The Girl In The Clockwork Collar (13 page)

Finley almost sighed. Why was it that all the pretty boys thought so highly of themselves?

She leaned closer, looked him dead in his sparkling eyes and said, “You do know I could snap your neck like a chicken bone.”

Across the room, she heard Mei gasp, but she didn’t bother to look. No doubt Jasper would shoot daggers at her with his eyes. She might very well just have ruined everything.

Then Dalton reached out and patted her on the shoulder. “That’s why you’re here.”

He was mad as a bloody hatter, but he hadn’t tossed her out, so that was something. One thing was for certain—she wasn’t going to start snapping at his heels anytime soon.

He lifted his hand. “You’ve had a busy night. Why don’t you skedaddle? I imagine you have a lot to do before morning.”

A dismissal if she ever heard one—and she was thankful for it. “I’ll just go change.”

He waved a hand at her. “Take the dress with you. Keep it. What am I going to do with the thing?”

What did he think she was going to do with it? It wasn’t exactly her style of gown. Still, it would be rude not to take it.

“Thanks.” Then because she couldn’t think of anything else to say, “I’ll see you all in the morning.”

She hastened another glance at Jasper, only to find him looking at her with rueful green eyes. She wondered what it was that he looked so apologetic over as she left the room.

Then again, maybe she didn’t want to know.

Griffin would have left the Astor-Prynn party immediately after regaining consciousness—which was about two minutes after Finley hit him—had the police not been summoned and he’d not been pressed into talking to them. He had just finished his interview, and his pride smarted from the amused look in the officer’s eyes when he’d told him what had happened.

Bloody Finley.

He roused to the sound of a high-pitched voice practically screaming at him. It was Miss Astor-Prynn, and to be fair, she had seemed genuinely concerned for his well-being. Would have been nice if she could have expressed her concern without sounding like a bloody banshee, though.

The entire side of his face throbbed, especially his jaw. Hit by a girl—that would follow him for the rest of his stay. He was beginning to wish he’d never left England. No one would know that Finley hit with about the same force as a battering ram. No one but him.

He moved his jaw and winced. Did she have to hit him quite so hard? She hadn’t needed to knock him out. He pressed his fingers to the back of his head. No pain, no lump. Obviously she’d caught him rather than let him hit the floor. How ruddy wonderful was that? Hit by a girl and then supported by one. She’d once picked him up and carried him after he’d absorbed too much Aether. Next thing, she’d be cutting his food for him or perhaps tying his shoes.

He said his goodbyes to Mr. and Mrs. Astor-Prynn—both of whom had apologized several times already for an incident they believed to be their fault. He assured them he was fine and that he didn’t blame them. Then, because he felt badly for them, he agreed to come for dinner one night. Luckily, they hadn’t pressed him to set a date.

He kissed Miss Astor-Prynn on the hand and bade her good-night, then went outside and climbed into the carriage they’d loaned him. He could have hailed a cab, but they had insisted. He would have agreed to let Mr. Astor-Prynn piggyback him all the way down 5th Avenue if he’d thought it would get him out of there any faster.

When he returned to the hotel, Griffin found Sam and Emily waiting for him in Sam’s room. They were sitting on the bed playing cards. Emily’s cat sat on the carpet within arm’s reach. Ever since being injured in the fight against The Machinist, Emily kept the metal animal close—her protector. It was more than that, though. With her ability to “talk” to machines, the cat was more than just a thing to her. It was as much a friend as something without a heart could be.

“How was the lecture?” he asked, closing the door behind him.

“Brilliant,” Emily replied enthusiastically, looking up from her cards. Her face practically glowed. “Griffin, Tesla is a bloody genius.”

“If he’s such a genius, why can’t he find words that everyone can understand?” Sam growled.

Emily shot him an amused glance. “Someone fell asleep halfway through.”

Griffin chuckled, then swore as pain rippled down the left side of his face. Both of them stared at him.

“How was the party?” Emily asked, somewhat hesitantly as she stared at his bruising jaw.

“Boring,” he replied as he unbuttoned his coat. “Until Finley showed up, that is.”

Emily straightened, cards totally forgotten. “Finley was there? At the party?” A frown tugged at her forehead. “What happened to your face?”

As he tossed his coat over a chair, Griffin sighed. “She was there with Dalton. Apparently he wanted her with him while he stole a set of building plans. As for my face, Finley happened, that’s what.”

Sam scowled so hard his eyebrows almost became one solid black line. “She hit you? What the hell for?”

“I assume to keep up appearances, but who knows what goes on in that head of hers.”

“Did you start ordering her around?” Emily asked. “Maybe she just wanted to shut you up.”

Griffin shot her a droll look. “Maybe.”

Sam looked thoughtful. “You know what, Em? You’re the only one of us Finley hasn’t hit.”

The Irish girl stared at him. “I haven’t given her reason, now, have I?”

“Can we talk about something other than who Finley has and hasn’t punched and why?” Griffin asked—somewhat testily. “Like, what Dalton would want with floor plans to the Museum of Science and Invention?”

“Maybe he wants a tour,” Sam suggested. When Griffin glared at him, he went on. “Won’t Finley tell us that when she comes back? If she hasn’t decided to run away and join Dalton’s gang for real, that is.”

The pain in Griffin’s jaw increased. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that his teeth were clenched. “That’s assuming Dalton trusts her so quickly with that kind of information.”

“Do you reckon she’s talked to Jasper?” Emily asked, hope in her wide eyes. “Maybe she’s found out what Dalton wants with him.”

Sam scowled and began gathering up their cards. “Or maybe she’s found out Jasper’s a crook, too.”

“Maybe,” Griffin allowed, ignoring the shocked look Emily shot him. “But I don’t think so. If Jasper was a willing party in this, Dalton never would have hired men to bring him here.”

“He went willingly enough.”

Griffin opened his mouth to debate but hesitated when he saw Emily place her small hand on top of Sam’s much larger one. “I know thinking the worst of people makes it hurt less when they disappoint you, lad, but not everything is as it seems.”

“She’s right,” Griffin said. And that was why he’d wait until he’d talked to Finley before getting
too
angry over the fact that she’d hit him.

Shifting uncomfortably, Sam turned his hand so that his fingers wrapped around Emily’s. Suddenly, Griffin felt like an intruder.

“Not everyone sees the good in people like you do, Emmy,” Sam said.

“She even sees the good in you” came a new voice from the door.

Griffin’s heart leaped in response.
Finley.
He glanced at her over his shoulder. She had changed into her own clothes and looked so completely unaffected by the evening that he thought perhaps he had only imagined seeing her at the party. But then he saw the bundle of plum-colored silk beneath her arm.

Emily bounced off the bed and came forward with an excited countenance. “Did you really hit Griffin? How’s Jasper? Did you find out what Dalton’s up to?”

Finley drew back from the smaller girl’s enthusiasm. She shot Sam a look from the corner of her eye. “Did you give her coffee again?” Then to her friend, “Yes, I hit Griffin. I’m sorry, but it was necessary. Dalton hasn’t told me much of anything, and Jasper was … quiet.”

“Quiet?” Emily’s nose wrinkled as her demeanor calmed. “That doesn’t sound like him.”

“It isn’t.” Finley turned her attention solely to Griffin. “There’s definitely something not right there. I think Dalton’s somehow forcing Jasper to work for him.”

“What kind of work?” Griffin asked, rubbing his jaw. When he noticed the flush in Finley’s cheek, he dropped his hand.

She glanced away with a shrug. “Dunno, but I’m supposed to accompany Jasper somewhere tomorrow, so I’ll hopefully have the chance to get some answers from him.”

“Or he might get some from you,” Sam cautioned. “Dalton might use him to spy on us. You don’t know that Jasper didn’t tell him who you really are.”

“You don’t trust anyone, do you?” Finley asked, incredulous.

Sam scratched his jaw. “I trust them.” He pointed at Emily and Griffin.

“Did you get a sense that Jasper has betrayed us?” Griffin asked, ignoring the fact that Sam had deliberately left Finley out. The two of them seemed to like picking on one another.

Finley shook her head. “No. He’s being used. I’m certain of it. I’m just not sure what the game is. I’m fairly sure Mei’s in the middle of it.”

“Mei?” Emily’s eyes narrowed. “The Chinese girl who was at the fight?”

And Griffin added, “Mei Xing?”

Finley nodded. “Has Jasper ever mentioned her to you?”

“Once.” He ran a hand through his hair as he tried to remember the circumstances. “I believe he had a photograph of her in his lodgings in London. I think they had been romantically involved.”

“Then it makes sense if Dalton is using her to keep Jasper in line,” Finley remarked. She shifted on her feet, her gaze not quite meeting his. “Dalton wants me to move into his house.”

It was as though the world stopped—even Emily and Sam went eerily silent. Griffin gave the words a moment to sink in and fought his immediate instinct to forbid her to leave the hotel ever again. If it was Sam in this situation, he wouldn’t be the least bit worried. Then again, Sam wasn’t really Dalton’s type.

“Are you comfortable with that?” he inquired. “Or do we need to come up with another plan?”

Was it his imagination, or did her shoulders actually relax? “I’m fine. Dalton’s flirty, but he’s more interested in what I can do for him.” Her gaze locked with Griffin’s. “Honestly.”

“But why did you hit Griffin?” Emily demanded, hands on her hips. “Why are the two of you looking at each other like that? What are we going to do about Jasper? We can’t let Finley walk into what could be a trap. What?” She turned her head to look at Sam, who had put his big hand on her shoulder.

“You have had too much coffee,” he said, taking her by the hand. “Let’s go for a bit of a walk. Get rid of some of that energy.”

She protested, but it was weak, and Sam managed to drag her from the room without much fuss. The door clicked shut behind them.

Griffin ran his hand through his hair—it must be a mess by now. No doubt it stuck up in all directions, making him look like a hedgehog. “My jaw really hurts, and this plan of yours had better work, because by tomorrow morning, I’m going to be the laughingstock of Manhattan Island.”

She winced. “I’m sorry for that, but Dalton has to believe I’m on his side. He took me there to fight anyone who got in our way. He was there when you came in. If I hadn’t hit you, he’d be suspicious.”

“I know. He would be even more suspicious once he found out it was the Duke of Greythorne who stumbled upon you. Doesn’t make my jaw ache any less.”

Finley moved toward him, a sorry expression on her pretty face. She tossed the silk gown on the bed and lifted her hand to his face. He tried not to flinch, but part of him actually expected her to haul off and cosh him again.

She noticed that he pulled away. Her mouth tightened, but she went ahead and placed her palm against his cheek. Her skin was cool; her touch seemed to ease the ache.

“Part of me likes to hit people,” she informed him as she looked him dead in the eye. “But not you. I want you to know that. I did what I thought I had to do.”

He believed her. “Did you like it?” he asked. “Stealing the plans, I mean?”

This time she withdrew from him. She dropped her hand. The ache in his jaw tripled.

“I did.” It came out as a whisper. “I didn’t want to, but I did.”

Griffin’s stomach clenched at her honesty. How was he supposed to feel about her candor? He appreciated that she’d told him the truth, but what did he do with it?

“What did you like about it?”

“The excitement. The danger.” Her eyes and cheeks seemed to brighten. “It was like when I was out on the bow of the airship, or like when we went up against The Machinist. I knew there was a chance it could go bad, but it didn’t.”

“Adrenaline,” he told her. “A perfectly normal reaction.” “You think so?”

She looked so hopeful it was hard to breathe. Griffin forced a smile. “Of course. I’ve felt the same way myself.” That was true, but not when committing a crime. Then again, he had never committed a crime, so he didn’t know if it was the same or not. It could be that Finley simply liked being … bad.

Her shoulders sagged in relief, and when she put her arms around him, he put his around her, as well.

“Thank you,” she murmured as she hugged him. “Thank you for being my friend.”

Griffin swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. “I’ll always be your friend.” He meant it, and that was what made it so difficult. He would do anything for her, but if Finley gave in to the darkness inside her, he would have no choice but to stop her—even if it meant losing her forever.

Jasper wasn’t really surprised to see Finley walk into Dalton’s house at five minutes to eleven the next morning. He was, however, surprised to see that she had shabby luggage and dust on her boots. Dirt was easy enough to find around these parts, especially the closer a body got to Five Points, where the grimy automaton street sweepers would be stripped down for their parts, but the Duke of Greythorne was the type of fella to share his wealth with his friends.

So he was left to reason that Griffin—or Finley—was as smart as he assumed and picked up the obviously worn items to protect the ruse that Finley was a girl looking to make a little blunt on the wrong side of the law.