigate and never returned home.” He slammed his fist into the palm of his hand. “I can’t let her suffer as a result of her connection to me. I shall go after her—can you keep working to discover who the leader is?”

The spy nodded. “Of course. Be safe, my lord.”

“Wait!” Griff stopped him. “Tell me one thing. What is her real last name? I’ve refrained from snooping up to now, but I’d like to know.”

“If she hasn’t told you…”

“I love her, and right now I don’t know if I’ll ever see her again. Please?” Griff’s heart ached for all he feared losing. Nothing mattered anymore . Not his love of tinkering, his secrets, her past, or even the fact she’d drugged him. He loved her, and as soon as he rescued Lou, he intended to tell her. Her name, her real name, was the last little piece of her, and knowing it made him feel closer to her even as he searched for her.

The man examined him for a moment and then nodded; a short, curt movement. “Stanton.” He was gone as silently as he had appeared.

Steaming hell, I really want to learn how to do that . To simply appear wherever he wanted, silent as a wisp of air.

Without further delay he mounted Cimmerian and took off in the opposite direction of his home. Twenty minutes later and a few new colorful curse words under his belt courtesy of a fishmonger’s wife and a baker, he arrived at Cole’s front door.

With a few perfunctory taps, the portal opened and he entered. “Good afternoon, Brewton. Is your master at home? It is imperative I speak with him at once.”

The butler nodded. “If you will come with me, my lord.”

He dutifully followed Cole’s longtime, and very proper, retainer, wishing the old man walked faster—yet it was within moments that Griff was led into Cole’s study.

“Thank the steaming heavens you are at home!” Griff barreled past his unnecessary guide and hurtled across the room to where Cole stood, somewhat surprised by the sudden interruption.

“What’s the matter, Griff?” Cole set the book in his hand down and turned, astonished, to his friend.

“Lou has been taken—I need you to fly me to the Isle of Wight. And, well—” Griff hesitated, worried his friend might not be game for the whole adventure. “We shall likely need to board another ship. I know it legally falls under the description of piracy, but I cannot let them hurt her.”

Cole merely offered a wide, toothy grin before he turned to Brewton and snapped orders for his horse to be brought around. The butler bowed then departed the study, leaving the two men alone.

“How the devil did you know I arrived by horse?”

His friend laughed. “Besides the clatter you made barreling up to my home? If you hadn’t been on horseback, Brewton would have simply had two mounts saddled.”

Griff grunted. “Pays to have good help. How long will it take to launch once we are aboard your ship?”

His friend frowned. “She has a name.”

Griff’s brows drew together, confused. “Who has a name?”

“My ship. Do you not listen to anything I say? Her name is the Sweet Annie.” Cole seemed truly miffed at him for not remembering the name of the ship.

The response baffled Griff. “I feel as though I should apologize, but I am not quite certain about what—or to whom.”

Cole rolled his eyes and slapped his friend on the shoulder. “I’m probably a bit touchy. Sweet Annie is the only woman I’ve ever been faithful to. I’d sooner cut off my arm than sail another ship.”

His friend truly was an idiot. “I’m not sure how that compares with not sleeping with anything that has breasts and moves.”

“It proves I have restraint. I simply choose not to employ it very often.” His friend winked, and then they headed out to find their mounts.

Griff had an assassin to save.