Griff was certain she was hiding more information behind her darkly sultry beauty. “If you won’t tell me who you are, this won’t work. I have to trust you when you say you won’t try and kill me.”
“I don’t see how knowing my name will make me less likely to kill you. Besides, I could simply lie.” She snorted from her lazy sprawl in the chair by his desk.
He stopped and faced her, determination filtering through every fiber of his being. He would call her bluff if required. “Your name, or I call the authorities and this ends here.”
Her gaze locked with his, dark undercurrents of annoyance and respect swirled through her chocolate eyes. “Why are men always so difficult? This is why I normally refuse to work with your gender.” She huffed and rose to her full height. “The Clockwork Widow, at your service.” She swept a gallant, if mocking, bow.
He smiled and shook his head. “Your name, or I shall ring the Yard.”
She glared at him. “Jo. You may call me Jo. But that is the last of it. I shall not be compelled to make myself more vulnerable than I have.”
“Charmed, I’m sure.” He bowed to her, ignoring the pleasure of now having her name. “I believe you are aware of my name and title. So, now we must sort through how to untangle this Gordian Knot.” He moved behind his desk and sat in the leather chair.
“I dare say we should start by examining the dossier I was sent more closely.” She yawned and glanced toward the open window where the first rays of pink and purple painted the sky. “However, I should think it could wait for a more civilized hour. I, for one, could use some sleep.”
“That may be something of an issue. As you can imagine, you cannot be seen here.” He waited, worried about letting the elusive woman out of his sight.
She flipped her gloved fingers in his direction. “Not an issue. I will have a membership coin and agreement for The Market sent over tomorrow afternoon. I assume you are familiar with the establishment?”
“Only by reputation.” Griff wondered at her connection to the business.
A speculative gleam danced in her gaze as she turned to eye him from head to toe. “In fact, you and I shall enter into our own contract. A six month affair, breakable by either party for any reason. It will explain our sudden companionship quite nicely and—” she strolled over to him and placed her hand on his chest, “—free me to focus on solving this mystery of ours.”
He stopped everything as her palm lay upon his chest. No breath. No words. No coherent thought. All he could do was nod and marvel at the power of the woman. He’d not felt her skin brush his, and yet desire simmered beneath every other emotion seething within after an evening that concluded in an attempt on his life.
“Excellent. The house does not open to guests until ten in the evening. Be prompt, as we have quite a lot of work to do.”
On the heels of her brusque orders, she slipped out of his study and into the shadows. A deadly, dark-haired vixen who would no doubt torment his dreams.
4
Jo rose earlier than normal. The majority of her life was spent living in the dark, so mornings were as foreign to her as failure. And any way she assessed things, she had failed to execute her task. Of course, in this unique situation her failure was a boon. Or she hoped it was.
Miriam helped her don her bronze walking dress, brown calf boots, and a fetching little beribboned miniature bowler hat. She added her plain glass-filled spectacles that lent her a more studious air and departed for the Parliamentary Archives. She needed to get a better sense of the man than the limited dossier she held offered. His voting record for Parliament should offer some insight into his thinking, and possibly a clue or two as to who might wish him dead.
The Victoria Tower was an impressive edifice by any measure. With twelve floors of records storage, it housed both the Parliamentary Archives and the newer Public Records Office. She entered the tower and was greeted by the current Clerk of the Records, Mr. Josiah Tugbottom.
The slightly balding man, with a paunch that suggested good living in an era when that was not always a given, greeted her with a jovial smile. “Madame La Roux, so good to see you again.”
“Always a pleasure, Mr. Tugbottom. Are you enjoying our unusual sunshine?”
The man chortled. “Indeed. Though I mostly see it from between the shelves in the tower.”
Jo smiled fondly at the older man. “A scholarly man such as yourself wouldn’t have it any other way, I’m sure.”
“Ho! Ho! You are right, Madame. Now, how may I be of service to you this fine day?” Mr. Tugbottom opened the door to the public records room.
“I am interested in the Parliamentary voting records for the last ten years. Particularly for the House of Lords.” She pulled off her gloves as she preceded him inside.
Tugbottom pulled out a chair for her at one of two large tables in the space. “Would you like to start with the most recent records?”
“Yes, that should do nicely.” She pulled a notebook and portable fountain pen from her reticule and carefully placed them on the table before taking the offered seat.
Mr. Tugbottom nodded and then retreated through the massive door that separated the public rooms from the actual archives. Before long he returned with a stack of large tomes in his arms. “These are the most recent records from the last five years.”
He set the stack on the table and then disappeared once more.
Jo rose and opened the book on top and found it was the previous year’s records. She pulled the tome down to the table and began methodically going through the pages looking for the voting records on each bill brought before Lords. As she scribbled in her notebook and compiled the information, she began to see a clearer picture of Lord Melton.
The man supported women’s rights, having voted for the Married Woman’s Property Act, a radical idea in 1860s New Victoria. He also trended toward voting in support of steam technology, though even there he would be considered a moderate. Though he clearly supported the key bills to advance their efforts. If one looked closely, and she was, the pattern was quite clear. He voted against the bills that were inconsequential to steam technology’s success, but any legislation that was key he had voted for.
Interesting. She continued to scribble her notes.
The man also seemed to support bills that sought to make the common man’s lot in life better. A rather uncommon perspective from a peer, in her experience. Typically they were focused on the betterment of their own lots in life.
After spending most of the morning gathering her research, she returned to The Market with a better sense of the man. He was a strong supporter of the military, yet he also believed in giving everyone a chance at a better life. He saw steam as a way to do that, but trod carefully in murky political waters. Clearly, he worked hard to keep alliances on both sides of the aisle.
As she settled in to review The Market’s accounts, new contracts between members, and any other outstanding business, she mulled over the man’s situation. Someone wanted him dead, but the question remained, why?
Griff stared down at the contract and coin sitting on his desk. He’d reviewed the specifics, all of which seemed reasonable, and yet he had doubts. All he knew about the woman was that her name was Jo, she was an assassin for the government, and she had been sent to kill him. While she seemed disposed to help him sort out who might have sent her, he still wondered why. Why was she willing to help him? Could he trust her? Could he trust anyone?
Looking at the broad strokes of her name on the page he found himself inclined to believe her when she said she would help. But he also worried that he might be allowing his physical attraction to cloud his judgment.
Because he did find her appealing.
He looked at the coin for The Market once more and considered the raised design on the metal disc. An elegant woman wearing a jaunty top hat shown in profile on one side with the word “member” around the outer edge. On the other side were the words “The Market” and the address, 140 Ge
orge Street. A well-to-do address, especially for a brothel.
The contract stipulated the boundaries of their relationship. He snorted. Neither individual would engage in sexual relations with other partners unless previously agreed upon. All sexual activities were open for discussion prior to each engagement.
Flashes of his hands on naked skin, his lips wrapped around a puckered nipple, the slippery feel of his fingers sliding in and out of Jo’s warm heat all danced through his mind. He groaned as his inexplicable desire for a clearly dangerous woman flared to life and caused his cock to ache.
Something about her drew him, intrigued him. Perhaps it was the dichotomy of the feminine and lethal sides of the woman? Or maybe just the mystery she represented? Like all mechanisms, he had a desire to pick her apart and see what made her tick.
Pushing aside his hazardous thoughts of Jo, he focused on signing the contract. Focused on the real issue at hand, who was trying to kill him?
5
Unsure of what to expect, she willed her stomach to cease it’s useless flopping about and steadied her hands with a few slow, controlled breaths. Glancing at the clockwork on her wall, she watched the third hand progress silently forward, ticking off each second. Then her gaze slid down to the signed contract between herself and Lord Melton…though perhaps she should call him by a different name since they were to appear to be lovers.
She thought about his long string of names…too many for one man if anyone had bothered to ask her. Somewhere in the few notes about his life, his family, and his possible associates, she had noted that his closest friends called him Griff. She let the name roll around in her head and decided she liked it. The name had a roughness to it that reminded her of the man.
She stole another look at the signed document. For the next six months, barring one of them dissolving the agreement, she would belong to him. For the sake of fooling anyone who looked closely, she’d used one of her standard house contracts. The man could do anything with her body he wished while they were together. The question that had her nerves on edge was, would he? Would he take advantage of the agreement and touch her? And if he did, would she welcome it? The shiver of anticipation that slid down her spine scared her more than the possibility he might wish to caress her, because it had been a very long time since she wished for a man—any man—to lay hands upon her. To share pleasure with her.
The vulnerability of desire made her skin itch and her stomach twist.
What if he didn’t want her? What if he looked at her and saw only a whore or worse, a cold-hearted killer? Her heart squeezed tight and she quickly shut the dangerous line of thinking down. It didn’t matter what he saw. It didn’t matter if he touched her. She was doing this to get to the bottom of who had ordered the hit on a seemingly innocent man. To learn who had compromised her system so it would never happen again.
Desire. Pleasure. Wanting. Those emotions had no place in the equation. Besides, anyone who had ever been important to her in her private life had either abandoned or disappointed her. Starting with her parents and ending with her uncle. After that, she determined life was simpler when she kept it professional. She needed to remember, this was business, it was not personal.
With that firm reminder to herself, she dabbed a bit of colour on her lips and descended to the sitting rooms of The Market. She stepped into an already partially filled front salon, pleased to see her girls entertaining their guests. Katerina sat pressed against a masked man who could only be the Duke of Hurstings. Near the fireplace, Mary Margaret entertained the Marquess of Worthington, a young, newly seated peer. And across the room, Elena entertained a trio of young bucks who clearly started their night of revelry off a bit early. Jo laughed quietly as one of the young men grew too forward and earned himself a rap on the hand with Elena’s fan. Little did he know just what kind of damage the beauty could do with that seemingly innocent item. With a reinforced steel frame and paper thin steel webbing underneath the decorative paper, she could slice a man’s throat or slide a spoke through the ribs before he knew what hit him.
Phillipe, her house manager, stepped up beside her. “Madame La Roux, you do look enchanting this evening.”
“La Phillipe…” she cooed in her best fake French accent, “such trifling compliments do not become you.” She cut a playful glare at her longtime friend and employee. “Knock it off,” she said sotto voce.
He chuckled, “As you wish, Madame. Business seems promising tonight. In fact, you even have a gentleman at the bar requesting your attendance.”
“Do I?” She ignored the flutter in her breast.
“Indeed. He presented his membership coin and indicated you two had come to an agreement.” Phillipe raised a brow in question.
“Yes. A rather diverting fellow I came across recently.” She raised her own fan, a much less lethal cousin to the one Elena held, and wafted it in front of her face in hopes it would cool the sudden warmth in her cheeks.
“Well then, I assume you’ve already made whatever arrangements you may need for the evening. I shall be about if I am required.”
“Excellent. I should see to my guest.” Jo glided away from Phillipe and went in search of Griff. She spied him in the corner of the card room, observing a fierce game of Vingt-et-un. With a sweep of her hi-low skirts, she glided over to him. As soon as she entered, his gaze brushed over her, working from her face, down to her daring neckline, and then lower to the upper hemline of her skirts. The feminine layer of ruffles brushed the tops of her thighs, exposing her garters and stockings in the most erotic fashion. Then the ruffles plunged down the sides of her long legs, creating a rather dramatic frame, before brushing the floor behind her.
His gaze snapped back up to her face and she caught a flash of desire before he snuffed it out and replaced it with a questioning smile of welcome. “Madame La Roux?”
Jo smiled brightly. Was he angry? “Indeed. I apologize for the necessary deception. It was important I have a bit of time to confirm some of what you claimed before I revealed myself to you.”
“I wish I could say I understood, but it is already done. I assume with the contract and coin, you found whatever it was you needed to allay your concerns?”
Jo shook her head. “Not everything I needed, but enough to know you need help.”
“I suppose I should be grateful.” He offered a half-smile.
“Gratefulness is less desirable than you might think.” She shrugged a shoulder.
“I see, perhaps appreciation is more appealing. You look lovely this evening.”
To her great amusement, he dared another glance down her body, as though his eyeballs had ceased to answer to his directions. “Why thank you, my lord. You certainly cut a dashing figure.” She placed a hand lightly on his broad shoulder and studiously ignored the sturdy composition of his frame and the firm musculature that seemed to be strapped…everywhere. She had remembered what it felt like to have all that hard muscle pressed against her when they’d fought, but she kept telling herself it was her imagination and perhaps her pride that had endowed him with such a fine physique. That all turned to dust as soon as she laid a hand on his person.
She snatched her hand back, as though he were on fire, and pointedly ignored his startled look at her abrupt movement. Together they stood there, the silence growing awkward, even as the game grew more heated. And then a man at the table who had just lost a rather large sum of money pulled a knife out and brandished it at the winner. Jo took only a moment to move forward, and though she felt Griff’s hand on her arm as though to restrain her, she ignored it and pressed into the fray. “Gentlemen,” she looked down at the knife and back up to the face of the man holding the weapon and then his companions. “Is there an issue?”
The knife-wielder held the blade up and pointed at the winner. “He cheated.”
Jo calmly reached up and placed her fingertips on the hand holding the blade and pressed down firmly, guiding the knife to the man’s side. “I watched the last few hands
of your game, and I am certain no such thing happened. Now, I understand losing such a sum can be rather upsetting. Perhaps I can help soften the blow a bit.” Jo looked up and waved Phillipe over. “Phillipe shall take you over to one of my lovelies, and will arrange a bit of solace for you, on the house.”
Phillipe moved up and led the flustered gentleman away as the others slumped back into their chairs.
“I am sorry for the disturbance. Mr. Quigly, do see that the house receives its cut before you leave for the evening.” Jo quirked a single brow up and then turned to sashay—it was an art form she had studied for hours to perfect—back to Griff.
“Woman, do you have no sense of self-preservation? That man could have stabbed you,” Griff growled at her as she slipped back by his side.
Jo slanted him a scowl. “I was in no such danger. Besides, this is my place of business. I am certainly not going to allow someone to stab a guest unless I or one of my girls is being paid to do so.”
“Do you not have security to deal with such issues?” Griff’s brows had drawn down into a fierce scowl as he grilled her about topics that were not within his purview.
She turned and leaned in to him, snuggling as though they were lovers, and said, “I am an assassin. I have others among my staff who have similar skills. I retain a minimal amount of security, typically located on the upper floors, to protect my less lethal girls. It would not be conducive to the convivial atmosphere I cultivate at The Market to have a large number of oversized thugs looming over the guests. Please understand, I tell you this so we may move on, not because I owe you an explanation. Now, if you will turn your rather inquisitive nature to the real issue at hand, let’s see if we can decipher who exactly is trying to kill you. Though I am beginning to suspect, based on your rather overbearing nature, there may be a longer list than you might have originally considered.”
Then she placed a delicate kiss to his jawline and peeled away from him. She sauntered across the card room, stopping in the door to signal for him to follow, and continued through the salons and up the stairs.
London Calling Page 4
