by Kady Cross
“Griffin!” cried a voice from the terrace. It was Lady Marsden. Emily and Sam were with her. Her ladyship had wiped most of the blood from her face, although there was still a bit of red around her nose and chin.
Sam—barefoot and clad only in a loose shirt and trousers—came forward as they approached the terrace. Griffin lifted his arm from Finley’s shoulders, so she dropped hers, as well. He climbed the stone steps by himself, holding up his hand when the large, dark-haired boy tried to help him. “I’m all right, Sam.”
Was it her imagination or had Sam flinched? Griffin’s rejection struck him on a personal level. A guilty conscience for not being there when his friend needed him? Good. Finley didn’t know all the details of the strife between them, but she could commiserate with Sam to an extent. She also wanted to kick the behemoth’s backside for feeling so sorry for himself, because she knew how that felt, as well.
Lady Marsden rushed forward to hug her nephew. Over his shoulder, her gaze met Finley’s. Finley wanted to look away, but she didn’t. The contrition she saw there surprised her. Once her ladyship released Griffin, she walked over to Finley and offered her hand.
“I want to apologize to you, Miss Jayne, for being so reckless with both of our health. I’ve been a harridan to you since my arrival and you do not deserve it.”
Finley hesitated a second before accepting the handshake. “What changed your mind?”
“Yours,” the lady replied. “You may be fractured, but you are not evil. I know now that you are not a threat to my family.”
Finley’s heart sped up. “You mean, I didn’t… Lord Felix…?” She couldn’t come right out and ask if she was a murderer.
Still holding her hand, Lady Marsden patted it with her left. “No. You did not. I saw that much.”
Her relief was so great that Finley’s shoulders sagged. “Oh, thank you.” It didn’t matter how ruthless the lady had been in getting the information out of her mind, she had gotten the truth and now Finley could stop worrying, stop being afraid that she might have taken a life.
Lady Marsden released her with a strained smile and then turned her attention to her nephew. She put her arms around Griffin and drew him in to the house. As Finley approached the doors, she saw just how completely the terrace doors had been decimated. Had Griffin’s power broken them, or had he dove through them? She hadn’t seen any cuts on him, so she could only assume it had been the former.
Emily linked her arm through Finley’s and smiled. “Come with me, lassie. I’ll get you something for those burns.”
The burns would heal quickly, but Finley said nothing. She felt as though she actually belonged in this house with these people. It was the first time since being a child that she felt that way. Accepted. Wanted.
How long would it last?
Later that day, after a bath, food and some sleep, Griffin came downstairs with the intention of using the Aether engine to search for clues into Lord Felix’s demise. It wasn’t enough that Cordelia had seen Finley’s innocence in her mind. Scotland Yard tended to need more “physical” evidence. If Griffin could find a lead, then he could at least give Constable Jones a direction to look in other than Finley.
Of course, it was convenient that Scotland Yard also wouldn’t believe that a girl weighing eight stone plus change—not much more than a baby horse—had the strength to strangle a young man the size of Lord Felix.
Unfortunately, his men were still repairing the French doors in his study, so using the engine was out of the question for the time being. He didn’t want any prying eyes. Servants knew the strange machine was there, but no one had ever seen him use it and that was the way he wanted to keep it.
It was close to teatime, so he went to the blue parlor instead. He was surprised to find Finley there alone.
She looked up as he entered. Odd, but she looked almost nervous to see him, as though what had happened that afternoon pushed them apart rather than brought them closer together.
“Emily said she’d be here, she just has to get changed. She’s been in her laboratory,” Finley explained unnecessarily. “Sam is going to come, as well, after he’s done training. Your aunt was resting last I heard.”
Griffin smiled in what he hoped was a soothing manner. “And here we are, being idle.”
Her wide lips curved slightly at that. “Yes, lazy bones that we are.”
He hadn’t bothered to wear a jacket, so he had no tails to flip out as he seated himself on the blue brocade sofa beside her. Oddly enough, he wished he’d taken more time in getting dressed, but Finley was hardly the type of girl to be impressed with the knot in his cravat, though she seemed to like looking at his throat. Still, he felt somewhat common in nothing but trousers, shirt and braces.
Finley herself was wearing one of the Oriental-style dresses he’d bought for her. Her honey-colored hair was up in a messy bun held in place with what appeared to be a pencil. He made a mental note to make sure she had hairpins and all those other gewgaws young ladies needed.
“Where did the black come from?” He nodded at the streak in her hair. Oddly enough it looked longer than it had earlier that day.
She raised a self-conscious hand to her hair. “I don’t know. It was there when I woke up this morning. I suppose it might have been there before, but I didn’t notice it. It’s not artificial.”
“Curious.” He smiled. “It suits you. Makes you look very mysterious.”
He thought she blushed a little at his teasing.
“I’ve neglected you,” he said. “And I’m sorry for it. Tomorrow morning we’re going to meet in the library and get started on helping you learn to control this better.”
She started. “Control it? You mean…I’m going to be like this forever?”
It wasn’t appropriate, but he reached over and took her hand in his regardless. They’d been through too much for him to stand on ceremony now. “Your father’s alchemy essentially made you two halves of one whole, fracturing your personality. I believe that’s why you’re having so much trouble with your other nature now. You’re imbalanced. The two halves must be brought together into one personality.”
She didn’t look pleased. “What if that shadow-me takes over?”
“It won’t, but even if it did, it wouldn’t be long before this side of you started to come through. Wouldn’t you rather have control over both sides rather than constantly worrying about it?”
Finley thought for a moment, chewing absently on her thumbnail. She lowered her hand and tucked her thumb into her fist. “Yes. I would.”
Griffin grinned, pleased to hear the determination in her voice. “That’s my girl.” He hadn’t meant it to sound so proprietary, but it did. He looked away so she wouldn’t see his embarrassment, so he wouldn’t see hers.
A few moments later, he turned back to her. “I want to apologize for what Aunt Cordelia did to you.”
“Don’t. She already asked for my forgiveness and I gave it to her.”
“That was very good of you.”
She snorted. “Good had nothing to do with it. If she hadn’t done it, I’d still be wondering if I’d killed Lord Felix.” Her bluntness took him back a bit, even though it amused him.
“I suppose something good came out of all of this, then. How are your burns?” He hated the idea of her putting herself in harm’s way to help him. Since the death of his parents, few people had come to his aid so selflessly and they all lived under this roof.
She raised a hand—but not the one still beneath his on the sofa—to the back of her neck. “Almost gone. Emily gave me some ointment for them, and it seems that my father’s work also gave me the ability to heal rapidly.”
“Not to mention the ability to lift twelve stone with little effort,” he reminded her with a teasing grin.
“Twelve?” Her eyebrows shot up. “A bit more than that soaking wet—and fully clothed.” A flush crept up her cheeks to her hairline and Griffin bit the inside of his cheek to keep from chuckling at her ex
pense. He didn’t have to have Cordelia’s abilities to know that her own remark had then turned her thoughts to him without clothes.
“I did ask you to put me down, if you remember correctly,” he reminded her, steering the conversation in a less embarrassing—for her—direction. He turned serious. “I’m going to find out all I can about Lord Felix’s murder.”
Finley’s finely arched brows lowered into a frown. “Why? We know I didn’t do it.”
“Scotland Yard doesn’t know that. If I can give them evidence to lead them elsewhere, I’ll feel much better knowing you’re permanently off their suspect list.”
Her gaze locked with his. “Thank you. For everything.”
No one had ever looked at him as though he were the answer to all their prayers. It was humbling. It was startling. It was…attractive. He leaned closer, dangerously close to giving in to the temptation that had provoked him since the first time he saw her.
He was going to kiss Finley Jayne. Wouldn’t that complicate things?
Fortunately, Finley didn’t notice his sudden nearness, or if she did, she misinterpreted it. She leaned her head against the back of the sofa and turned her gaze toward him.
“Is it awful of me to be relieved that he’s dead?”
The question was like a bucket of cold water in the face. The shock wore off immediately, leaving Griff feeling slightly guilty. The poor girl. She must have put herself through hell thinking she’d killed that waste of breath Lord Felix and now she felt guilty for not mourning him.
“No,” he told her honestly. “It’s not wrong. I wager you’re not alone in your feeling.”
Her lips twisted wryly. “No, I reckon not. He hurt a lot of people.” Her gaze met his again. “I know it’s awful to be glad that someone is dead, but I think of what might have happened if he was allowed to go on…”
“How many other people he might have gone on to hurt,” Griffin offered softly. Gads, how he wished he had August-Raynes at hand so that he could knock the bounder’s teeth loose.
Finley nodded. “I don’t blame him for what he did to me. Well, I did for a bit, but he wasn’t himself. He didn’t know what he was doing.”
A burst of harsh, humorless laughter escaped Griffin. “You are too forgiving.”
“Am I?” She sounded dubious at best. “When it was that vile drink responsible?”
“I admire you for looking for good in the man, but the fact remains that he was a good-for-nothing wastrel who indulged in drink and took delight in hurting people he believed weaker than himself.”
Her gaze was wide and…angry as it locked with his. “Surely you don’t mean to imply that he was that much of a villain?”
He didn’t understand her vehemence. “I certainly do. I’ve heard accounts the length of my arm that testify to just how much of a scoundrel he was. You are the last person I would expect to defend him.”
“How can I condemn a man I didn’t even know?” She looked as though she might cry. “A man my mother thought of with such high regard and love? Dear God, I might be glad he is gone and his suffering over, but I could never despise him!”
Griffin blinked. “Wait a moment. About whom are we talking?”
Finley froze. Slowly, her mouth opened. “My father?”
He didn’t know whether to laugh or swear. “I referred to Lord Felix. Damn my eyes, Finley, I would never speak so lowly of your father. My own thought him the very best of men, and I am certain he was right.”
Pink filled her cheeks. “And I must be awful for being partially glad he is gone.”
“Never. You said so yourself, his suffering is at an end. Lord, you must have thought I was thoroughly heartless, believing I spoke of your father.”
She chuckled. “A little, yes. I am glad to be wrong. To be honest, I am not sorry to be done of Lord Felix, but I am even happier to know that his end did not come at my hands.”
Something happened then—a subtle shift in her expression that made him jump to the logical conclusion. “You think Dandy did it.”
“No,” she insisted. “He wouldn’t.”
One eyebrow rose as Griffin fought to keep his expression neutral, but inside he despised Dandy for inspiring such hope in a short period of time. Would she be so quick to defend him were he and Dandy reversed?
“Probably not,” he reluctantly agreed. Then he couldn’t help adding, “Dandy wouldn’t get his hands bloody. He’d get someone else to do it.”
“Not if it was personal he wouldn’t.”
Griffin didn’t like the idea that she had such insight into Dandy’s nature, or that she almost sounded as though she respected the man for it.
“Jack Dandy is a criminal, Finley. No matter how much you might wish it otherwise, he is not a good person.”
“Some would say I’m not, either—not completely,” she retorted with a stubborn lift of her chin. “You’ve seen what I’m capable of. That doesn’t make me a murderer, and it doesn’t make Dandy one, either.”
She had him there. He sighed. “No, it doesn’t. But he is one of the most infamous crime lords in this city for a reason. Because he wants to be one.”
And now they were even because she couldn’t argue with that, either. She pulled her hand from his. “Why are we arguing about Jack Dandy?”
Griffin reluctantly drew his own hand back, as well. “Because part of you likes him.”
Finley smiled that wry smile again. “Part of me also tried to strangle your aunt. I think taking control of this part of myself can’t happen soon enough.”
He was glad to hear it, but it put a lump in his chest, as well. When the two halves of Finley came together, she would no longer be this girl in front of him, nor would she be as dangerous as her other self. She’d be a little of both, and she might not like him so much then. He might not like her quite so well as he did now.
Still, it was a risk he had to take.
The door to the parlor opened and Sam, Emily and Jasper came into the room, followed by two of the maids carrying trays of tea, sandwiches and sweets. Griffin was immediately swept up into other conversation, as was Finley, giving him very little time to regret that he hadn’t kissed her when he had the chance.
Later that day, driven by forces she didn’t understand, Finley sent a note ’round to a certain house in Whitechapel. It contained one line: Tell me you didn’t do it.
She waited for a reply. Even though she was off the hook, she knew the truth about her own involvement. And if Dandy had killed Lord Felix because of what she had told him, then she was responsible for the bounder’s death, to an extent.
Nothing that night, but the next morning as she sat alone at breakfast, the butler delivered a letter to her on a silver platter. Her name and direction were scrawled upon the envelope in sharp, black ink. The seal on the back was black, as well, the impression in the wax that of a simple gothic D.
Her fingers shook as she broke the seal and withdrew the heavy, quality paper. Her one-line request had been acknowledged with a one-line answer:
Of course I didn’t, Treasure.
She tossed the note on the fire and went off to meet Griffin in the library. She had her answer. That was the end of it.
But part of her wasn’t satisfied. It wasn’t enough that Jack Dandy had told her he hadn’t killed Lord Felix, because that part of her knew Dandy was smart enough not to tell her—or anyone else—even if he had.
Chapter 10
The following morning, another delivery arrived for Finley. It was brought to her in the morning as she and the others—even Sam—enjoyed a somewhat amiable breakfast. It seemed that by assisting Griffin she had earned a spot in the good graces of not only Lady Marsden, but the big “mandroid,” as well.
“What is it?” Emily inquired, eyes wide as saucers as Finley took possession of the large pink box, tied with an elegant black-and-pink-striped ribbon.
“I don’t know,” she replied with all sincerity.
Lady Marsden arched a brow. “It
’s from Madame Cherie’s. Whatever it is, it is expensive.” When Finley gaped at her, she continued with a smile, “Don’t just stand there, girl. Open it!”
Fingers clumsy with anticipation, Finley did just that, draping the ribbon over the back of the empty chair next to her. She removed the lid and set in on the floor, and then parted the delicate blush-pink tissue paper….
She gasped. Inside was a costume for a fancy dress ball—a fairylike gown of iridescent ebony feathers that glowed with deep violet, rich green and bright blue under the light. A matching mask accompanied it.
“It’s the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen,” Emily whispered.
Finley was inclined to agree. Certainly she’d never owned anything so fine before. Why, the bodice was the same green as in the feathers—like a vibrant peacock’s plumage.
Astounded, she glanced up to see Griffin scowling and his aunt smiling coyly. “It seems you have an admirer, Miss Finley. Very bold of him to send you such an extravagant gift.”
“Read the card,” Griffin suggested, sounding as though he spoke through clenched teeth. Finley glanced at him. His jaw was tight indeed. Was he jealous? The notion seemed too fantastic to entertain, and yet he was certainly displeased. Either he was jealous or he thought her loose—it was highly improper for a gentleman to send a girl such a personal present. This was the kind of thing men bought their mistresses.
Suddenly, Finley was afraid to open the card. The beautiful costume had been ruined by the scandalous nature of its deliverance. Everyone was watching her, however, so she had little choice but to pick up the small envelope and withdraw the note inside.
Wear this tonight. I will come for you at nine o’clock.
We’re going to the Pick-a-Dilly Ball.
Jack
“Who’s it from?” Griffin asked in a low voice.
Finley glanced at him, heart pounding hard against her ribs. She cleared her throat. “Jack Dandy.” Still it came out a hoarse whisper.
