The Electrifying Exploits of the English Three. Elysabeth Williams
THE ELECTRIFYING EXPLOITS OF THE ENGLISH THREE
English Three, Book One
By ELYSABETH WILLIAMS
LYRICAL PRESS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/
To Chris, my hero.
Acknowledgements
I’d like to thank Mayor for forcing me into November’s antics and beyond. I never knew how much fun could be had at a coffee shop instead of at an Indian Burial Ground with glowing green light and big ass alien spiders. Thanks to Purgatory for showing me the Power of The Junk. And special thanks to my editor, Adri, for late night wharrrgarble and Dos Equis while picking this monster apart.
Chapter 1
Eliza turned the tiny knob slowly. The tick tick tick of its internal mechanism was just loud enough for her heart to keep time. Three to the left. Seven right. Tick tick tick. Fourteen left. Eliza twisted the smooth brass handle and with a resounding thunk, the black-painted steel case opened. Inside laid her test of the day–quite possibly the test of her life. She retrieved the missive with a gloved hand. The colonel’s red wax seal meant big business. Why he decided to put it in someone else’s safe was beyond her understanding, but the man had a mean sense of humor.
She had attended the musicale at Baron Willoughby’s residence only because she had earlier received word there would be directions here somewhere.
Eliza’s only clue, three numbers, left her confused.
After hours of fruitless exploration through the baron’s more public rooms, she had excused herself from the festivities for a brief moment. As she’d passed by his study, she’d seen the shiny black safe peeking from behind his desk. Without thinking, she had dove head-first behind the furniture to try the numbers. She didn’t care how she appeared, with her skirts almost up over her head, straining to see.
She plopped down in front of the safe, broke the seal, withdrew a yellowed parchment, and unfolded it.
Mrs. von Wilstrom,
I do hope this note finds you well. It has been a difficult time in India, and I have not been able to respond to your inquiries punctually. Please accept my most humble apologies.
The point of my letter is thus: It has come to my attention that a Countess Millicent Wilmont has been a bit peculiar recently. She has apparently not been sound of mind, and in her not so delicate condition has let us believe she plans to destroy the newly erected Tower Bridge.
Her motives are still unknown. Therefore we must investigate the matter discreetly and swiftly.
If you are up to the task, please send the usual response post-haste.
Yours,
Lt. Col. Griffin Cuthbert
British Royal Army, India Division
Standing, Eliza folded and tucked the missive into her cleavage, adjusted her upturned skirts and pulled her shawl over her shoulders. She secured the safe just as she heard the door close behind her.
“Mrs. von Wilstrom, did you get lost? We’d grown concerned about you in the parlor.” Baron Silas Willoughby’s eyes narrowed on her. She righted herself and tried to smile as sweetly as possible. She hoped she was convincing.
“No, on the contrary. The parlor was stifling, and I thought to remove myself before I fell over.” Eliza flashed a winning smile at the baron and bustled past him on her way back to the parlor.
Silas closed the door behind her and followed closely. “Did you find anything of interest?”
“I don’t know what you mean, Baron.” He was close enough now to step on her dress.
“Why else would you choose to gather air in my personal study rather than walking outside to the garden?”
“Because the air in London is putrid. I would have fainted dead away. Your study door was open, and I noticed a book title that interested me. Please accept my apologies if I’ve inconvenienced or offended you.”
“No, of course not.”
She stopped in the hallway and turned to him. “You don’t believe me?”
“Oh, but I do. I wouldn’t ever think of you causing trouble in another man’s home.” He smiled crookedly.
Eliza feigned shock, touching her throat with her hand. “Silas Willoughby, I should be insulted.”
His laugh was too loud. She looked around to make sure no one was coming and put her hand on her hip.
“How do you manage to infuriate me with a simple laugh?”
“It is a gift, my lady.”
“A gift worth returning,” she said under her breath.
“You are a cheeky tart.”
“You are wise to believe it, Baron.” Eliza lowered her lashes and grinned.
“Would it be impudent to inquire where you are going this evening?”
“Why, yes, it would.”
“Are you going to tell me anyway?” he asked, clasping his hands behind his back. Eliza couldn’t help but notice his broad shoulders as they drew taut. He towered over her slight frame in what she thought to be an attempt at peacocking. Perhaps it was enough to intimidate most, but not her. Her jaw relaxed, and a sigh escaped her lips before she realized it. He cocked an eyebrow in question. She coughed, trying to hide it, and scowled.
“I should think not, considering the circumstances.” She turned back toward the door. “However, if you must...” She leaned in closer to him and whispered, “You may find me at my residence.”
“Your residence?” He feigned surprised. “How bold.”
She dismissed him with the flick of her hand and smiled from beneath her lashes. “Cheeky tart, right?”
“Precisely.” He nodded, grinning. His smile faded slightly and he cocked his head to the side to ask, “What, pray tell, are you doing here anyway?”
“How very curious you are, sir.” She tsk’d. “What a lady, much less a married lady, does in her idle time should not concern you, should it? Truth told, I was invited by my friend Jillian Johnsworth, who was invited by...you.”
“Ah. Makes perfect sense,” he conceded. “Yet I cannot help but question you after finding you in my study–on your knees, even–rather than in the parlor,” Silas said, shaking his head. The smile had returned, yet he feigned disdain.
Eliza laughed despite herself. Too bad she cared more about her work than her social status. People would be falling over themselves if they knew she would spend time alone with Silas Willoughby. Yet she didn’t care. She held on to hope that her husband, Patrick von Wilstrom, would eventually leave her alone for good.
In her current situation, she couldn’t answer the baron’s question. She could never explain the colonel’s letter. Secrecy was of the utmost importance. Though she wondered how long Silas had been standing there watching her. It was troubling and quite possibly incriminating.
“Unfortunately this is where we must part ways, Baron.” She