by Kady Cross
Finley stepped out into the evening air just as Griffin’s vehicle pulled away. She, of course, didn’t have a private carriage waiting on her. It was difficult not to be a little envious of Griffin when she climbed into an interior that smelled of smoke and sweat.
New York, like most modern cities, was humid—the air filled with steam from factories, vehicles and automatons. In the winter, it would make the cold seep into one’s bones. In the warmer months, it would make a body so moist you’d think people had bathed with their clothes on. Thankfully, this night was cool, so she didn’t have to worry about her kit sticking to her skin.
She gave the driver Dalton’s direction and sat back as the carriage rolled into motion. Hers was driven by a real horse, which added to the bouquet of the cab. She stared out the window at the passing city.
New York might be a newer city, perhaps a little more modern, but life was the same here as in London—the wealthy mingled with the poor as little as possible, but often had little choice in the matter. The have-nots would always outnumber the haves, as she had seen the other day in Five Points. It rivaled any London slum.
The lights of a dirigible drifting overhead briefly illuminated 5th Avenue, its engine a low hum over the hustle and bustle of the city. She had heard that the air machines avoided flying over the poorer areas, because they didn’t provide a pleasing view for their passengers. Only the very wealthy could afford air travel. The rest of the world still had to rely on rail and boats to get where they wanted to go.
The dirigible continued north toward the landing port in Central Park, and Finley’s carriage continued south and a little west, inching farther and farther away from the grandeur of the hotel and the party Griffin would enjoy. Not too far, though. She wasn’t headed for the slums tonight.
Dalton was wise to keep his household just on the fringe of Five Points. He didn’t impinge on anyone’s “business” that way and avoided anyone trying to take a piece of his. The gangs didn’t take well to strangers, and if Dalton was from San Francisco the same as Jasper, then he hadn’t been in the city long enough to fully establish himself. He obviously fancied himself above the gangs and their ilk, judging from the way he dressed and spoke. Perhaps that was something she could use to her advantage.
His was a moderately sized, slightly shabby redbrick town house with a freshly swept walk and a weathered brass knocker on the door. It looked like the sort of place where a middle-class merchant might have once lived with his wife and children—not a den of thieves. There were even flowers in the tiny gardens tucked on either side of the steps.
“Are you certain this is where you want to go, miss?” the driver asked as she stepped out. “It’s not the sort of neighborhood a pretty little thing like you should brave alone.”
Finley smiled in appreciation as she dug a few coins out of the pouch concealed beneath the bottom of her corset. If he only knew the damage she could work, he wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss her as a “little thing.” Though, he was still welcome to think her pretty.
“It’s all right,” she told him. “I’m meeting friends here.”
He looked dubious, but he didn’t press the issue as she dropped payment and a generous tip into his palm. “You have a good night, then, miss.”
She bade him good-night and approached the front steps, hoping the cabbie wouldn’t sit there and wait until she went inside to leave—as though he were her father or guardian.
To her relief, the coach pulled away when the front door of the house opened. It was the behemoth who glared down at her. “You’re late.”
She glared back. “So?”
He didn’t seem to know just what to make of that. Clearly he was not a man accustomed to being talked back to. “Mr. Dalton’s waiting for you. Follow me.”
When Finley crossed the threshold, it was as though she’d stepped into another world. At that moment, she realized there was no turning back. Jasper would prove to be either a friend or enemy, and she would either survive this or she wouldn’t. She didn’t doubt for a minute that Dalton would try to kill her if he found out she’d lied to him—it was what any criminal would do. She could only hope she would have backup with her when the time came.
The house was comfortable and clean—much like the home her mother and stepfather owned. She’d grown up surrounded by lemon scent and furniture polish, the slight, sharp tang of vinegar. The smells brought a pang of homesickness to her chest as she followed the silent giant across the foyer through another doorway. He knocked and opened the door to reveal a small green parlor.
Jasper sat on the sofa. He looked up as soon as she walked in. There was absolutely no recognition on his face, but she thought she caught a glimmer of something in his green eyes. The girl was there, too, watching her like a mouse eyes a hawk—or perhaps the other way around. Finley’s own eyes narrowed.
Why were pretty girls always so eager to get all territorial when another girl entered the room? It wasn’t as though Finley was competition or wanted that ugly-arse necklace she was wearing.
Dalton was at the bar, fixing himself a drink. He turned and grinned at her, bright eyes crinkling at the corners. Did he stand at his mirror and practice that smile? Did he know just by how it felt on his face how charming it was? He was almost too perfect to look at—like an angel sent to earth.
Only Dalton was no angel.
“Miss Bennet,” he greeted in a low drawl. “Good evening. Care for a drink?”
Finley shook her head. She needed all her wits about her. “No thanks. My apologies for being late.”
A quick glance at the clock above the mantel, and Dalton frowned. “You’re not late at all.”
She couldn’t help but throw a triumphant smirk at the giant, who glowered in response.
Her host appeared not to notice the exchange. He gestured with his glass toward the sofa. “You remember my associates, Jasper Renn and Mei Xing?”
Mei Xing? As in a-mazing? Poor girl getting stuck with such an unfortunate name. Or perhaps she thought it was cute. Finley nodded at each of them. “How d’you do?”
Chuckling, Dalton walked around to the love seat and gestured for her to join him. “I love how you English speak.”
“Really? I’ve always been intrigued by what I believe is referred to as the ‘Southern drawl.’” She seated herself beside him, forcing herself to act relaxed and affable. This was how it was supposed to go—he had to like her for this to work.
“Most English are.” Jasper spoke. “’Least in my experience.”
Finley arched a brow. “Really? Have you been to England?” She wanted to ask what he was doing there. If he was a prisoner, then why was he allowed to walk around freely? It didn’t look well for proving his innocence.
“I spent some time there” was his response.
Her gaze skipped to Mei. “What about you, Miss Xing? Have you ever been to London?”
“No,” the girl replied in a deceptively soft voice—like a cloud wrapped around steel. “But I doubt you have ever been to San Francisco, let alone Peking.”
Forcing a smile, Finley crossed her legs. “No, I haven’t.” She was accustomed to other girls not liking her, so she didn’t take it personally this time. Girls didn’t need a reason to despise each other.
“As fascinating as this conversation is,” Dalton said with a dramatic roll of his eyes, “I’m starving. Let’s eat.” When he stood, he offered Finley his arm, just like a gentleman would.
She placed her hand on his elbow and allowed him to escort her from the room. She made her grip just a tad tighter than it should be and felt the solid muscle beneath his sleeve. He wasn’t some noodle-limbed ponce. He was strong and she would do well to remember it. When he turned those dark-rimmed blue eyes at her and flashed a lopsided smile, she felt like a deer being sized up by a lion. Griffin’s words about Dalton being nothing like Jack echoed in her head. He was a real villain.
The dining room was small, with a table set for four and accented with fresh flowers. T
he walls were painted a soft coral, and a sideboard of rich ebony held heated silver dishes. Their contents smelled delicious. Finley’s stomach growled softly.
Dalton held out a chair for her—at his right. He seated himself at the head of the table. He asked her several questions over dinner, which she assumed were to divine her character, though she was surprised by the seemingly genuine interest behind them. She tried to be as honest as possible, because lies were often difficult to remember, but avoided telling him anything too personal or anything that might link her to Griffin—or Jasper.
“I could use a girl like you, Finley,” he told her as he cut into a thick beefsteak.
Finley forced her lips into a coy smile. “I know. What did you have in mind?”
There was no mistaking the predatory interest in his eyes. “I’d like for us to work together as friends. But first, I need to know you’re right for the job. What would you say to a test?”
She chewed and swallowed the bite of potato in her mouth, appearing nonchalant, even though the palms of her hands grew moist. “What sort of test?”
“There’s a document I need in a house uptown. I’d like for you to go there with me and help me steal it.”
“Are there people in the house?” Her heart began to hammer in her chest. Anxiety or anticipation, she wasn’t certain.
“They’re having a party,” he replied with a grin. “Everyone will be nice and distracted.”
She’d never stolen anything before. Hitting people who deserved it was one thing, but stealing ... It wasn’t as though she could refuse, though, could she? Not if she wanted to gain his trust. She glanced down at her clothes. “I’m not exactly dressed for a party.”
“I can fix that. All you have to do is be your lovely, ruthless self if we run into trouble. Are you game or not?”
It was all she could do not to look at Jasper for a sign of how she should respond. Instead, she grinned back, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger. “Always.”
The house was huge and ornate, situated near the corner of 58th and 5th, not far from Central Park, in the wealthier section of the city. Lights blazed in the windows, carriages of different colors and sizes were parked out front, and music drifted down to the street, along with the sound of conversation and laughter.
All in all, it seemed everyone was having a bang-up time. Finley turned from the carriage window to Dalton. “How are we getting in?”
He leaned across her to glance outside. “I reckon we’ll saunter right on in through the front door.”
She raised a brow. “There’s an automaton guarding it.” She had taken on metal before, but wouldn’t it call attention to them if she ripped the thing apart on the front steps?
“You leave the tin can to me and keep those sharp eyes of yours peeled for any sign of trouble.”
A footman from the house opened the carriage door for them. Dalton stepped out and then offered Finley his hand. She had to give him credit for behaving exactly as he ought.
He looked the part of a gentleman, as well, dressed in a stark black suit with white shirt and cravat. He’d found a rich plum silk gown for her that fit remarkably well and had only needed to be let out a bit in the bust. Surprisingly, Dalton had taken care of the alteration himself on the spot.
“My father was a tailor,” he explained to her as he had pulled apart a seam. “His clients were San Francisco’s elite.” That explained his impeccable clothing.
Arm in arm, they climbed the steps to where the automaton stood along with another footman.
“There’s a man watching us from across the street,” Finley whispered near her companion’s ear. “I saw him earlier outside your house.” She’d noticed the man because he was dressed like a cowboy, and the only other cowboy she knew was Jasper.
Dalton didn’t bother to glance over his shoulder. He only smiled in that caustic manner of his. “That’s just Whip Kirby, a lawman who followed me from California. Don’t pay him any mind. He has no power here.”
Finley nodded, but she would keep a look out for the man later. He might prove useful one day.
Dalton approached the small polished automaton standing at the door. From the inside pocket of his evening jacket, he withdrew a punch card trimmed with paper lace and inserted it into the slot on the machine’s front. Then he turned the key to the right of the slot.
A whirling sound came from inside the creature. Cogs and gears came alive as the card was processed. The automaton chugged and clicked for a few seconds, then a bell dinged and a small bulb on top of its “head” lit up.
“Thank you, sir,” the footman said, opening the door for them to enter. “Enjoy your evening.”
The sharklike smile that was already becoming familiar to Finley slid across Dalton’s face. “We intend to.”
“How did you do that?” she whispered, once the door had closed behind them.
“I snagged the invitation during a poker game last week. Fella was so drunk he probably thought he lost it.”
Finley couldn’t help the appreciative smile that took hold of her lips. “I don’t suppose you were responsible for his drunkenness?”
“Not at all,” he replied so innocently that it was an obvious lie. “The papers I want should be in a study upstairs. Let’s find them before people start to realize no one knows us, shall we?”
She had to hike the skirts of her gown to keep from tripping as they climbed the winding staircase, but she kept up with his quick stride. At the top of the stairs, she tugged on his arm, forcing him to stop.
“They’ll notice you don’t belong a lot sooner if you don’t slow down. You look like a man on a mission rather than a party guest.”
Dalton immediately slowed his pace. “You’re right.” Then he snagged two glasses of champagne from a footman on his way to the ballroom and gave her one.
Because of her experience with wealthy houses, Finley had a fairly good idea where a gentleman’s study might be located. There were few enough people outside the ballroom that no one really noticed that they were peeking in rooms, but enough so that they didn’t stand out as the only couple.
The second door they opened proved to be the one they were looking for. Dalton shot her a triumphant glance. “Get in.”
“You say the sweetest things,” she cooed and slipped into the room. He followed and closed the door behind them with a soft click.
There wasn’t much light in the room—a lamp on the desk and a sconce on the wall—but it was enough. The room was large, definitely masculine with its oak wainscoting and dark green paper. The desk was huge, and a massive leather chair sat behind it.
“What are we looking for?” Finley asked, voice low.
“Floor plans,” he replied, riffling through a stack of papers. “They will be large sheets, either folded or rolled.”
She opened the top drawer of the cherrywood desk. “If they’re important, wouldn’t they be in a safe?”
“They’re only important to me.” He didn’t look up from his search but moved on to the other set of drawers. “To anyone else, they’re just pictures of a building.”
She wanted to ask what he wanted them for but didn’t want to give him reason to be suspicious of her. Instead, she kept pawing through the drawers.
“I like you, Finley,” Dalton commented, glancing up. “You don’t ask a lot of questions.”
So curbing her curiosity had been a good thing. She shrugged. “Part of my charm.” Something at the bottom of the drawer caught her eye, and she pulled it out. It was several large, folded sheets of paper with diagrams on each sheet. “Is this it?”
Dalton took them from her and unfolded them. She watched as pleasure softened his face. “They are indeed. Well done.”
She was a fool for praise and preened accordingly. Her enjoyment was short-lived, however, when they heard the doorknob turn, and the door started to creep open. They were caught.
The way Finley saw it, they had two choices—stay and pretend to be lo
vers sneaking off for a bit of privacy as Dalton had joked or make a run for it. Since they had what they came for, their best bet was to try to get out of there with as little fuss as possible.
“Go.” She jerked her head toward the opening door. “I’ll take care of it.”
Dalton stared at her for a split second before whirling toward the door. He pulled it the rest of the way open and brushed past the intruder. “You shouldn’t just walk in, son,” he said in a haughty tone. “You never know what you might see.” Then he disappeared from her sight.
Finley followed after him, but then the intruder turned his head, and his gaze locked with hers. She groaned. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “What the hell are you doing here?”
She forced a smile. “Hullo, Griffin.”
He should have stayed in the ballroom—then he never would have known that Finley had snuck into the party with Reno Dalton. Instead, Griffin had fled the crowd to avoid interacting with Miss Lydia Astor-Prynn, a very determined young woman bent on landing herself a duke. The fact that he was only eighteen and had no intention of marrying for many more years seemed to have no effect on her. She’d been a second shadow for most of the evening, and people were starting to whisper.
Other mamas had been throwing their daughters at him, as well. It was like he was a starving dog, and everyone was trying to force-feed him a steak. If he’d stayed there, he would have continued to feel like a piece of meat, but at least he wouldn’t be staring at a guilty-looking Finley.
She tucked a strand of black-streaked honey hair, which had fallen loose, behind her ear. “I reckon I’m the last person you expected to see here.”
“You’ve got that right,” he replied as he approached her, still frowning. “What are you doing here?”
When she moved around to the front of the desk, he saw that she was wearing an evening gown that fit her almost perfectly and made her skin look as smooth as cream. She looked lovely. Then again, he was beginning to think the girl could wear a sackcloth and he’d still fancy her.
“Committing robbery. It’s a test to prove myself to Dalton,” she told him. “I didn’t know this was the party you were invited to.”
