Griff set a pace sure to carry them both over the edge, and Jo surrendered to the pleasure as he pushed her over. With a shout of bliss, her body convulsed and then splintered into a thousand pieces. He continued to thrust into her, pushing her into a second climax before he found his own. He groaned her name, a rough benediction, before collapsing on top of her.
Jo 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 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 since most people eventually disappointed or abandoned her.
A wave of heat rolled through her, stealing her 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. Because 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 urged Griff off her and quickly rolled off the mattress. Naked and unashamed, she strode to her water closet, one of her favorite upgrades to The Market, particularly now that it allowed her a moment of seclusion. She drew a deep breath and calmed the sudden storm 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 reentered 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 should go. It wouldn’t do for me to be seen leaving here in the morning light now that my mother is involved.”
“Agreed.” Jo tipped her head to the side considering his words. “Could your mother possibly figure out who I really am?”
He paused as if the notion had only just occurred to him. “I shouldn’t think so, though if we are seen coming and going from here then it might be a cause for concern.” He 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?”
Jo did, but it was the house she grew up in, bequeathed to her on her parents’ deaths. She hadn’t set foot inside in nearly twenty-five years, though she paid for an older couple to live there and keep things in working order. She reached up to push a lock of hair aside and found her hand trembled as she considered occupying the house again. “I do, but…”
“Wonderful. Is it in—” He stopped and looked at her, curiosity and concern warring in his expressive gaze. “I dare say this might be an issue for you?”
Jo shifted her weight from one foot to another and then back again, unable to find a comfortable stance. Considering they were discussing her imminent return to the home she last occupied when her family was whole and she was still an innocent child, one might understand her discomfiture. “Not an issue per se. It’s simply that I have not entered the house since my parents’ 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, he cocooned her in his arms as he gently demanded, “How long?”
She drew a shuddering breath, willing her sadness to stay buried deep down where she tucked it all those years ago. “Twenty-five years.” And then, as though saying the words had cracked open Josephine’s Box of Unwanted Emotions—Pandora had nothing on her—Jo broke down crying. 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, she found herself being scooped up and carried to the bed, but for decidedly less sexy reasons this time. There, Griff sat down and settled her onto his lap where he held her and petted her as she sobbed uncontrollably. He stroked her hair and her back, letting her mourn all that she had lost in her life. And she realized 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 were affected by the loss. Women whose only source of support had lain within the men Jo had ended, the children of the women who had needed to no longer exist, the lovers who had been ignorant of their partner’s nefarious activities. She mourned all of these for the first, and—she quickly determined—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 together. All the while, the strong man beneath her comforted and coddled her until she was able to draw a few gulping breaths of air and slowly calm herself yet again. As she pulled it 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 her hideous display from Griff, she turned her face away from him and tried to slip from his lap. His arms halted her progress and then 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 then?” he asked gently.
Jo sighed and 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 marm. “Human display. An utterly human reaction to a great loss that 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 parents long dead. What would he think of her if he thought she cried for the victims of her livelihood? What assassin cried at all, let alone for people they killed, or more aptly the families and friends of their marks? Utter bunk. “Well, either way, I appreciate your patience.”
“No one should have to cry alone.” He gently pushed her hair from her face and then 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?”
Jo 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 a few years ago to make it easier as they’ve gotten 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.” She strove for graciousness, though she couldn’t imagine surviving opening her parents’ former home with him by her side. Like a match to straw, the man seemed to have a disturbing knack for drilling past all her guards and dragging out all those unwanted—and terribly inconvenient—emotions she stuffed away.
“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.
Jo pushed aside her own turmoil and latched on to a levity she did not fully feel. “You had most certainly better com
e 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?”
“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 whole episode. Having Griff witness her 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, 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 public 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 airship captain who had a man in every port.
He strolled on, concern for Jo 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. On the street, a familiar carriage rolled past so he called out, “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 in the carriage while Cole ordered the driver to Curzon Street. Griff settled into the squabs and answered the previous query. “Everyone seems to have taken all the hackney’s and I sent my driver home hours ago.”
Cole grunted. “Who was the lucky lady? I was certain you had secretly joined some monastic following.”
“A gentleman does not kiss and tell.” Griff suddenly felt very protective of his time with Jo. She was no common floozy to be bandied about in casual conversation.
Cole’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. Besides, I thought we were two cogs? Not even a name?”
Griff sighed. Damn, things had grown complicated. There was a time he wouldn’t have hesitated to share anything with either Cole or Dell. But despite their frequent association, 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 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 of Steam Technology (BST) or worse, the Steam Control Party (SCP)? Griff stared at his friend and decided to take a leap of faith. All these secrets were 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. She is most commonly known as Madame La Roux.”
Cole sputtered. “Steaming hell! The Madame La Roux? Owner of The Market?”
Griff nodded. “The very one. But things have gotten complicated, which is where your assistance may come in.”
“I can’t imagine how an association with Madame La Roux 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’s mouth slanted down on one side as he jerked a shoulder up in confusion.
Griff half-laughed, half-grunted. “If only I hadn’t introduced her to my mother as my fiancée.”
Cole choked at that announcement.
“Yes, yes. An unusual circumstance landed Jo in my study at the same calamitous moment my mother chose to visit unannounced. Needless to say, she assumed—somewhat aided by my thick-headed brother—that Jo 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 La Roux, since—to my knowledge—you are not a member of her establishment?” Cole’s eyes gleamed in anticipation of the story to come, because 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.”
“Very good, sir.” The driver waited for the men to depart the vehicle before he drove the team around the back to the mews.
Inside, Griff pulled his gumption together while he poured each of them a drink. “Well, I met her when she tried to kill me.”
“The sex couldn’t be that bloody good.” Cole snorted.
Miffed, Griff blurted out, “The sex damn well is that bloody good. But that’s not what I meant. I meant, she literally tried to kill me. Right here in this very room. Slipped in using the shadows and tried to slit my throat with a Khukuri 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 little struggle got her to listen, and 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 difference. For this wound, days instead of weeks. “I even convinced her to help me figure out who was behind the attempt. She was here reporting on some of her efforts when my mother and then 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 the woman tried to kill you? And yet now you are tupping her?”
“If you must phrase it that way, yes.” Griff closed his eyes and sought patience.
“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.
“Well, I have a few ideas.” He 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 attending those eternally dreadful sessions in 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 or he’d had one too many drinks. Possibly both.
“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, was he so terrible at hiding his secrets?
“I just knew you were a tinker, you were always fascinated by mechanics when we were kids. Sure you tried to hide it, but we practically lived together during summers. And since you’ve taken the title and your seat in 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 revelation, it took him a moment to catch up to the comment about voting. “Hold on, since when do you pay attention
to voting patterns of Parliament?”
Cole’s amused but exasperated gaze made Griff want to fidget. “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 BST 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?”
“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. Such as that recent vote to allow airship companies to maintain and update their steam tech without requiring expensive and time-consuming writs from the BST. 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 as 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. I doubt Dell even suspects, which is likely a good thing since I am fairly certain he is a Steam Control sympathizer if not an active party member. Which, if you ask me, should be illegal since he is the Deputy Director of the BST.”
“Yes, 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 judgment.” Griff cringed as he said the words aloud. Did they sound as idiotic to Cole as they did to him?
Cole rose from his chair. “Don’t let your friendship cloud your judgment. I love Dell, 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. “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…” He waved his hands about as though he were at a loss for words.
London Calling Page 8
