Chapter Twelve
W hen they reached her private rooms, Lou took Griff by the hand and led him to the small settee. With a gentle concern that she could not have explained, never having possessed much of a nurturing aspect, she urged him to sit as she poured him a drink. Once he was settled, she slipped into her bedchamber to change into something more…enticing.
Fortunately, Cordelia sat dozing on the chaise by the window. With a quick nudge of her maid, they set to work morphing Lou from sweet fiancée into a wanton temptress in a matter of minutes. After all, the latter was a role she was far more comfortable playing. Dressed in a deep red silk nightgown with small ribbons at her shoulders and on each side to keep the scrap of fabric in place, plunging into a daring vee between her breasts and down her back, the two side ties created side slits that exposed her long legs and, with a few strategic tugs, would bare her for Griff’s delectation. Coiffure unpinned and smoothed into a soft brown wave of hair, Lou dabbed a bit of carmine on her lips and nodded as Cordelia made her exit.
Lou took a deep breath, confident she was ready for the man who awaited her in the next room.
The moment she stepped into the sitting room, Griff turned his gaze on her and time seemed to stop. Starting at the tips of her toes, he drew his gaze up her body, slowly absorbing the full effect of her efforts. In what she guessed was a largely unconscious gesture, he licked his lips which had her trembling with need in the blink of an eye. He continued his way north, skimming over the display of creamy flesh as her nipples pebbled against the soft material in an obvious display of her desire. When he reached her face and their gazes collided, Lou’s breath caught in her lungs at the sheer need splashed across his face. Eyes dilated, jaw clenched, and a tiny pulse of a vein at his temple told her all she needed to know.
“Come here, woman.” Griff held his hand out in invitation.
There was no question she would cross over to him, but she chose to draw the moment out, one slow step at a time, letting anticipation build between them. Each leisurely step designed to seduce, to tantalize, she made her way toward him while his gaze dipped down to where her leg peeked from the red silk and then back to her face. “While I enjoyed dinner—much to my surprise—I still found myself waiting hungrily for this moment all evening.”
A low growl rumbled from his chest. “As have I.”
Her hand touched his, and without a further word, Griff hauled her into his arms and proceeded to devour her mouth with his, a sensual melding of lips, and teeth, and tongues. He tasted and teased her until her head spun from lack of air. Finally Griff eased to the right, dropping kisses over her cheek and down her neck. A shudder of desire ripped along Lou’s spine as his hard cock pressed against her belly, reminding her of the pleasure to come. His kisses turned to nibbles and bites which had her hips grinding against him. The room, or perhaps her body, had grown heated with their passion, the friction of the silk almost too much against her skin and she felt the tug of a ribbon at her shoulder even as both his hands gripped her bottom.
A moan ripped free from her throat as cool air brushed her skin, followed by the molten heat of his mouth on her breast. Her fake fiancé kissed his way further south, following the material until he found the plump tip of her nipple. Like the silk of her negligee, she drooped against him as he sucked on the sensitive tip.
“Griff.” Lou clutched at his head, her fingers digging into his hair as though she clung to a bulkhead to survive a storm-tossed air-ship.
The relentless man moved to her other breast, latching on through the silk as his hands reached down to gather the material below. When the cooler air hit her legs she shivered, but Griff was undeterred as he reached between her thighs to stroke and caress her slit. Gentle at first, he swept the pad of his finger over her clit once, twice, three times. A tide of desire rose from where he touched her, growing into a tight ball of needy hunger, her toes curl into the Aubusson carpet as he sucked harder on her tip while sliding two fingers deep inside her cunny.
With a steady curl of his fingers, he sent pleasure spiking through her like a steam valve exploding from the buildup of pressure.
“Griff!” Lou clung to him as her world vaporized into a steamy mist of bliss and he continued to cradle her, lapping at her breast as she gently floated back to reality and the powerful circle of his arms.
Only then did Griff lifted his mouth from her person and offer her a rakish grin, full of satisfaction at having obviously turned her world inside out.
Determined to undo him as thoroughly as he had her, Lou withdrew from his arms and peeled his coat and waistcoat from his shoulders without saying a word. Next she worked his cravat loose and plucked at his buttons until his shirt opened, exposing his flesh to her touch. She paused to rub her hands over his well-honed torso. Truly she thought the Greek God of War, Mars, would be pea green with envy of Griff’s fine physical form. Dropping his shirt along with his other clothes, Lou sank to her knees before him and opened his trousers.
And there it was. His erection pushed toward her, hard and long and seemingly in want of her touch—and she was happy to oblige. Like Venus, often portrayed with one breast exposed, she left her nightgown exactly as he’d left it—in partial disarray—as she focused on pleasuring her man.
With warm, steady hands, she stroked Griff’s shaft from tip to root and then slipped his head into her eager mouth. The saltiness of his essence struck Lou’s palate, making her body ache for him. As she swallowed him deeper he half groaned, half growled as he sank his fingers into her hair. She moaned around him, wanting, needing more. As though he knew what she desired, he held her head and pushed himself forward, plunging deeper into her mouth. With her hands on his hips, her fingers dug into his flesh as he thrust shallowly again and again, giving her as much pleasure as he was taking.
That was, until suddenly he had slipped from between her lips and pulled her to her feet. “I need to be inside you.”
Scooping her up, he carried Lou into the bedchamber where he laid her on the bed. She pushed to sitting, but he stopped her with a shake of his head. “No, lay back.”
Sinking back down to the mattress, she watched in admiration as he finished stripping. Naked, Griff crawled on the bed and loomed over her, desire drawing his features taught. Hands trembling, he reached up and, with the tug of a few ribbons, drew her negligee aside to stare reverently at her body.
For the first time in her life, Lou felt…beautiful. Honored. It was so foreign a feeling that it felt like wearing an ill-fitting gown. It made her want to shift about restlessly.
With the tip of his finger, Griff traced a line from collar bone to collar bone and then down between her breasts, causing her nipples to pucker with need which thankfully distracted her from her mental wanderings. He continued his path down over her mons and along her slit then spread her legs with a nudge of his hands. He reached over to her bedside table where a French letter lay waiting and quickly donned the covering before shifting until he was between her knees. Taking a long slow breath then releasing it, he pressed his cock to her opening and pushed deep inside her. As he sank to the base of his shaft, Lou reveled in the sensation of him filling her up, deeper and deeper—and then he shifted direction, withdrawing to his tip before plunging back in.
Oh God, yes. She cried out unintelligibly with an ecstatic joy that both overwhelmed and comforted.
Griff set a pace, sure to carry them both over the edge, and Lou surrendered to the pleasure as he pulled her over. With a shout of bliss, her body convulsed and splintered into a thousand pieces but her ecstasy proved no distraction. He continued to thrust into her, pushing her into a second climax before he found his own. He groaned her name, a rough benediction as he collapsed on top of her.
Lou lay there, the weight of him on top of her, and instead of feeling smothered or trapped, a sense of peace invaded her body—and, if she dared consider it, her soul. The utter contentment of being touched, the connection to another human being, was the very thing she had always believed she could find in a cottage by the sea…alone. It had never occurred to her such a feeling could come from spending time with another person. People had always eventually disappointed or abandoned her.
Until…now.
A wave of heat rolled through her, stealing Lou’s breath until she found herself in need of some space. Just a breath of cool air to bring order to her scattered thoughts and disjointed emotions. Surely she was being beyond foolish, thinking that anyone could be relied upon to give her that long-sought feeling of peace? No, her cottage by the sea was the place she would find such a thing; certainly not in the arms of a man she had only recently tried to kill.
With a press of her hand to his shoulder, she silently urged Griff off her and quickly rolled off the mattress. Not bothering with a robe and ignoring the ewer and water by her bed, she strode to her water closet. It was one of her least-favorite upgrades to The Market; that was until now, when it allowed her a moment of seclusion.
She drew a deep breath and calmed the chaotic confusion of emotions raging through her. Forehead pressed to the door, she absorbed the cool air and the cooler wood, letting it chill her until gooseflesh rose over her arms and chest. Certain she was once again herself, she pulled the chain flushing the loo and re-entered her chamber.
Griff sat on the edge of the bed, half-dressed and looking almost as uncomfortable as she had felt only moments before. “I—I should go. It wouldn’t do for me to be seen leaving here in the morning light, now my mother is involved.”
“Agreed.” Lou tipped her head to the side, considering his words. “Could your mother possibly discover who I really am?”
He paused as if the notion had only just occurred to him. “I shouldn’t think so. I assume you always wear a mask at The Market?”
She nodded. Was the man headed for Bedlam? “Unquestionably! It wouldn’t do for me to be so recognizable as an assassin. Anonymity would be difficult if every man in London who came through these doors recognized me on the street.”
“Good, I think she is unlikely to recognize you, though if we are seen coming and going from here then it might be a cause for concern. One I should have considered before now.” Griff paused as he tied his cravat from memory. “I don’t suppose you have another residence at hand that you could use in lieu of The Market for a few weeks while we sort this out?”
Lou did, but it was the house she grew up in, bequeathed to her on her parents’ death. She hadn’t set foot inside in over two decades, though she paid an older couple to live there and keep things in working order. It was strange, but she found she could neither part with the house nor occupy it, and letting it to rent was out of the question. She supposed she had turned it into some strange sort of shrine. But other than the caretakers, she simply could not come to terms with anyone else living there. She reached up to push a lock of hair aside and found her hand trembled as she considered occupying that house again.
Can I do it? Live in the house my parents were murdered in? “I do, but…”
“Wonderful. Is it close to—” Griff stopped and looked at her, curiosity and concern warring in his expressive gaze. “I say, is this an issue for you?”
Lou shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and then back again, unable to find a comfortable stance. Considering they were discussing her imminent return to the home she had last occupied when her family was whole and she was still an innocent child, one might understand her discomfiture. Not that she was about to explain all that. “Not an issue per se . It’s simply…I have not entered the house since my parent’s passing.”
“Great Trevithick! How long has it been?” He crossed the space to stop in front of her, hovering an arm’s length away as though he wished to hold her, to comfort her in some way, but was unsure if it would be welcome.
Emotion—unexpected and unwanted—choked her as her tenuous grip on her control slipped just a bit. She shook her head, unable to speak.
Stepping into her body, Griff wrapped her in his arms as he gently repeated, “How long?”
Lou drew a shuddering breath, willing her sadness to stay buried deep down where she had tucked it all those years ago. “Five…five and twenty years.”
As though saying the words had cracked open Louisa’s Box of Unwanted Emotions— Pandora has nothing on me —Lou found herself overcome. To her horror, she pressed her face into Griff’s chest and cried big, ugly tears. For so many years, she had stuffed her grief and sorrow at the loss of her parents into a box deep within, refusing to open it for fear she might never recover once the lid was off.
Once again Lou found herself being scooped up and carried to the bed, but for decidedly less amorous reasons this time…though perhaps, for far more intimate ones. Too intimate, in truth, though she was helpless at the moment to stop what was happening. Griff sat down and settled her onto his lap, holding and petting her as she sobbed uncontrollably. He stroked her hair and her back, letting her mourn all that she had lost in her life.
That was when Lou realized that she cried for more than just her parents. She cried for the little girl she’d been, the woman she’d become, and for the lives she had irrevocably altered. Not always the people she had killed—some of them had needed killing—but for those around them who had been affected by the loss. Women whose only source of support had lain within the men Lou had ended, their children, their parents, the lovers who had been ignorant of their partner’s nefarious activities. She mourned all of these for the first, and—she quickly decided—the last moment in her life.
Time stopped, as though someone had invented a way to pause life, while she gathered her grief-stricken senses. All the while, the powerful man beneath her comforted and soothed her until she could draw a few gulping breaths of air and slowly calm herself yet again.
As Lou pulled herself together, she stilled and felt her face with her fingertips. The heat and damp of her cheeks suggested she was likely the most unbecoming sight a man had ever seen. In a belated attempt to hide such a hideous display from Griff, she turned her face away and tried to slip from his lap. His arms halted her progress as he used one hand to grip her chin and tilt her face up so he could see all her swollen, tear-stained glory.
“Feeling better?” he asked gently.
Lou sighed but realized…she did feel better. “Actually, yes. But I must apologize for my unseemly display.” What was it about this man that seemed to cause her to unravel so easily—and frequently?
He tutted like a disappointed school ma’am. “ Human display. An utterly human reaction to a substantial loss which had gone ignored for far too long, I’d say.”
She opted not to enlighten him on the full extent of what she had mourned. It was already too much for him to know she cried for her long dead parents. What would he think of her if he thought she cried for the victims of her livelihood? Her victims! What assassin cried at all—let alone for people they killed—or, more aptly, the families and friends of their marks? Utter folderol . “Well, either way, I appreciate your patience.”
“No one should have to cry alone.” Griff gently pushed her hair from her face and dropped a kiss on each tear-streaked cheek. “Now, I dare say you shouldn’t open your house on your own. Would you like some company later today to breach the past?”
Lou considered his offer of support, but knew she needed to face her past alone. Perhaps it was too personal a moment to share, or maybe simple self-preservation, but relying on him for support scared her. She’d always been her own rock. She couldn’t need someone else. That way lay disaster. “Thank you, but no. I have a housekeeper who lives there with her husband to maintain the house. I even had everything updated for them with the latest in steam technology a few years ago to make it easier as they’ve grown older.”
He looked at her oddly, a touch of doubt laced with hurt. “If you’re sure.”
“I am. But thank you for the kind offer.” Lou strove for graciousness, though she couldn’t imagine surviving opening her parents’ former home with him by her side. The man seemed to have a disturbing knack for drilling past all her defenses and dragging out all those unwanted—and terribly inconvenient—emotions she stuffed away. Everything would be far too near the surface as she opened her home.
“Very well, then. You will have to provide your direction there so I may visit you.” He allowed a smile to curve his kissable lips up at the corners, turning his face from concerned to hopeful.
Lou pushed aside her own turmoil and latched on to a levity she did not fully feel. “You had most certainly better come visit me there or I shall be desperately blue that my fiancé has jilted me.”
Griff chuckled. “Very well, send word when you are ready to receive visitors. Now, I really should go. Will you fare well without me?”
“Oh, you know me. I shall endeavor to muddle through.” She gave him a cheeky wink and slipped off his lap. By the time she’d seen him to the door and settled back into her bed, she was feeling rather cleansed from the entire episode. Having Griff witness her…well, breakdown left her feeling a bit vulnerable and off kilter, but she still had hope that opening the house would go smoothly.
Griff had thought to grab a hackney cab but had found none nearby. It was two in the morning and most of London was likely making their way home and to bed, which would explain the dearth of available transportation. Resigning himself to a bit of a walk, he headed toward Curzon Street. A group of men passed him, apparently all rather into their cups as they sang a bawdy ditty about a milkmaid turned air-ship captain who had a man in every port.
He strolled on, concern for Lou bubbling up through his thoughts. The woman had depths to her he had previously presumed did not exist. It was a shocking revelation, considering her current profession—both of them.
On the street, a familiar carriage rolled past, and before he knew what he was doing— “Colechester?”
The vehicle stopped and the door swung open as Cole poked his head out. “Griff! Why in steaming hell are you walking about at this hour? Come inside.”
He did as his friend bid and hopped into the carriage as Cole ordered the driver to Curzon Street.
Griff settled into the squabs and answered the previous query. “Everyone seems to have taken all the hackneys and I sent my driver home hours ago.”
Cole grunted. “It’s amusing, really—before I learned of your liaison with Madame LaRoux, I was certain you had secretly joined some chaste monastic following.”
“A gentleman does not kiss and tell, nor would he ask such a question.” Griff suddenly felt very protective of his time with Lou. She was no common floozy to be bandied about in casual conversation.
His friend’s brows shot up to the brim of his stylish bowler hat and the goggles perched on the brim. “What tripe is this? I am no gentleman—as I am frequently reminded by some of our so-called friends, and despite the Athenaeum deigning to admit me. It’s a lucky thing they have opened their minds in this age of new technology. Besides, I thought we were as close as two cogs? You waited to tell me of her existence at the same time as you told Dell ? I thought we were better friends than that. Cog it all, what other secrets do you harbor?”
Griff sighed. Damn, things had grown complicated . Revealing he was the Lord of Cogs still felt like a far greater risk than it had been to share his connection to Lou with either of his mates. Did he trust Cole? Could he afford to trust his longtime friend? Lou had said he appeared to be in the clear.
And he needed help. Cole always seemed to have reliable information before things happened. He clearly had a network of some kind that provided that intelligence. He could use that kind of help, since the Tinkers network seemed to be turning nothing up.
There was a time he wouldn’t have hesitated to share anything with either Cole or Dell. But despite their abiding friendship, he wondered who among his friends he could truly trust. Of course, Cole owned multiple airships; his friend even captained one when the mood struck him to take off. Strange, though, that the man did not drive a steam-car. Griff would have to ask about that one day. Perhaps Cole, out of all of his friends, would understand his particular leanings? But what if he trusted his friend and Cole turned against him? Sold him out to the Bureau—or, worse, the Voltacrats?
Griff stared at his friend and decided to take a leap of faith. All these secrets, paired with the attempt on his life, were surely making him paranoid. “I dare say you may prove helpful in this matter. I could use some help with both my mother and—frankly—understanding women, more specifically Madame LaRoux. Things have grown…complicated, which is where your assistance may come in.”
“I can’t imagine how an association with Madame LaRoux could be complicated. Doesn’t she have contracts for all of her girls who have regular callers? I should think that she would do the same for herself, thereby keeping things quite orderly.” Cole grinned.
“As you are already aware,” Griff drawled, calling on his patience for his friend’s abundant enthusiasm about his pseudo-relationship with Lou, “I am in just such a contract with Madame LaRoux.” He half-laughed, half-grunted. “And it would have remained tidy if…if only I hadn’t introduced her to my mother as my fiancée.”
Cole choked at that announcement. “Excuse me, you did what ?”
“Yes, yes. An unusual circumstance landed Lou in my library at the same calamitous moment my mother and Piers chose to visit unannounced. Needless to say, she assumed—somewhat aided by my mutton-headed brother—that Lou was my fiancée whom I met through my Parliamentary work.” Griff let his head drop forward as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
“And how, exactly, did you meet Madame LaRoux, since—to my knowledge—you never did share that story with Dell and I?” Cole’s eyes gleamed in anticipation of the story to come. Having been friends since childhood, he knew there had to be some tale behind the odd occurrence.
“Yes, well that is a rather long story and it seems we have arrived at my address.” Griff let the sense of relief wash through him. On the one hand, he wanted to share the truth with someone who might help him sort through everything, but on the other he was loath to make things more complicated than they already were.
“Balderdash! No way you can be thinking I’ll let you escape that easily.” Cole leaned out of the carriage and called up to his driver. “Stevens, take the rig around back for a bit. I’m having a nightcap with Lord Melton, I’ll have some brandy sent out for you.”
“Very good, sir.” The driver waited for the men to depart the vehicle before he drove the team around the back to the mews.
Well, there was nothing for it. When they entered his library, Griff pulled his gumption together while he poured himself and his friend a drink—making sure to send some to Cole’s driver via a footman. When the door closed, he took a deep breath. “Well, I met Madame LaRoux when she tried to kill me.”
“The sex couldn’t be that bloody good,” Cole snorted.
Griff pulled up short at an irrational wave of anger, and opted for snorting in disagreement as opposed to throttling his long-time friend. It was a close run thing. “You’d be wrong. The sex damn well is that bloody good—but that’s not what I was saying. I meant, she literally tried to kill me. Right here in this very room. Slipped in through the open window using the shadows and tried to slit my throat with a Kukri knife.”
“Never!” Cole stared at him as shocked as Griff had been that first night.
“Oh, it’s quite true. I managed to evade her and after no brief struggle managed to get her to listen, then talk to me. Though not before she managed to stab me in the leg.” He patted the spot that was mending quickly thanks to the medical gel he’d devised through a steam-distillation process that combined certain herbs with a gelatin compound. It sped up healing with a remarkable efficacy. For this wound, days instead of weeks—thank God. “I even convinced her to help me figure out who was behind the attempt. She was here reporting on some of her investigatory efforts when my mother and brother popped by. Mark my words, do not establish an open-door policy with your family. There is no good end to such a thing.”
Cole took a swallow of his drink. “No doubt, I long ago barred my mother from dropping by unexpectedly. Too many lovelies traipsing through my townhouse at any given time. But hang on—the woman tried to kill you? And yet now you two are playing the blanket hornpipe?”
“If you must phrase it that way, yes.” Griff closed his eyes and sought patience. Had this been a mistake?
“And why in the world would anyone want you dead?” Cole finally asked the question rolling around in Griff’s head—though if he were honest, there were any number of possible answers. “No offence, but you’re hardly the type to attract assassins.”
He drew in a bracing breath. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Well, I have a few ideas.” Griff cast a glance at his friend to gauge his reaction. “It may have something to do with my little hobby.”
“What hobby? When do you have time for a hobby? Aren’t you always attending those eternally dreadful sessions in the Lords?” Cole rolled his eyes.
“Well yes, but I also like to…” Griff drew a breath and decided to go for it. “Tinker.”
“Tinker with what?” Cole wasn’t following his explanation, or his friend had imbibed one too many drinks? Possibly both. “The ladies? Never had you down as a—”
“Steam,” Griff said softly, almost as though if he whispered it Cole might not hear it and then their friendship might not be in jeopardy.
To Griff’s everlasting dismay, his friend smacked his hand down on the arm of the chair and laughed. “I knew it!”
“Knew what?” Great Trevithick, am I so terrible at hiding my secrets?
“I just knew you were a tinker, you were always fascinated by mechanics when we were boys. To be sure, you tried to hide it, but we practically lived together during summers. And since you’ve taken the title and your seat in the Lords, I’ve noticed a particular voting pattern. Not to mention nobody could find official paperwork as engrossing as you pretend to.”
Still flummoxed by Cole’s initial response, it took Griff a moment to catch up to the comment about voting. Voting? “Hold on, since when do you pay attention to voting patterns in Parliament?”
Cole’s amused but exasperated gaze made Griff want to fidget. “Cog’s sake, man, I own a fleet of steam-powered airships! Of course I’m interested in how Parliament is voting on steam legislation. Not to mention how the Bureau is cracking down on new tech.”
Griff stared at his friend bemused at how little he’d been paying attention. “And what pattern have you remarked?”
His friend took a deep breath, after taking a deep drink of Griff’s scotch. “Well, you are certainly more liberal than your father before you, but you seem to vote against steam on small things—the almost inconsequential issues that matter little to the grander picture of the future of steam tech. But on key issues, you tend to vote for steam. Do you remember that recent vote to allow air-ship companies to maintain and update their steam tech, without requiring expensive and time-consuming writs from the Bureau? That was a big vote for us. Without the freedom to maintain and update our ships as needed, they would eventually start falling out of the sky if equipment failed and replacement parts weren’t available. The tech is already bloody expensive.”
“Am I so transparent?” Griff downed his scotch in a gulp, not sure he could stand to hear the truth from his friend.
“Only to someone who knows you as I do,” Cole shrugged. “I doubt Dell even suspects, he has been more and more distant of late. Very absorbed in politic—likely a good thing since I am fairly certain he is a Voltacrat sympathizer if not an active party member. Which, if you ask me, should be illegal since he is the Under-Secretary of Steam for the Bureau. Do you know, other than the Penningtons’ ball, the man hasn’t been out with me to carouse for women in months?”
“Truly?” Griff was shocked by that news. He’d assumed that Cole and Dell were palling around without him while he’d been so busy with Parliament and tinkering. He was clearly wrong. “You may be right that it’s a good thing. His leanings have been of some concern to me, but as his friend I want to believe he can do his job without allowing his personal feelings about steam to cloud his judgement.” He cringed as he said the words aloud. Did they sound as idiotic to Cole as they did to him?
His friend shrugged as he sat sprawled in his chair. “Don’t let your friendship cloud your judgment. I love Dell like a brother, but he’s changed over the last few years—and not for the better.” Cole tipped his glass up and drank the last dregs of his drink. “But how can I help you?”
“If you hear of anything in your business transactions that might suggest who is looking to kill me, it would be quite helpful,” Griff said as exhaustion crept in causing him to yawn. Hell’s bells, what was the time?
“That I can most certainly aid you with. And if you need anything, anything at all—my airships, my men, whatever. You have only to ask it of me.”
“I don’t suppose you can help with my mother and my now fiancée?” Griff asked wryly.
“Oh, I fear the hour is late. Your secrets are safe with me Griff, and I wish you all the best with your mother and your…woman. But no, I have absolutely no experience when it comes to women and marriage, or even pretending to be engaged.” Cole shuddered and waved his hands about as though he were at a loss for words.
“You’re a real bolt, Cole.” Griff stood up and clapped his friend on the back as they walked into the foyer. His butler was just where he was needed, as always. “Higgins, please have Captain Colechester’s carriage brought around.”
Higgins nodded and disappeared into the bowls of the house.
Griff paused and turned back to Cole. “Tell me, why do you use a horse and carriage? It seems odd for an air-ship magnate not to have the latest and greatest steam-car.”
Cole shrugged. “It seems counter-productive to my cause to flaunt my love of steam tech.”
“Your cause?” Was it the late hour or the drink muddling his head that meant Griff didn’t understand?
“Well, how can I debauch all of London’s elite debutants if I can’t gain entrance to their drawing rooms?” Cole winked. “A flashy display of tech would brand me a radical and all the doors would be shut in my face. Then how would I entertain myself?”
Griff laughed. “Still a Casanova I see. You know, one day very soon you will meet a woman who will make you want to reform, and then where will you be? I’ll tell you where you’ll be. Without a steam-car to squire her about in, that’s where.”
Something painful flashed through his friend’s eyes, but Higgins appeared at that moment to hand Cole his overcoat.
“That’s where you’re wrong my friend. I’ll most likely be dead,” Cole quipped and then departed.
Griff retired for the night with more than a few things to mull over. The woman he was pretending to marry contained depths he’d never imagined, as did his longtime friend. Did he know anyone anymore?
Did he even know himself?