by Kady Cross
Still smiling, Griffin shrugged. “It’s part of my charm.”
Chapter 20
When Emily opened her eyes the next morning, Sam was there. Waiting. He’d been waiting for hours.
“Sam?” She blinked the sleep from her bright eyes. “What are you doing here?” She cast a glance at the bedroom door, which he had left open, as was proper.
“I wanted to make sure you’re all right,” he replied. “Are you?” He was anxious for her answer. There was an ugly abrasion high on her cheek and he could see awful bruising peeking out from the neckline of her nightgown.
“I’m a bit sore,” she replied, wincing as she struggled to push herself up higher on the pillows with her one good arm. “Perhaps more than a bit.”
Sam jumped up from the chair and carefully slid one arm behind her neck and the other beneath her legs under the blankets. Gingerly, as though she were made of glass, he lifted her so that she could sit up. Then he sat back down.
“I brought your cat up,” he said, not quite meeting her gaze, gesturing to the big mechanical animal. “I thought you might want it—in case you needed something.”
Her cheeks blazed with color. “Thank you.”
He glanced down at his hands. They were big, so much bigger than hers. “I want to apologize, Em. I’ve been a proper wanker toward you lately.”
When he looked up, she was watching him, no expression on her pale face. “You were angry. I understand that, lad.”
“That doesn’t excuse it. I…I didn’t understand why you did it, but I do now.”
“You do?” She seemed slightly baffled by that.
He nodded. “Last night I realized that I would do anything to save your life, too, even let that metal man crush me.”
“Don’t ever trade your life for mine, Sam. I couldn’t forgive you for it.”
“I’d risk that.” He swallowed, his throat dry. “I was stupid, Em. I let The Machinist fool me. I played right into his game.”
“That’s my fault,” she insisted. “If I had told you everything after the surgery, you wouldn’t have felt so betrayed. He wouldn’t have lured you in.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Then it’s not yours, either.” Her chin was set at a defiant angle—one he’d seen too often to argue with her.
Sam smiled hesitantly, rubbing his palms against the top of his thighs. He’d wear a hole through his trousers at this rate. “Forgive me?”
“Only if you’ll forgive me.”
“I already have.”
Her fingers closed over his, forcing them to go still. “You saved my life last night,” he murmured hoarsely. “Again.”
“From what I hear, you saved me and Griff, as well. Finley said the automaton could have crushed us both but you lifted it off us, risking your own safety.”
“When did you speak to Finley?” he demanded with a scowl.
“I woke up at four. She heard me and came in to help me.” She blushed slightly and Sam felt his own cheeks heat. He could guess what she needed help doing and was glad Finley was there for her. God knew neither he, Jasper or Griff could have. If that barmy cowboy had come to help her, Sam would rip his arms off.
“That was good of her.”
Emily arched a brow. “Does that mean you’ve accepted her?”
“I suppose it does. She’s saved my arse a couple of times now. Let Garibaldi get away, but I can’t say I’m sore about it.”
She smiled at him, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles in a way that made his mouth even drier. “I’m glad you’ve changed your mind about her. I like Finley.”
“So does Griff.”
“Oh, aye. That’s obvious, isn’t it?” She laughed then, but stopped abruptly, grimacing.
“Do you need anything?” he asked, panicked. “Something for the pain?”
Leaning back against the pillows, she fixed him with an earnest gaze that made his heart pound and reduced the entire world to just the two of them. Her eyes said everything he needed to hear.
Sitting on the edge of the chair, his knees pressed hard against the side of her bed, he leaned closer, her hand still caught in his. When her eyelashes fluttered, his heart gave a queer little thump in his chest. Sam smiled. His heart didn’t need to be real flesh and muscle to feel.
And when his lips touched Emily’s, he felt so much. His heart danced in joy. His free hand came up and cupped her cheek, stroking the soft skin with his thumb. How many times had he dreamed of doing this? It was even better than he thought it would be.
He smiled against her lips. She smiled against his, but they kept kissing. And for the first time in a long time, Sam knew true happiness.
Finley was hanging upside down on a rope, supporting her body weight by twining the fibers around one booted ankle and leg, when Griffin entered the training room. She wore the short pants she so favored, a black leather corset, sleeveless shirt and fingerless gloves.
Did she know that her stockings were mismatched? Probably, he thought with a smile.
“I say,” he began as he walked toward her, arms folded across his chest. “Did you know that your face is almost the same color as a tomato? Perhaps it’s time to return to an upright position?”
She curled her body upward and took hold of the rope—much like he’d seen the Pick-a-Dilly Circus trapeze artists do—and pulled herself upright.
“I like tomatoes,” she quipped as she descended the rope with the agility of a monkey. Then she said, “You know, you’re in very high spirits considering all that’s happened.”
He shrugged. He couldn’t explain it, either. “I know it’s odd, but just knowing the identity of my parents’ murderer has lifted a great weight off my shoulders. Knowing that we’re also so close to catching him pleases me.”
“I imagine it would.” She gave him an assessing look. When he arched a brow, she said, “What are you going to do to him when we catch him? Kill him or turn him over to the Peelers?”
It shamed him that he had to think about it. His honor demanded revenge, but knew the right thing was to let the authorities take care of it. “I don’t know,” he told her. “I suppose I will need my friends to help me decide.”
She smiled. “Indeed, but I don’t think Garibaldi’s what you came in here to discuss with me.”
“It is not.” His good mood evaporated. “Jack Dandy telephoned a few moments ago.”
She was surprised, perhaps a little more pleasantly so than Griff liked, but it was obvious she hadn’t thought to hear from the criminal again.
“What did he say?”
He offered her a slip of paper where he’d jotted down Dandy’s words. “That he would like you to return his call.”
Finley stared at the paper for a few seconds before taking it from between his fingers. “I wonder what he wants.”
“We both know what he wants,” Griff replied curtly. Surely she couldn’t be that naive? Not after all she’d been through. “He wants you.”
Her head jerked up. It was probably lucky that her cheeks were flushed from her earlier exertions so he couldn’t tell if she was embarrassed or not.
“I should ring him at once. It might be important.”
There seemed to be a strange bitterness on Griffin’s tongue, like bile. “Of course. Use my study, you’ll have more privacy there.”
She was at least worldly enough to look uncomfortable. “Griffin, there’s nothing…romantic between Jack Dandy and me.”
Was he that pathetically transparent? “It’s none of my business, regardless.”
She tilted her head—the perfect mockery of his gesture. “Isn’t it? I am a guest in your house, and you are something of a protector of the kingdom. I would think one of your associates having ties with a notorious under lord would present certain…conflicts of interest.”
Griffin’s eyes narrowed. He’d not heard her speak in quite that tone before. This was part of the amalgamation of her two personalities. Challenging him was only the be
ginning. Oddly enough, he liked it. Frank speaking was not something he was accustomed to where young ladies were concerned.
“You have a point,” he conceded. “Shall I put my foot down? How about I issue an ultimatum? It’s Dandy or me. What would you say to that, Miss Jayne?”
Her honey-brown eyebrows lifted. “I would probably choose Dandy just to spite you.”
“So I will keep my mouth shut and allow you to make your own choices—and mistakes.”
Finley smiled at the pleasantly delivered barb. “That is very kind of you. I propose an agreement. I will tell you if I feel my association with Dandy becomes a threat to my place in this house, and you feel free to tell me if I am not seeing clearly along the way.”
“Agreed, but if I think you’re not taking my concerns to heart, I will toss you out on your arse. Trusting you is one thing, but I can’t let you endanger my friends.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “Like Sam did?”
That was a dig he hadn’t expected. “Sam didn’t know who he was dealing with. You do.”
She gazed at him a moment, her gaze intense. “You make being a tyrant very attractive at times, Your Grace.” She held up the paper. “Now, I’d best contact Mr. Dandy before he thinks I’ve forgotten him completely.” She flashed a smile at him before practically skipping from the room.
Griffin watched her go, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He wasn’t really worried about Finley and Dandy—not where trust was concerned. Although, Dandy could be very charming, and girls seemed to like dangerous fellows—some foolish rot about reformed rakes making the best husbands. The idea of Finley becoming romantically involved with the criminal did bother him—more than he wanted to admit.
She’d called him a tyrant. She also called him attractive. Griffin’s grin grew. One thing was for certain, since Finley Jayne appeared in it, his life had been anything but boring.
Finley took Griffin up on his offer and used his study to return Jack’s telephone call. She was still agitated—in a good way, were that possible—from her conversation with Griffin and needed a few moments to collect herself first.
Griffin was jealous of Jack Dandy. She’d entertained the notion before, but not until now had she realized the truth to it. Griffin was jealous—over her. At that moment it didn’t matter that they could never have any kind of relationship other than being friends. Right then, his overbearing attitude made her happy enough.
Still smiling, she picked up the heavily ornate silver receiver from its cradle and then requested the number Jack had left for her. A ringing sound crackled in her ear. It rang three times, then there was a click.
“’ello, Treasure.”
The smile that had started at the sound of his awful Cockney froze at the sound of her name. “How did you know it was me?”
“You’re the only one who has this number. I ’ope your friend the duke don’t go sharin’ it wiv all his Peeler friends. That would be very inconvenient for me.”
Finley tightened her fingers around the paper. “He won’t.” Griffin was a good person, but not so pious that he’d forget how helpful Jack had been to them.
“Got ’im wrapped around your little finger, ’ave ya?” Dandy chuckled—a faintly mocking sound echoing in her ear. “Good gel.” He said gel with a hard G.
His tone annoyed Finley. “I don’t have Griffin wrapped around my anything.”
“Griffin, eh?”
Silence hung between them. She’d given herself away, revealed that Griffin meant something to her. For some reason she thought this was a very wrong thing to do in front of Jack Dandy.
“Why did you call me, Jack?”
“I’m not sure I like your tone, Treasure. Maybe I’ll just forget what I wanted to tell you. I’m rather absentminded, you know.”
She closed her eyes. Part of her wanted to apologize—beg if she had to—because she knew he wouldn’t have contacted her if it weren’t important. Another part wanted to hang up on him.
“Don’t play games, Jack,” she said in a low voice. “It doesn’t become you. You didn’t give Griffin your number just so we could waste time dancing around one another.”
He chuckled again. “There you are. For a moment I thought you lost your backbone. I’ve information, Treasure. Information regarding a certain gent’lman who calls ’imself The Machinist.”
Finley’s heart jumped. “What is it?”
“Wot’s it worth?”
She almost asked what he wanted, but then thought better of it. “My undying gratitude,” she replied with mock sweetness.
“You wound me, luv.” But there was humor in his voice. “’Ow about you come ’round for dinner some night. Just the two of us.”
It wasn’t a good idea. Jack Dandy was dangerous and tricky. He was also very intriguing… What was that saying about keeping your enemies closer than your friends? She wasn’t sure which category Jack fell into, but the notion of keeping him closer didn’t bother her as much as it should.
What kind of girl was she? She was attracted to Griffin, but Griffin was way out of her sphere. She was also attracted to Jack, who was also out of her sphere, but in a much different way. But Jack also had information, which she needed.
“All right,” she agreed. “I’ll come to dinner. When?”
“Don’t you worry nuffing about that right now. I’ll let you know when. Now, you pass on to his dukeness that whispers in this part of the world say that The Machinist’s plannin’ something for the twenty-second.”
“Planning what?”
“I don’t know what,” he sounded terse. “Do you know ’ow much bother it was just to find out that? The Machinist ain’t exactly loquacious when it comes down to his nefarious undertakings.”
There was something strange and almost lyrical about those educated words uttered in that thick Cockney. Finley shook her head. “Sorry, Jack. I was just hoping for more. I appreciate you ringing me. Honestly.”
“All right then.” He sounded mollified now. “If I hears anything else, I’ll let you know. And, Treasure?”
“Yes, Jack?”
“Be careful, will ya? I employ a very fine cook and I ’ate for you to miss out on what will be the meal of your lifetime because you’re dead.”
Finley smiled—at both his words and his tone. He might have coated it with caustic wit, but she heard the genuine concern in his voice. “I would hate for that to happen, as well. Don’t worry about me.”
He sighed exaggeratedly. “Not sure as I ’ave much choice in the matter.” Then, abruptly, “Right. I’m off then. I’ve a menu to plan, don’t I? Let me know how things turn out.”
The connection broke before Finley could say goodbye. Bemused, she hung up and then went off in search of Griffin to let him know that whatever Garibaldi had planned he was supposedly going to do it in three days.
Griffin was sifting through all information he’d managed to find in his father’s notes about Garibaldi when Jasper entered his study. Not much to help them find the villain, but it provided some insight into the man’s mind.
He glanced up from his father’s handwriting—his father had been worried that Garibaldi might do something rash to prove to Victoria how important the Organites were to modern science. “Jas, what’s wrong?”
Jasper rubbed one hand over the back of his neck. “I just wanted to tell you that whatever you need me to do to help you get this Machinist fella, I’m in.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” His acquaintance—no, friend—looked distracted. “Is there something else you’d like to discuss?”
The cowboy met his gaze. “You know, I’ve done some things in my life that I ain’t proud of, and I haven’t always been a decent sort of man. But working with you these last few days…well, I feel like I’m on the right side for a change, and I just wanted to say thank you.”
Griffin couldn’t have been more surprised if Jasper had shot him. “Uh…you’re welcome.”
Ja
sper shrugged. “Listen, about why I came to England…”
Whatever he was about to say was interrupted by Finley’s arrival.
“Oh,” she said, spotting Jasper. “I’m sorry, Griff. I thought you were alone. I’ll come back later.”
“No,” Jasper said. “It’s good, Miss Finley. I’m done.” He shot one last glance at Griffin before pivoting on his heel to walk toward the door.
“We’ll talk more later?” Griffin asked.
Jasper looked over his shoulder at him and shrugged. “Sure.” Then he brushed past Finley and left the room.
“What was that all about?” Finley asked as she came to stand beside him. She was looking at the door as though she kept expecting Jasper to return.
“I couldn’t tell you,” Griffin replied with real honesty. “What do you need?” It was perhaps rude and abrupt of him, but he wasn’t in the mood for patience today.
“I spoke to Dandy,” Finley confided, turning toward him. “He says he heard that Garibaldi has something planned for the twenty-second.”
“The twenty-second?” Griffin mulled the date for a moment. Bloody hell! He gaped at her. “That’s the day of Her Majesty’s jubilee procession through London.”
The gravity of that realization filled Finley with dread. “It will be next to impossible to find him in that crowd. But what can he do? He can’t very well walk his creation right into the throng, can he?”
“No, but he could waylay the queen at some point. If he means to make a statement, such a venue would be the perfect spot. What if he puts a bomb in the bloody thing? He could pretend to offer the automaton as a gift to Her Majesty and then detonate it. Or he could kidnap the queen and put the mech in her place. God knows what he has planned.” And there was no way to find out.
“What do we do?”
“It’s only three days till the procession. It’s imperative at this point that we warn the queen. Hopefully he’ll reclaim his toy from the house in Covent Garden and lead us to his lair. Otherwise, we’re useless.”
