The Girl in the Clockwork Collar tsc-2 Page 8

  She didn’t want to go back to being alone, especially now that she had found friends. Real friends. Family. Especially Griffin. He had done so much for her, and she’d repaid him by being snide and mocking.

  But she hadn’t wanted him to see that he was the one thing that frightened her. When she’d first met Griffin, he had told her that he would give her his trust, and in return, he would settle for nothing less than hers. She had been treated poorly by fellows of his station before, and part of her mind couldn’t let go of that wariness; it was the only protection her heart had.

  Because if there was one person in all the world capable of breaking her heart, it was Griffin. Perhaps that was why she ran to Jack whenever she felt cagey. Jack didn’t have expectations. Jack would eventually let her down, while she’d be the one to do that to Griffin—if she hadn’t already.

  This was ridiculous. She threw back the covers and slipped out of her incredibly comfortable bed. She could laze about all day wondering and thinking, but thinking always seemed to get her into trouble. Although, not thinking got her into trouble, too.

  Who was she trying to kid? Trouble seemed to find her, no matter what. If trouble was going to come calling, she might as well be clean.

  She bathed and dressed in pale pink knee-length trousers with a frill at the bottom, white shirt and her pink-and-blackstriped corset. She laced heavy black boots up to the hem of her trousers and wrapped the ends of the laces around each boot once before tying them. Then she brushed her hair and twisted it up onto the back of her head, securing it with two chopsticks.

  The bruises on her face had faded to almost nothing overnight. Her ribs were stiff, but she could draw a deep breath without them hurting. A normal girl would be so stiff and sore, she would barely be able to move about. Then again, if she was a “normal” girl, she wouldn’t have been in the ring in the first place. This was one of those times that being a freak came in handy.

  Her stomach fluttered as she left her room. Odd how she felt so anxious going to meet her friends, when Dalton hadn’t inspired half so much fuss. Last night, she’d felt triumphant, but now she felt a little ... silly and self-conscious.

  She stopped to knock at Emily’s door. No answer. They must have gone downstairs already. Finley said hello to the boy operating the lift and spent the rest of the trip wondering if the little box could move any slower. Seriously, she could have jumped over the railing in the stairwell and been there by now.

  They were all gathered around the dining room table and looked up at her entrance when she walked in. Sam only glanced at her for a split second before turning his attention back to the mountain of food piled on his plate. Surely eating that many scrambled eggs couldn’t be healthy for a body.

  “Morning, Finley,” he mumbled.

  “Good morning, everyone,” she replied and winced at the cheer in her voice. Emily smiled at her from her seat beside Sam, but Finley didn’t miss the glance her friend shot in Griffin’s direction.

  Slowly—determinedly—Finley made herself look at him. He sat at his customary spot at the head of the table, but his breakfast was nothing more than coffee and toast. He looked tired and drawn, with dark circles under his storm-blue eyes.

  Was she the cause of those dark smudges? The thought added more guilt to her already heavy shoulders. She tried to smile and found her lips incapable of the movement. “Griffin,” she whispered.

  “Finley,” he echoed with the ghost of a grin. Did he mean to tease or to mock her? “I hope you slept well.”

  “Tolerably,” she replied, sitting down at the place set for her at his right. “You?”

  “Once I got there, you could say I slept like the dead.” He chuckled drily.

  Emily looked at him again, and this time Finley saw concern in the other girl’s eyes. What did she know that Finley did not? Had Griffin told her of their conversation?

  “Says here there was a ‘flash of light, like lightning,’ from the Statue of Liberty last night,” Sam announced as he perused the front page of the morning Times. “Any of you see it?”

  Griffin seemed to find this hilarious and began to laugh in that way Finley often did when she hadn’t enough sleep.

  “Actually ... ” Emily began, glancing at Griffin as though he’d gone mad.

  “It was probably something faulty with the lantern mechanism in the torch,” Griffin interrupted, suddenly serious. “I’m surprised it’s never happened before.”

  Sam shrugged. “I suppose so. Call me paranoid, but every time something strange happens now, I expect to find some kind of villain at work.”

  “You’re paranoid,” Griffin replied with a grin. “I wager the torch will be lit again tonight, and no one will give it another thought.”

  Except for her, Finley thought as she took two pieces of toast from the warming plate in front of her. Whoever invented heated dishes should be knighted. Did they knight people in America? Probably not.

  She hadn’t missed the startled look Emily shot Griffin when he interrupted her, which meant that both she and Griffin knew what had happened out on that island last night. Why the secrecy?

  Then it hit her. It had been Griffin. He’d been on the verge of losing control of his abilities last night—because of her. Somehow he’d gotten out to the statue or had done something that had made that flash.

  She stared at him. “I owe you all an apology,” she blurted.

  Three pairs of eyes turned toward her. Heat seeped into her cheeks, like tea in hot water. “I shouldn’t have taken Emily to Five Points to dig up information on Dalton. And I should have told Sam and Griffin about the fights. I’m sorry.”

  Sam helped himself to more sausage. “I’m the last person who would give you bother about that.” It was no secret that he had once taken off on his own a lot, but that seemed to have changed since the fight with The Machinist.

  “I had fun,” Emily added, a tad defiantly.

  “Yeah, about that,” Sam began, gesturing at her with his knife. “You need to be careful. This isn’t London. Those gangs are dangerous.” The fact that he hadn’t attempted to lock Emily in her room to keep her safe also showed how different he was. Finley knew it must be hard for him to give up some of his protectiveness.

  Emily shot him a glance out of the corner of her eye. “I’m Irish, Sam Morgan. Most of those ‘gangs’ are my people.”

  “But the rest aren’t,” Griffin interjected, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his hand. “And to some of them, the only good Irish is dead Irish, and they all hate the English, so there will be no running about alone by any of us. Understood?”

  The three of them nodded. Finley knew the remark was mostly directed at her, but she wasn’t about to get her knickers in a twist over it. He was right. They weren’t in London, and there was danger in this city for all of them.

  “Good.” He leaned back in his chair and reached for his cup of coffee. “Finley, you have an engagement with Dalton tonight, correct?”

  She chewed and swallowed the bite of egg in her mouth. “Yes, though I think dinner is just a formality. I reckon he’ll want me to join his enterprise. He’s fond of rough girls.”

  “No doubt he plans to seduce you,” Griffin remarked thoughtfully. When Finley’s cheeks turned red, he added, “Into his gang, of course. I’m sure he’ll waste no time now that he’s seen what you can do.”

  It was as much of a truce as he was probably going to offer, and she was glad for it. In fact, she liked him all the more for not making it too easy for her.

  She knew there really wasn’t much point in having a crush on Griffin. A duke would be expected to marry someone of his own social sphere—not that Finley wanted to marry him! But he wouldn’t make her half so mental if she didn’t like him.

  Emily perked up. “I’m going to listen to Mr. Tesla give a talk at the New York Repository of Science this evening. I’m so excited!”

  “I’m going with her,” Sam added. Finley noted with amusement that he did not
sound half so enthusiastic as his companion about the evening.

  “And I am off to a party,” Griffin remarked. “Seems dukes are quite the popular commodity here in Manhattan.”

  Sam made a face. “I thought the aristocracy was one of the things the Yanks hate about us.”

  “You can take the American out of England ... ” Griffin grinned. “It might be fun to be introduced to the Knickerbocker set.”

  “Lots of rich heiresses trolling for a title,” Sam remarked. “Be careful you don’t come back engaged.”

  Finley’s stomach dropped, but then Griffin laughed. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Then he turned to her. “Don’t worry, Fin—” her eyes widened “—I’ll have my P.T. if you run into trouble. So will Sam and Em. We’ll be there in a flash if you need us.”

  Both relieved and annoyed that he hadn’t sought to ease her mind as to the heiress issue, Finley was nevertheless comforted by the fact that her friends would come to her rescue if she telegraphed them.

  She didn’t think she would need them. She was fairly confident in her ability to get and hold Dalton’s attention. She was also confident in her own ability to break his arms should he cross any lines.

  She could break the arms of any heiresses who thought to catch themselves a duke, as well, but she kept that to herself.

  “I need to go do some work,” Emily announced suddenly, pushing her chair back from the table. “Come with me, Sam.”

  The big dark-haired fellow looked down at his plate. A lone sausage lay there. “I’m not done.”

  “Bring it with you. Come on.” She looked impatient. Sam shrugged and obeyed.

  Finley barely had time to say goodbye before they disappeared.

  Griffin chuckled. “Do you think Emily wanted to leave us alone?”

  “Certainly seems that way,” she replied, her own smile wry. “Listen, Griffin—”

  He held up his hand. “Tell you what—you don’t apologize, and then I won’t have to apologize. Let’s just say that all is forgiven and never speak of it again.”

  “But I want to speak of it.”

  That seemed to surprise him. “You do?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry that I’ve behaved the way I have. It’s no excuse, but I’m still trying to find out who I am, so it’s difficult for me to know exactly how to behave at times.” It felt good to say this out loud. “Also, I’ve never really had anyone in my life I could trust, no one beyond my mother and Silas. You are right to expect it from me, and I want to be worthy of yours, but ... neither of us seems to be very good at offering it.”

  He nodded. “You’re right. I suppose we both have some work to do. For my part, I am sorry. I’m afraid I haven’t been myself lately.”

  When it was obvious that was all he was going to say on the subject, she asked, “Is it the Aether?”

  “Something feels odd.” He shrugged—or maybe it was a shudder. “Never mind that. I want you to be careful tonight. If it doesn’t feel right, get out of there immediately.”

  She nodded. “I will.” But she had no intention of leaving without Jasper.

  As if reading her mind, Griffin arched a brow. “We don’t know if you’ll be able to count on Jasper for help.”

  Finley met his gaze. “You don’t really think he’s a murderer, do you?”

  He scratched his head with a sigh. “No, I don’t, but I’ve been wrong before. That doesn’t mean I’m going to leave him with Dalton, though.” At that moment, he looked so tired. She wanted to take all of his worries away, but she had no idea how to do that.

  She reached over and touched his hand. “We’ll get him.”

  A slow smile curved his lips, and she suddenly wanted to lean in and kiss him—just press her lips to his until everything else went away.

  His fingers closed around hers. “I know.”

  They sat there for a moment, holding hands until the tension between them grew. One would think this bit of atonement would have made things easier, but this awareness was so thick she could almost taste it.

  Something had changed between them. She wasn’t certain what it meant, but she was fairly certain that, whatever it was, it was good. And if she survived dinner with Dalton, she just might get to enjoy it.

  Chapter 6

  After discussing it further with the others—she was trying to prove she could be a team player—Finley decided she would let Dalton see that her bruises had healed, rather than trying to re-create them with cosmetics. Her ability to heal quickly could only be seen as an advantage, especially to someone who might want to use her for violence.

  She dressed in one of her sleeveless Oriental-style gowns in violet satin, embroidered with tiny red-and-gold flowers. It was flashy, but nothing a girl who lived a life of crime couldn’t afford. Over it, she hooked a flexible black satin corset that matched her square-toed boots. She put her hair up with chopsticks, darkened her eyelashes and painted a light rose color on her cheeks and lips—nothing too garish. She wanted to look like someone with aspirations of finer things, not a trollop.

  Finally she dabbed a little sandalwood perfume behind her ears and on her wrists and strapped a blade around her thigh—just above the slit in her skirt. She hoped she wouldn’t need it, but even she wasn’t stupid enough to go into a lion’s den without some sort of protection other than her own fists and feet. And her head. She had an incredibly hard skull.

  It was a cool evening so she took a shawl with her, though she doubted she’d need it. She tended to run a little warmer than most people. When she left her room she locked the door and slipped the key into a small pocket inside her corset—no chance of Dalton or anyone else finding it there. A key from the Waldorf-Astoria would cause suspicion. The last thing she wanted was to alert the criminal to her association with Griffin—and therefore Jasper.

  Jasper. Would he be glad to see her, or had he already told Dalton who she really was? Would she be walking straight into a trap? No, she wouldn’t think that of him. Jasper was her friend, and she would do everything she could for him.

  She called for the lift and took it all the way down to the main foyer, which was lit in such a manner as to flatter all the ladies—and their glittering jewels. She hadn’t fully realized when they first arrived just how fancy the hotel was. Having been a lady’s maid in two fine houses had made it easy for her to move into Griffin’s house without much fuss. It wasn’t until now, walking across this polished floor with its pristine carpets, that she understood how fortunate she was. She could have just as easily ended up in a place like Whitechapel in London or Five Points if Griffin hadn’t found her.

  Thankfully, Dalton chose to live just north and west of the desolation—on Broadway. She knew exactly where, because she’d looked for the street on the map of the city she had found earlier that day.

  Griffin had given her ample fare for a cab there and back. Before they left London, the two of them had come to an agreement. Finley wasn’t about to live in his house and let him pay for everything—she knew what society called women who did that. She was comfortable, however, being his employee and accepting a wage for the work she did with him. He paid very well—more than she’d ever earned at another job, more than her stepfather, Silas, probably made in his shop.

  A passing bellman in a spotless, creaseless uniform stopped to inquire whether or not she needed a carriage brought around, and for a moment, she felt very posh indeed. “Actually, I’m in need of a cab,” she told him. “Might you acquire one for me?” She even sounded posh.

  The young man replied that he could and headed off to do just that. That left her standing alone, off to one side of the lobby, where she could watch other guests leave for their evening’s entertainment.

  A fine figure of a gentleman caught her eye as she studied her surroundings. His back was to her, allowing her to admire the breadth of his shoulders beneath his fine black coat, his impressive height and the way the light brought out red and gold in his hair. Then as though feeling the weight of her g
aze upon him, he turned and looked right at her.

  Breath deserted her lungs. Griffin.

  She had thought him handsome the first time she laid eyes on him, and before that, she’d heard Phoebe, a girl she used to work for, talk about him and how all the young ladies admired him. Perhaps it was the lighting or the danger of the situation she was about to walk into, but she didn’t think he had ever looked as breathtaking as he did at that very moment in his black-and-white evening attire, his thick hair brushed back from his handsome features. Amusement danced in his gray-blue eyes.

  Her mouth hung open like an old door off its hinge.

  This was the Duke of Greythorne, and it was no wonder young ladies whispered about him. Though Finley would admit that she often found Griffin more attractive when he was slightly scruffy, there was something about the way he was so perfectly dressed—something about how he stood and held his head. He radiated power and authority; confidence but not arrogance.

  She realized then what he and Jack had in common. They liked themselves. They knew their own strengths and their weaknesses and had made peace with them both. She envied that. Respected it.

  She still didn’t know what her strengths—the nonphysical ones—were, but she was pretty certain her weaknesses outnumbered them. Someday, though ... Someday, she hoped to feel comfortable in her own skin. She already felt better about herself than she had two months ago. Again, she owed some of that to the gorgeous specimen standing across the foyer from her.

  So when Griffin smiled at her, she glanced away—embarrassed, scared that he might have somehow divined her thoughts and emotions. She wanted to be more like him. She wanted to like herself. But first, she had to know herself.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him as he left the hotel, and then through the glass, she saw him climb into a fine carriage driven by two gleaming brass automaton horses. Someone had sent a private vehicle for him so he wouldn’t have to take a hack. Nice.