by Kady Cross
She didn’t look up. “Yes.”
“His father was a good man. I was honored to call him a friend.” He stretched out his legs from the chair where he sat, across from her own. Griffin was between them on a settee. “You know, it’s odd that you and Griffin found one another again. You played together as children.”
That made her look up. Her astonished gaze met his twinkling one. “We did?”
He nodded. “The former duke and duchess, God rest their souls, used to invite your mother and me over from time to time. They didn’t care one wit that we weren’t of the same social circles. They believed in playing with children, and spending time with them. They would ask us to bring you with us so that Griffin could play with another child. Sometimes his steward would bring his son, as well.”
Good lord, she and Griffin and Sam used to play together? She would have been very young—three at the most. “I wish I could remember it.” And then, before she lost her nerve, “I wish I could remember you.”
“Yes, well...” He rubbed the back of his neck. He looked so young. Far too young to be the father of a girl almost seventeen, but then, he was frozen for all eternity as the father of a toddler. A man who probably intended to have more children. A man who should have been given the chance to have more children—normal children.
“It’s all right,” she said when he didn’t seem to know what to say.
“Finley Jayne Sheppard, had I known I had passed my affliction onto you, I would have tried harder to be a better man and a better father. But I...I thought you and your mother would be better off without me, so I fell for Garibaldi’s trickery and died when I should have fought. I should have fought for you. I should have killed Leonardo when I had the chance. Instead, I gave up and I am so very sorry for that.”
What could she say to that? She couldn’t say it didn’t matter because it did. She couldn’t say it was all right, because it wasn’t. “I wish you had been around to teach me how to handle my other self.”
“Yes. I wish that, as well.”
“But he taught me.” She gestured at Griffin. “He helped me when I thought no one could. He believed in me when I couldn’t believe in myself.”
Her father smiled. “You love him.”
“Yes.” There was no shame in admitting it. No fear. “I do. What am I supposed to do?”
“Help him when no one else can. Believe in him when he doesn’t believe in himself.”
She scowled. It was callous to throw those words back at her in such a blasé tone. “Don’t mock me.”
“I’d never mock you.” In fact, he seemed offended by the accusation. “Griffin King is quite possibly the most powerful Aethermancer on the planet. If he cannot defeat Garibaldi, no one can. What he needs from you is strength and support.”
“I don’t know how.” If she cried she was going to slam her head into the wall for being such a sissy.
Her father reached across the tea table and took her hand. “My dear girl, you braved death itself for him. You already know how.”
Yes, she supposed she did. She closed her fingers around his. Helplessness wasn’t an emotion she experienced very often, but it almost always attached itself to a situation that involved people she loved. Her feelings for Griffin made this time even worse. “Thank you.”
He smiled, amber eyes crinkling at the corners. “I am so very proud of you, and so thankful for the opportunity to tell you.”
Oh, damn. There came the tears. Her father rose out of his chair and came around to kneel before her, gathering her into his arms. Finley wrapped her own arms around his neck and hung on for all she was worth. She was hugging her father. Her real father. Silas Crane, her stepfather, was a good and wonderful man, but this man was part of her. This man, flawed as he was, was the one who set her on the path that brought her to the best friends she’d ever had. To Griffin, who had helped her realize her potential and start becoming the person she wanted to be.
This man had died because he thought it would make the world better for her. If that wasn’t love, she didn’t know what was.
He held her until her tears dried—it didn’t take that long. Then he ran a hand over her hair, kissed her forehead, stood up and left the room. Finley watched him go until she realized why he had left.
Griffin was awake.
Finley went to him and placed her hands on either side of his face, feeling the stubble on his jaw scratch her palms. His eyes were brighter now, the kind of blue that a summer sky sometimes aspired to.
“I dreamed about you,” he murmured with a slow smile.
She pressed her lips to his, kissing him as though she hadn’t kissed him in weeks, as though the fate of the world depended upon a thorough kissing. He didn’t seem to mind. He kissed her back, fingers curving over the back of her neck as though he was afraid she might try to break the kiss before he was ready. Silly boy.
Eventually, they had to breathe, and they had to speak.
“You have to wake up,” he told her. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
“I will.”
“I mean it, Fin. I can’t lose you.”
Her heart swelled—not just because of his words, but because she knew he intended to make it through this. He intended to make it back to the world of the living, and whatever Griffin set his mind to he achieved.
“Emily will no doubt pull me out very soon. My father’s going to keep you here while I’m gone so you can get your strength back.”
“And then we take on Garibaldi.”
“Yes. Hopefully for the last time.” But first, she was going to have to take on Felix. She couldn’t risk him coming for her when she was trying to focus on Garibaldi, and she couldn’t let those poor girls go on as they were any longer. It didn’t matter that he had made them monsters—they hadn’t started out that way.
His fingers brushed against her cheek. “You are the most beautiful, bravest girl I’ve ever known.”
She blushed. “You don’t get out much.”
Griffin chuckled. “I get out plenty. One of those times I happened to hit a girl with my velocycle.”
“That’s one way to get her attention.”
He grinned. “Do you reckon it was a bit much?”
“It might have been a little excessive, yes.” She returned the smile. “Though some girls need a good cosh on the head to make them realize a good thing when they see it.”
“Well, I am pretty impressive.”
Finley laughed and rubbed her cheek against his hand. “Indeed.”
“How are the others?”
“Fine last time I saw them. Emily and Sam are fretting over you—both of us. Jasper and Wildcat are helping Jack.”
“With what?”
“Apparently Mila ran off.”
“What?” He struggled to sit up. “What did that lunatic do to her?”
“Griffin!” A hand on his chest kept him from exerting himself too much. “Be nice.”
He sighed, reclining against the cushions. “What did that lovely bloke Jack do to instigate her departure?”
A little smile curved her lips. Griff always wanted to think the worst of Jack. This was one of the times his jealousy was adorable rather than vexing. “I’m thinking it might have been something he didn’t do instead.”
His expression went from annoyed confusion to horror. “Don’t tell me she’s in love with him. Oh, the poor creature.”
“She’s a girl, not a creature.”
“I know. She’s a dear girl. Too sweet for Dandy.”
“Or maybe just sweet enough to be exactly what Jack needs.”
He eyed her rather closely. She knew exactly what he was looking for. “You’re not jealous?”
Oddly enough, she didn’t have to think about it, because sitting ther
e with him, feeling how happy she was just to see Griffin’s face, she didn’t begrudge Jack the opportunity to feel the same happiness. “Not at all.” She leaned in to kiss him again, but was stopped by a tug in her stomach.
“Are you all right?” Griffin asked, his hands clasping her shoulders.
“I don’t know.” Another tug. She pressed a hand to her stomach. “I feel odd.”
“Emily’s pulling you out.”
She met his gaze. “How do you know?” Another tug. Much more of this and she was going to vomit.
“You’re fading,” he explained.
She reached for him, not ready to leave him just yet, but her fingers passed right through him. “I don’t want to leave you!” She didn’t know if he heard her because one last tug pulled her free of that world and sent her crashing back into the world of the living.
Finley never thought she’d see a day when she’d be annoyed to be alive.
Chapter Eleven
“Have you seen this?” Jasper tossed the afternoon newspaper on the desk in front of Jack, who had no choice but to look at it, because it landed directly on the ledger he’d been balancing.
The headline read Mysterious Heroine Lifts Carriage with Bare Hands! Heroic Girl Saves Driver And Passengers.
Jack swore. The photograph was grainy and shot in profile, but he’d know Mila anywhere. Just the sight of her made his heart skip a beat—even if she had done something so foolish as to call attention to herself. Look at her, rescuing people. Risking her own safety but revealing her abilities because someone needed help. Noble, but the bloody foolish chit was going to end up poked and prodded by the Royal Society if she wasn’t careful. They called themselves scientists, but anyone who’d slice open a body just to see how it worked was not to be trusted.
Damnation, but it was good to see her. The relief he felt at knowing that she was all right was a tangible thing, spinning happily in his gut.
He took another look at the photograph, at everything that wasn’t his girl. “That’s the house we visited yesterday.”
“Yup.” The cowboy sat on the edge of the desk. “Seems you were right—that pretty lady knew more than she wanted to share. You see those girls there in the background? They’re not right clear, but Cat says those Siamese twins are Pick-a-dilly Circus performers.”
“Interesting.” Jack leaned back in his chair. He was slightly giddy all of a sudden. “Why do you suppose they’re called Siamese twins?”
“No idea whatsoever.”
“They don’t look like they’re from Siam.”
“Dandy, what are you jabberin’ on about?”
Jack tossed the paper aside with a disgusted sigh. He was being an idiot, avoiding what was really bothering him. “I should have pushed that woman yesterday. I should have used my powers of persuasion on her.”
“You said yourself it wouldn’t have done any good. Mila isn’t ready to be found just yet.”
No, but he was ready to find her. Damn this letting her spread her wings and see something of the world. She belonged there with him, not gadding about rescuing people left, right and center. She was his special girl, and he wasn’t about to share her with all of bloody London. Wasn’t going to allow her to be a freak on display.
“Cat also says that the circus is lookin’ for a new performer. She reckons the girls will take Mila to meet the owner if she’s keen on joining up. That sound about right to you?”
There weren’t enough curse words to aptly describe his mood at that moment. “Oh, yes. It certainly does.” Mila had no concept of what sort of people there were in the world who would love to manipulate a girl like her. She’d see only kindness and adventure. The moment she stepped into that ring she’d be a target for any and all who would prey upon her. He understood that she needed to do this, that it was his own fault she’d run off, but he’d be damned if she’d suffer for it.
“Would Cat be inclined to talk to her sister? If Mila sees you, me or Wildcat, she’s likely to bolt.” Maybe not, but he doubted she’d jump into his arms and beg to come home either. He wanted to let her come back on her own, not push her further away.
“She’s already gone off to pay her a visit.” There was a pause—an expectant one. “Can I ask you a question?”
Jack leaned back in his chair. “I suppose.”
“Why don’t you just go talk to the girl?” He tossed a paperweight into the air and caught it. “Tell her you were wrong and ask her to come home. Simple.”
“Nothing’s ever simple where women are concerned, Renn. A fellow your age ought to have learned that lesson by now.”
The cowboy arched a brow, but didn’t take the bait. “Will you look at that. Jack Dandy’s afraid of a little girl.”
Jack folded his hands over his stomach. “That little girl could snap you like a twig, and I am not afraid of her.”
“Huh.” Renn obviously wasn’t convinced. However, Jack wasn’t going to swing at his bait either.
“Any word on how Finley’s doing getting her duke back?”
“Apparently there’s going to be a séance or something. You mind if Cat and I go?”
It was a testament to what a bizarre world he lived in that Jack didn’t even blink at the word séance. “You’re not my employees. You can do as you wish.”
Arms folded over his chest, the cowboy watched him—studied him. He must be one hell of a card player, because there wasn’t even the smallest hint of an expression on his face. If only Jack had gotten to him before King had, because he could use such a fellow from time to time.
“What is it, Renn?”
“You’re an interesting man, Mr. Dandy.” His tone was perfectly blank, as well.
“I try.”
“I don’t trust interesting men.”
“A wise choice. We are very often untrustworthy.”
A pause. Then, Renn said, “Your daddy’s a lord ain’t he?”
Fortunately, Jack was a bloody good card player, as well. “What makes you think that?”
“The way you hold yourself and the way you talk. It reminds me of Griffin.”
“I’m nothing like the Duke of Greythorne.” Griffin King was an honorable prig who wouldn’t say “shite” if he had a mouthful of it. He was all morally upstanding and all that muck. He wasn’t even remotely interesting.
“All right.” The American stood. “You want me to go have a chat with the photographer who took her picture?”
No need to say her name. “No, leave him to me.”
“Right, those powers of persuasion you have?”
Jack smiled. “Something like that.” As Renn turned to walk away, Jack called after him, “You said I should just talk to her. If it was Wildcat, what would you say?”
“That I was sorry and that I wanted her to come back home.”
“I have to say, that’s disappointing. Aren’t you American’s all about grand gestures?”
The cowboy grinned. “It ain’t what you say, Dandy. It’s why you’re sayin’ it. Women don’t want a bunch of fancy words, they want emotion—action.”
His assessment irked Jack. It made sense, damn it. “Have a lot of experience with the ladies, do you?”
“Depends on your idea of experience. Notice I’m not the one of us who spends most of my nights alone.”
“I can have company whenever I want, Renn. Don’t think I can’t.”
The cowboy paused at the door. “You could have five women in your bed and you’d still be alone, Jack.” He didn’t wait for Jack’s reply, just opened the door and walked out, leaving Jack staring after him. Bloody American didn’t know what he was talking about.
Unfortunately, he was also right.
* * *
The costume Elsie had found for her fit Mila like a glove. It
was flesh colored beneath black lace, sleeveless and with very short, snug trousers. Elsie had explained that leaving her arms and legs bare allowed people to better see her muscles, and see that there was no trickery involved. Mila twisted this way and that, admiring herself in the dressing-room mirror. A lace mask covered the upper half of her face, as well—to “preserve the mystery” according to Elsie. Her hair was pinned up on top of her head and her lips had been painted a dark red.
She looked like a stranger to herself. Why, she could almost pass for one of Jack’s doxies! The thought made her incredibly happy. The thought of Jack, however, did not. So much for being independent and strong. She missed him. Missed him terribly, and she hadn’t even been gone a full twenty-four hours! Here she was having a brilliant adventure and the one person she wanted to share it with wasn’t there. Maybe she’d invite him to a performance. But what if he didn’t come? No, that was foolish. Jack was not the sort of man who let emotion rule him. That was part of the problem, wasn’t it?
She was glad she left. Jack had become her whole world, and now her world was so much bigger. It wasn’t nearly as frightening as she’d thought it would be. People were lovely! She was doing exactly what she wanted to do, without anyone trying to tell her what she ought to think or how to behave. It was liberating.
“You’re up next, love,” Elsie told her as she stuck her head through the open doorway. She made a clucking sound with her tongue. “You look gorgeous.”
“Thanks.” Up next? Her stomach fluttered. She was going to go out there, in front of all those people, and show them what she could do. Since her creation she’d been told to hide what she was, to protect it. And now, at least to an extent, she could embrace it and let it be a part of who she was. Not what, but who. If she wanted people to treat her like a person—a real, genuine person—she had to think of herself that way, as well.
She left the dressing room and went to take her place backstage until it was her turn. Not even five minutes later, the ringmaster—a man by the name of Maxwell—introduced her. “And now, ladies and gents, The Circus Pick-a-dilly is proud to present a new performer for your entertainment. She may appear delicate. She may look like any other sweet girl, but do not allow your minds to deceive you! She is not like any other girl you have ever known! The one! The only! The World’s Strongest Woman!”
