London Calling

by Sorcha Mowbray

  Griff’s cock ached with desire as he pressed against Jo’s curves. She was soft, as a woman should be, but beneath all of that lay honed muscles and a heart he wasn’t sure he was worthy enough to love. But love her he did. And so he kissed her, tasted her, reveled in the feel of her melded to him.

  Then she pulled free of his mouth and panted heavily. “Need you inside me.”

  “Your thigh.” He hesitated.

  “Now, Griff. I can stand on my good leg.” She lifted the injured leg and partially wrapped it round his own.

  “Yes,” he growled his agreement and reached between them to release the placket of his trousers. Pushing down his small clothes, he pulled his aching length free. The heat of her stomach scalded him as their flesh met, but it was the best kind of burn.

  Hauling her into his arms allowed him to shift and press her up against the bulkhead just to the right of the beam. And then he pushed into her, sank deep into her heat.

  “Griff.” Her moan only drove his desire higher, made him want to love her harder, more.

  The drive to leave an indelible reminder of his love with her had him pulling back and slamming into her only to stop and grind himself against her pussy. Then he did it again, basking in the feel of her body clenching around his cock.

  Always a vocal lover, this occasion was no different for Jo. “Faster, Griff. Please.”

  It was the please on the end of her demand that had him taking action. He withdrew and then shoved back inside her, ramping up his pace as they both shot straight to the precipice of climax and teetered there. And then he grabbed her hair, pulling her head back against the wall and exposing her neck. “You are mine.” He thrust inside her. “Forever.” Again he thrust. “For always.” One last stroke and they both exploded in a muscle quaking, bone jarring orgasm.

  As the remnants of bliss pulsed through them, Griff let his head drop forward to press his forehead against hers. “I love you, Josephine Stanton. Just in case you forgot in the last thirty seconds.”

  “I don’t know how I could forget when you made your point in the most delicious fashion.” And then she gently squeezed around his softening cock, eliciting a groan from him.

  “Cease, woman, or you will leave me no stamina for the coming fight.” He eased back a bit, letting her legs slide down to the floor to take her weight once more.

  A knock at the door heralded it’s opening, “Hate to interrupt, but we’ve arrived.” Cole’s voice carried behind the partition where Griff stood with his buttocks exposed as he tried to cover Jo’s body.

  She laughed. “Silly man. He can’t see behind the screen.” And then she called over to Cole, “We’ll be right with you.”

  “Are you sure you don’t need any help back there?” Once more the mischievous nature of Griff’s best friend popped up.

  “Get out, you meddling goat!” Griff grumbled a few more choice epithets as he tucked himself back into his trousers and helped Jo get dressed. A few moments later, she was braiding her hair as they walked down the passageway to disembark.

  Cole led the way. “We stopped about half a league out. You have your choice of exits, you may rappel down with the crew or take the dingy.”

  There was no disguising the challenge in Cole’s offer, and Griff knew what Jo’s preference would be without asking. “I’m fairly certain the lady would be offended if I suggested she take the dingy despite her recent injuries.”

  She grinned at him. “See, you are already getting better at this. Show me to my rope, Captain.” And then she pulled a pair of leather gloves out of what seemed to be thin air.

  At a bit of a loss, Griff stared at her, but then Cole handed him a pair as well. “I suspected you’d both feel that way.”

  In no time they were on the ground and moving swiftly over the rolling hills of the Lake District. As they neared the edge of Sir Hammersby’s country home, a sprawling Tudor affair nestled in a small wood, they fanned out.

  Jo and Griff were going in to find Holt, while Cole stayed in reserve with his troop of men. Their job was to hang back in case things got ugly or if Jo and Griff hadn’t returned within a half hour. Griff had a fairly good idea where Holt would be kept, so they anticipated a quick in-and-out effort barring Dell appearing unexpectedly.

  With a nod, Jo and Griff peeled off from the group and crept closer to the house. They edged around to the back of the building and found the rear terrace. Most of the glass doors were thrown open along the stone area allowing the unseasonably warm breezes to waft through the manor house. Griff led her through the closest entrance and then down a side staircase that was so plain as to likely be a servants’ stair. The bustling kitchen was just across from the top of the stairs so they hesitated a moment before quietly slipping into the darkness of the basement below. At the bottom of the steps, they found a hallway with multiple doors. They opened the first one and found storage for the kitchens. Casks of oils, flour, and other dry goods. The next door, across the hall, revealed a number of cleaning supplies, including a few brooms.

  Moving on, they continued checking doors until they got to the last set. One was locked and the other an empty cell.

  Griff nodded. “This is the one.” He pressed an ear against the wood and heard movement. “Holt, if that’s you, stand back,” he called out loud enough to be heard, but hopefully not too loud. Then he kicked at the door by the lock. The heavy oak door didn’t budge.

  Jo rolled her eyes at him and pulled a knife off of her array. “Here.” She nudged him out of the way and within moments had the door opened.

  Inside, Holt sat on the floor, his shirt untucked and filthy, shoeless, and sporting a rather ugly black eye. Jo crouched down, “Thank God you’re alive.”

  One corner of his mouth tipped up. “Can’t kill the bait, now can you?”

  She looked him over critically, “Well, it certainly didn’t stop them from roughing it up a bit, now did it?”

  Holt laughed, a huff really, because it dissolved into a painful groan. “I think they broke a rib or all of them.”

  Griff glanced back out in the hallway and with no sign of anyone coming, turned back to the scene in the cell. Jo was helping Holt stand up, so he slid into the man’s other side and gave her a hand. “He may not be expecting us this soon, but I hate to bank on it. We’d best go.”

  A bit of a crazed chuckle sounded in front of him, and Griff looked up to find Dell standing in the doorway of the cell. “I wouldn’t if I were you.” He stepped in the already tiny room, making it feel even smaller. “This worked out far better than planned. Now I have all three of you meddling nodcocks out of the way.”

  Griff considered how long they’d been down there looking around. He figured in another ten minutes, give or take, Cole and his men would be storming the proverbial castle. Or at least he hoped that was the case. “I’ve told you, I am not so important that the Free Steam Party won’t continue without me. I’m a symbol, whether I’m alive or dead.”

  Dell rolled his eyes. “I agree, you aren’t so important, but you are a damned nuisance to my goals. I have to make electricity take off. All my money is tied up in electric research and testing. If it doesn’t win out over steam, I will be ruined. Everything I’ve built and all my money as well as my uncle’s will be lost. So you see, I don’t really have a choice here. I have to get rid of you.” Then he turned to Jo and sneered. “And you, well, I was planning to console the weeping lover right into my bed. But that obviously won’t be the case now.” He turned to present his right cheek, which had been shrouded in shadows. His face had been slashed and was now marred by a row of badly placed black stitching. Griff had to assume that was Jo’s handiwork. “You’ll die right along with your lover as payback for ruining my face. It is your fault no woman will have me now.”

  Griff shifted Holt so that he was taking more of his own weight during Dell’s little tirade. And he was about to launch himself at the lunatic, but he was too perceptive by half. Dell pulled a standard pistol from hi
s coat pocket, pointed it, and laid a finger on the trigger. “I’d hold still if I were you. It’s much harder to make your death quick and painless if you are moving. No telling where the bullet might land.”

  Upstairs, a scuffle broke out and suddenly a series of thumps followed by a groan sounded outside of the cell. Then the clatter of boots on stone erupted, drawing Dell’s attention. Before Griff could act, Jo launched herself at Dell, knocking the pistol from his grip as she rode him down.

  15

  Jo had never experienced such a blood thirsty desire to kill in all the years she’d worked as an assassin. Killing had always been a job, never a pleasure. This one would please her to no end. As they hit the ground, she pulled a blade and without a moment’s hesitation, drove it into Dell’s throat. As she ripped the knife back, he gurgled and sputtered a cry of pain. She stood up and watched him scrabble at his neck in an attempt to stop the blood flow. “It won’t take but a minute for him to bleed out. Let’s go.”

  Griff seemed to hesitate, but then helped Holt step over the man Griff had once called friend. In the hall they ran in to Cole and one of his men. “Glad to see you all are still with us. Had me worried when you didn’t appear on time.”

  “Yes, we were a bit worried there for a minute as well.” Jo glanced at Griff to see how he was taking Dell’s death. For a moment as she’d stood there, she worried that perhaps she acted too rashly, but the man had threatened Griff and Holt, the two people she held most dear. There was no possibility she could have allowed that threat to persist.

  “Dell won’t be a threat any longer,” Griff said. “The man had gone off the deep end.” He shook his head, clearly mourning the loss of a friend, or at least the memory of the friend he’d once had.

  “Bloody hell, how did we miss it?” Cole looked as confused as Griff still did.

  “We can worry about that later, right now we need to go.” Griff took a step toward the stairs, guiding her and Holt with him.

  Clearly the goal was to leave, and she couldn’t say she wasn’t on board with that notion. “He’s right, time to clear out.” Unfortunately, the path wasn’t so clear. As they topped the steps, they found the lower rear hall of the house immersed in battle. All around them men were fighting. Cole and his man fought a path through for Jo, Griff, and Holt. And if she wasn’t mistaken, the man had a huge grin on his face the entire time. It was interesting to see someone enjoy violence in much the same way she did. Not that she needed it as a constant in her life, but there was a certain satisfaction in a job well done, even a violent one. Cole seemed to share that sentiment, perhaps even embraced it a bit more zealously than she did. But then, she had seen far more death and blood in her days than most men saw in a lifetime.

  As they hit the terrace, the rest of Cole’s men withdrew from the fight and flanked them as they retreated to the ship. Fortunately, Cole had left a skeleton crew aboard and they had moved the Sweet Annie right on top of the manor house once the fighting broke out. It made for a much quicker getaway. This time, the dingy came out and the four of them rode it back up to the ship while the rest of the men shimmied up the ropes they’d used earlier.

  For the moment all was well, Griff and Holt were both safe, and Jo had the chance to try for some of that peace of mind. Perhaps retirement was the way to go, but then again Griff had yet to speak of their future beyond a few vague generalizations. Certainly he’d declared her his forever, but the truth was his mother—as with most mothers—was still a sticking point. If he were to ask her to marry him, could his mother accept a former Madame and assassin as a daughter-in-law?

  The trip back to London went as quickly as the trip out had. Fred checked in on Holt, helping to bind up his ribs and treat the various cuts and bruises that came with his abduction. But most of his injuries required time to heal. At the air-port, the four rode down to the ground together. On terra firma once more, Jo smiled at Cole. “Thank you for everything. You are always welcome at The Market for as long as I run the business.”

  Ever the perceptive one, Cole asked, “Thinking about retirement?”

  “One never knows where their future lies.” Her evasion did not go unnoticed by Griff.

  “Woman, I’ve already told you where your future lies. With me.” His growly tone told her more about his earnestness than the words themselves.

  “I did not suggest otherwise. I suggested I was unsure if I would retain ownership of The Market, nothing more.”

  Holt and Cole both chuckled at their bickering, but it was Cole who offered advice. “You two had best head home and sort out the details before Griff gets too grumpy. In fact, I’ll see Holt safely to his destination while you two get a head start. I’m certain we would both prefer the quiet of the drive without you two.”

  And then their two best friends walked—one hobbled more than walked really—away together. Left alone, Jo turned to Griff. “Well, it seems they have left us with no choice and no ride.”

  “Not entirely true. We at least have a ride, and I choose to discuss the future with you. It appears I have yet to make my intentions crystal clear to you, so I’d best do so now.”

  And so to Jo’s surprise, Griff knelt on one knee and took her hand. “Josephine Stanton, I have no ring to give you in this moment. But I do have my undying love and the deepest parts of my soul to offer. While you may not need me in the way most women might need a man in their lives, I hope that perhaps you might want me. Will you be my wife?”

  Jo stood there, astounded that he might actually ask her this question in the middle of an air-port terminal hours after she killed one of his childhood friends. But only one answer welled up from within her as she stared down into his silvery gaze. “Yes. Yes, I need you and want you. Yes, I will be your wife if you truly wish it.”

  “I do.” He stood up and swept her into a twirling hug that fanned her legs out. “I’ve said it many times, and I will say it as many more as you need to hear it. I love you!”

  Jo laughed as he set her down, until the notion of his mother returned. “Griff, what will your mother say about our deception and who I really am?”

  He cocked his head to the side. “Are you truly concerned she might reject you? Once we tell her the truth, I believe she will welcome your strength and character into the family bloodline with open arms. And most importantly, you make me happy which should make her happy.”

  Jo wasn’t as sure, but Griff seemed confident his mother would accept her. “If you’re certain.” She looked into his eyes and smiled, “I trust you.” And for the first time in her life, she knew deep down she trusted him with everything, even her heart.

  *

  The End

  Epilogue

  Jo stood in the main salon of The Market and looked at her special girls. Her trainees.

  “Ladies, each of you have undergone rigorous training to hone your skills. As I am preparing to settle down and marry, I am separating the running of The Market and the services we provide to Queen and Country.”

  Katerina, Elena, and Mary Margaret stared back at her in surprise.

  “Each of you has been tasked to depart this establishment and set up your own residence. Katerina, you will establish yourself as a widow so that you may move about more freely. Elena and Mary Margaret, you will each be provided a chaperone befitting your supposed station. Mary Margaret, you specifically will be presented at court and work through the ranks of society as a debutant. We shall meet at least weekly to discuss our other work, but it will be under the guise of a social visit. A Ladies League if you will.” Jo smiled at her girls.

  “Madame, what precisely is our assignment?” Elena asked as she glanced at the other girls.

  “I am afraid that is still to be revealed. For now, you will establish yourselves and await further guidance. Now, you have much to do this week to prepare for your new adventures as well as my wedding. Lord Melton and I will use that occasion to introduce you to some of his friends. Mary Margaret, you shall be a distant cousin
, so I shall help launch you at court. Katerina and Elena, you two shall be longtime friends from my travels who have come to stay in London for a while for a nice long visit.”

  Katerina cleared her throat. “And what of our past customers who might recognize us?”

  Jo nodded. “If you have that situation arise, you are to deny being the same person. If the individual persists, then you are to alert me and I shall deal with them immediately. Since you all remained circumspect and dealt with specific clients, we are not anticipating a significant issue.”

  Katerina nodded.

  Mary Margaret asked, “And what of The Market? Who will run the brothel?”

  “Beatrix, please join us.” Jo waved to one of the girls from the house. “Beatrix shall establish herself as Madame DuMornay, the new proprietress of The Market.”

  “Hello, ladies.” Trix, as they called her, grinned at the girls.

  “Congratulations!” the girls chimed in unison.

  Ladies, Jo corrected herself. She must start thinking of them as her Ladies League.

  About the Author

  Sorcha Mowbray is a mild mannered office worker by day…okay, so she is actually a mouthy, opinionated, take charge kind of gal who bosses everyone around; but she definitely works in an office. At night she writes romance so hot she sets the sheets on fire! Just ask her slightly singed husband.

  She is a longtime lover of historical romance, having grown up reading Johanna Lindsey and Judith McNaught. Then she discovered Thea Devine and Susan Johnson. Holy cow! Heroes and heroines could do THAT? From there, things devolved into trying her hand at writing a little smexy. Needless to say, she liked it and she hopes you do too!

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