“Aye,” one of the men said just as the airship hit an air pocket and dropped a foot or two in altitude.
She groaned. She and airships did not get along, not in the least. Air pockets, like the one they just experienced, were among the many reasons she disliked flying. The biggest reason she hated it? God hadn’t deemed it appropriate to give her wings. She took that as a sure sign man was not made to soar through the sky, especially not in something that resembled a flying metal sloop less its sails.
Apparently, the men who took her did not see fit to confer with her on her preferences for travel. No worries, she’d slip away and eventually they would have to dock at an air-field or worst case, an air-port. So, as her stomach calmed down—at least as much as it would so long as she was flying—and the throb in her head started to ease, she sized up the two men left to watch her.
On the one hand, she found it insulting that once again, men had underestimated her skills. On the other hand, she frequently found it very useful that they did so. This would prove to be in her favor once again, she suspected. With as little warning as she could muster under the circumstances, she lunged from her position on all fours and leapt at the two men. Having caught them both by surprise she managed to get in a good wallop to the one who’d offered up the one word answer—she named him One-word in her head—and turned to face his companion.
“I don’t think so, lassie.” The man’s Scottish burr made it sound like one big soupy mess, but she got the gist of what he meant. Mostly because he pulled a knife from his sock and waved it at her as though it were somehow menacing.
With a wicked grin she lunged forward, ducking low and to the side to avoid his sloppy thrust. Granted, it took skill to fight with a knife, but even lumbering fools could get lucky and kill you. With a few well timed moves, she continued to avoid his wildly thrusting knife while she maneuvered into a good angle to disarm him. By then, he was panting heavily with all the efforts of trying to keep up with her. When he was good and tired, she kicked the wrist of his knife hand and forced the blade free. With a low sweep to the ground that took out his legs, she scooped the weapon up and had it poised at the man’s throat as he tried to right himself. That was about the time his friend had gathered his wits and realized the situation had gotten well and truly out of hand. In a comical gesture, One-word’s shoulders slumped as he took in the situation.
“Since we find ourselves in this situation, I think we can work together to get out of it. I am sure you both, particularly you, Scotty, would like to continue to breathe beyond today. And since I want very much to get off this flying deathtrap, I think we can come to an arrangement. I am going to tie you two up, or if you prefer, knock you out, and I will solemnly swear not to kill you. In exchange, you will tell me how to get to one of the escape hatches so that I might depart your esteemed company. How does that sound, gentlemen?” They both nodded, though Scotty did so far more carefully than One-word.
“Now, about those directions?” She waited until One-word found a few more.
“Miss, ye’ need only head toward the mizzen mast, aft of the ship. Just before the engines you will find the escape hatches and the crew chutes.”
Jo wanted to groan. Chutes? “And so I simply strap on the chute and jump?”
“Aye, lass.” Scotty trembled beneath her blade for a moment.
Pleased with their rather affable natures, she looked around the room they were currently in. There was not any available rope, nor anything similarly suited with which to bind the men. So, as unfortunate as it would be for them later, she knocked Scotty alongside his head just hard enough to put him out. When One-word’s eyes grew huge, she shrugged. “Apologies, but there isn’t any rope around. You do understand my dilemma?”
The man shook his head and took one step back. But Jo was far fleeter of foot than One-word, and quickly had him lying next to his friend. With her guards out of the way, she crept to the door and peeked out. The hallway was empty for the moment, so she dashed out of the relative safety of the room and on toward freedom. It was an easy thing to sort out where she was on the airship. The perpetual pump-hiss of the steam engines could be heard faintly in the distance, suggesting the ship had a steam-thrust engine configuration. Balancing the urge to run with the need for stealth, she made her way down the hall. She was about to round a corner when she heard voices approaching. With a silent curse she retreated back to the last door she’d passed and tried it. The handle turned, and she found a dark little closet to tuck herself in while the coming voices grew closer.
As the men passed her door, she could hear their voices grow louder and then fade away. Once it sounded safe, she cracked her door open and scooted out along the passageway. Twice more she had to find quick hidey-holes, but eventually she made her way to the mizzen mast and found the airlock with the chutes. She hauled on one of the packs, locking the straps over her shoulders, under her thighs, and around her midsection. She was about to hit the depressurization button when the passageway door popped open and a rather stunningly beautiful man appeared. His neatly-trimmed blond hair and sharp, assessing green eyes made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. But, it wasn’t the first time she’d seen him, he was the man from the Bureau of Steam Technology who had given her the note to run. Although, it was doubtful he would recognize her since she no longer resembled a boy.
“Leaving so soon, Madame La Roux? Were your accommodations not acceptable?” he asked, a slight sneer in his voice.
Jo crouched down, setting herself closer to the acquired blade she’d tucked in her boot. “Do spare me the whole villainous confession. This is no Shakespearean tragedy, I plan to live well past this day.”
“As you wish.” He nodded and then lunged toward her. She squatted a bit lower, grabbed the knife and whipped up into his attack. As he jammed her back against the wall, she drove the knife into his shoulder. Determined not to lose the weapon to his flesh and bones, she lifted a knee up into his groin and shoved him back. He tumbled to the floor with a cry of pain as the blade slid back out the way it had gone in. Resolved to get the steaming hell off the ship, she lunged for the open passageway door and slammed it shut. Injured, but persistent, blondie grabbed her boot and tried to pull her away from the door. She had just gotten the handle turned when she was hauled away and stumbled to her knees. He lurched up, one arm useless and bloody, and tried to ram her into the wall again. Her opponent pushed against her shoulders, though not as hard as the first time, pinning her to the bulkhead. He heaved a breath as they both struggled for air. She knew it would get worse once she hit the depressurization button. But it currently taunted her from across the room. Blade still in hand, she lifted her arm around the outside of his, and sliced downward across his upper arm. He grunted, but didn’t let go, so she went for a more lethal approach. Barely able to breathe, she needed to end the fight soon or she wouldn’t survive it. He had more mass than she did, right now her only advantage was her conditioning.
With a little grunt, she jabbed the blade between two of his ribs. If she were lucky it would hit a vital organ, or at the very least deflate a lung. Either scenario worked for her. He growled, but drew up short as he tried to maneuver away from the sharp object currently in his side. She jerked backwards, but the damn thing seemed stuck in his flesh. So, with the intent to escape pushing her, she let go of the hilt and pushed all thirteen stones of the man aside—she’d be damned if he weighed any less. With a much less graceful move thanks to her aching lungs and exhausted muscles, she bashed the depressurization button on the wall and popped the escape hatch of the airlock, letting the wind whip through the compartment. As the air swirled with a vicious force around her, a hand reached out and snatched her back from the open hatch where brilliant daylight poured in. How was the blighter still conscious?
Then, seemingly out of thin air, Griff appeared.
Griff felt a number of emotions ripple through him as he stepped off the steam-powered dingy and inside of the air lock.
His first concern was that a man currently had both hands wrapped around Jo’s throat choking the life out of her even as she punched him next to the blade jammed in his side. The second concern, and likely the more shocking of the two, was that the man was one of his best friends, Dell. With a growl born of a rage he did not know he could possess, Griff charged Dell and landed a ferocious punch to the side of his head. It didn’t knock him out—that was the stuff of fairytales—but it did cause him to release Jo. She stumbled back against the bulkhead, hands clutched at her throat, as she gasped for air. Dell tripped to his left, but turned to face Griff. He got a good look at the mess his friend seemed to be, and wondered how long the two had been fighting. But then Dell snarled at him. “You. Always you stepping in and ruining things. Why could you not follow your father’s lead?”
Nonplussed for a moment, Griff wasn’t sure how to reply. Then he decided to save the chit chat for later. He whipped out the billy club Cole had happily armed him with and swung at his friend’s melon. He caught him hard enough that Dell sank like a deflated hot air balloon. The need to see Jo to safety had him turning to find her still leaning against the wall. The wind whipped through, making it hard to talk without shouting and he figured her throat wouldn’t appreciate a chat at the moment. So, he opted to simply scoop her up and proceed from whence he’d come. At the opening of the escape hatch of the Black Gryphon, he found the steam-dingy he’d used to sneak over still waiting for him with one of Cole’s crew manning the small airship.
The open-air craft had one overhead propeller and a smaller rear one that worked together to keep the boat aloft and moving forward as required. Once he had Jo on board, he jumped in and the three of them headed for the relative safety of Cole’s airship…or the Sweet Annie, as he had been informed.
As they reached their ship, the Black Gryphon commenced firing on them with her mounted guns. But, once on board the Sweet Annie, they peeled away from on the ship firing at them and accelerated at a speed that had them all grabbing something to hang on to while they adjusted. The Black Gryphon never had a chance to turn and give chase. Then, without much fuss, Griff had Jo installed in his rooms. After depositing her, he went and rustled up hot water so he could provide her a honey and bourbon tea while she recovered. But mostly, he sought a moment alone so he could command his racing heart to calm. Having damn near lost her, he was having a hard time not lashing her to the bed in an effort to protect her. He returned to his room to find the injured woman trying to rise from the bed where he’d laid her.
“Griff, this is ridiculous. Let me up so I may shower.” She tried to rise for the fifth time since they’d returned. But her voice sounded like she had gravel clogging it instead of the melodious tone she normally spoke with.
“Josephine. You will stay in that bed until such time as I deem you sufficiently recovered.” Or perhaps until he deemed his nerves sufficiently recovered. Perhaps he was being a bit overbearing, but honestly, who could blame him?
“Bloody men. I was doing quite well escaping until you distracted me.” Jo set her tea down and crossed her arms, huffing like a girl.
“Yes, my dear. I could see how well you were managing things…what with his hands wrapped around your throat.” Griff wanted to toss the woman over his knee and paddle her backside, but for the moment he restrained himself.
“I had escaped the room I was held in, navigated my way to the escape hatch and was doing a bang up job of non-fatally debilitating that fiend.”
Griff sighed wearily and sat down on the edge of the bed. “That fiend was one of my best friends.”
“Oh, my.” Her stricken expression mirrored his own inner turmoil. “I can’t say for sure, but I believe he was the one who Sir Hathaway gave the money to.”
“It would make sense. He is the Deputy Director of the Bureau of Steam Technology, but he is certainly an anti-steam supporter. Though I imagine if he is this involved in things, he’s likely more than a mere supporter.” It was hard to imagine, but Dell had been drifting away from both him and Cole since they matriculated.
“How do you know who Sir Hathaway is?” Jo looked adorably disgruntled at this revelation.
“Well, after our row, I went to find you the next morning. When you were not at either The Market or your home, I was rather upset. But, Holt reached out to me once he knew you had been taken and passed me enough information to come after you.” He shrugged as if this little adventure were the norm.
She stared at him and then he could see the wheels spinning as she turned over all that she knew and had seen. “And how is it you happen to have an airship at your disposal? I can’t imagine Holt allowed you to take one of the Crown’s ships on such an endeavor.” Her voice grew raspier with every exchange.
He considered not telling her, but keeping secrets had proven rather detrimental to both their relationship and their health. “My other close friend, Cole, is also an airship captain. Although I think, based on some of what I have seen onboard the Sweet Annie, he too has some of his own secrets.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Well, I dare say we have enough of our own issues at hand that we should likely ignore whatever it is you suspect about your friend.” She paused, chewing her lower lip. “Unless you think he is involved with Dell’s plot?”
Griff’s gut revolted at the notion. “Oh no, I merely suspect my friend is more pirate and less importer/exporter.”
“Ah, well then. Let’s leave off that topic until later. For now, we must figure out our next move.” Jo reached for her tea and took another sip.
Her voice was near to giving out, or so he suspected. “You need to rest, at least for a bit. We have hours until we are safely back in London.
12
Griff looked out his bedroom window at the night drenched sky over London. It was a few hours to morning, yet. But Jo was already awake and clad in his robe as she plaited her hair. He figured she would soon attempt to slip away from him and track down Dell. Griff knew there was little point, his friend would come to him when he was ready. Besides, Cole was helping out and running down who owned the Black Gryphon. The question was, how did he distract her in the mean time?
He knew what he wanted to do. Or more precisely what he’d wanted to do since he’d gotten her away from Dell. But with how things had been left between them—her calling it off—he hesitated. But then he considered all of his greatest successes both in Parliament and his workshop. They’d all come when he’d been fearless and determined. Perhaps the same would be true of love? Would she accept his heart if he gave it to her?
Resolved to find out, he turned and stalked across his bed chamber. If she were his wife, it would be her room as well. Would she even be aware of that detail? She looked up from the vanity where she sat. Gut clenched with nerves, he stopped at her side and held out a hand. “Come. I wish a word with you.”
Jo huffed a little, but rose. “Please, Griff. No more lectures on chasing villains alone. I wouldn’t do anything different than I did. I wanted to apologize to you and that was the best way I knew how.”
He nodded. “I understand. No more lectures.” They stopped in front of the very window he’d been brooding in front of moments before. “But, I do have more to say to you.”
The poised, confident woman he knew looked as nervous as he felt.
“In the short time we’ve been acquainted, I have come to cherish the moments I spend with you.”
She smiled indulgently. “Most men enjoy slipping between the sheets.”
He frowned. “Do not deflect. I am speaking in all earnestness, and I am referring to all moments with you. From our little chats, to uncovering secrets, to fighting off villains, to the quiet moments when I hold you in my arms in the dark of night. And yes, those moments where you let me touch you and love you until you come apart in my arms.” He stopped again and drew a deep breath. “Josephine Stanton—” She gasped as he revealed that he knew her last name. “—I love you with every beat of my heart.”
She stood there for a moment, stunned he’d wager. All the while his own heart raced as he waited for her response, for some glimmer of hope that she might feel the same. But she stood there, not speaking. Not moving. So, he stepped into her body and swept her into his arms. He snared her lips with his own and then plunged his tongue past her defenses. She tasted of black tea and honey, a bitter sweetness that seemed appropriate for the moment. She met his demanding kiss, her arms wrapping around him as her fingers dug in as though he were all she had left to cling to. Time slipped by, neither willing to let the other go as they expressed all that was between them with their lips and tongues and not words. Words were too hard just then as he grappled with the uncomfortable feeling of having been stripped emotionally bare.
Then, Jo drew back, slowly parting from him with nibbled kiss after nibbled kiss. Foreheads pressed together, she whispered the words he dared to hope for, “I love you, too.” He couldn’t repress the bubble of relieved laughter as her words set in. She loved him.
Jo was still amazed by Griff’s declaration. Shocked, she had frozen, unsure what to say. But then as he kissed her and wrapped her in his arms, his love flowed over her and she knew what she needed to say. Knew that she needed to tell him what she’d realized was true the moment she walked out on him. She was madly, deeply in love with him. It was why she had been so hurt by his secret. And that he had somehow—though she was sure Holt had something to do with it—discovered her last name, reinforced how much he cared for her. She mattered to him in a way she hadn’t mattered to anyone in a very long time and though she had visions of a cottage by the sea, she knew it would be an empty husk without Griff. It would never be a home if her heart was not there.
London Calling Page 11
