The Girl in the Steel Corset (11 page)

The officer gave Griffin a bland glance, obviously accustomed to being brushed aside by rich and powerful men who rose and dismissed him before he was ready. “Of course, Your Grace.” He tucked his notebook inside his coat and stood.

“Thank you for your time, Your Grace, Lady Marsden, Miss Jayne.” Jones bowed. “I’ll show myself out.”

Griffin remained by the desk for a few minutes, watching Finley, waiting until he knew the three of them were truly alone before crossing the plush rugs to close the study door.

The police had only been in his home twice, once after the death of his parents and now. He didn’t like his home or his people being looked at by Scotland Yard. Not even Sam’s attack had brought the law into this house. Part of him was a little angry at Finley for calling attention to him. People would talk about this. Society would be abuzz, wondering what the Peelers were doing at the Duke of Greythorne’s.

He turned and looked at the girl sitting in front of him.
This wasn’t about him. He was a bloody duke and could tell the world to go to the devil if he wanted. In fact, he was above the law in most circles. He had nothing to fear except a few whispers, which would blow over when another scandal erupted.

“Finley,” he said. “Are you all right?”

“Isn’t there another question you should ask her?” Aunt Cordelia prompted from the sofa where she’d been sitting quietly up until now. “Such as whether or not she killed that boy?”

Finley’s head lifted. Wide eyes turned to his. “I don’t know what I did last night. I don’t remember anything.”

Bloody hell.
Griff ran a hand through his hair. It was as he feared. “Nothing?”

She shook her head, little tendrils of hair brushing her cheeks. Had she always had that bit of black in her hair? “Nothing.”

“Wonderful,” Cordelia muttered.

Griff shot his aunt a sharp look. “She didn’t do it.” He believed it. He had to.

Cordelia returned the expression, mouth tight. “She’s capable of it. You thought so yourself.”

Finley flinched and Griff swore under his breath. “She is physically strong enough to do it. That’s a far cry from having the moral flexibility to snuff out a life. And stay the hell out of my head.”

His aunt rose from the sofa. “Enough of this debate. If you won’t take control of this situation, I will.”

Griff wasn’t sure what she meant until he heard Finley make a low noise. His head whipped around. She was sitting in the chair in front of his desk, her head in her hands, an expression of pain on her face.

“Stop it,” she pleaded. “Please stop.”

His attention jerked to his aunt, who was staring at Finley with such intensity she looked positively frightening. A trickle of blood slowly slipped from her right nostril.

“Cordelia.”

Finley moaned. Her eyes were squeezed shut now as she leaned forward. She was on the edge of the chair, looking as though she might slump to the floor at any moment.

“Delia!” He grabbed his aunt’s arm, but she didn’t seem to notice. She kept her gaze fastened on Finley. Blood trickled from her nose, and slowly ran down her chin to drip on the front of her gown. She was too deep into Finley’s head—determined to get past the girl’s barriers even at the cost of her own well-being.

Any force against Cordelia might do real damage to his aunt’s mind. The connection had to be broken at the focal point, which was Finley, who was on the floor now, kneeling in a silent scream.

Griff swore again. He knelt beside Finley and put his hand around the back of her neck. She didn’t even seem to notice his touch, she simply continued to suffer, in so
much distress not even her other nature could overcome this attack. All of her energy was directed at keeping Cordelia out as instinct demanded, when it could all be over so quickly if she just let his aunt in.

“Finley?” he said softly. “Sweetheart, can you hear me?”

Nothing.

He took a deep breath and focused inward. Summoning up his determination, Griffin concentrated very carefully. He had never done this before, but it was the only solution he could think of with both of them so far beyond his reach in this realm.

It was like opening a window and letting the wind in. The Aether welcomed him with the spiritual equivalent of open arms. Power rushed to meet him, so potent he could taste it. He resisted the urge to let it fill him completely, closing his eyes and allowing himself to see Finley with his inner sight. On the Aetheric plane she was awash in pain, but the strength of her soul was undeniable. Her power glowed around her in a dual aura—one for each separate side of her personality. Those auras would have to merge into one for her to ever have any peace. At this moment the darker aura was the more powerful, pulsating under the strength of Cordelia’s psychic attack. His aunt was a powerful telepath—and determined. She would not give up until Finley let her in—a moment that very well might come too late for either of them. She wouldn’t give up because she thought Finley was a threat to him, and despite
being cocky about her abilities, Aunt Cordelia would give her life to protect him. As much as he loved her for it, it was bloody inconvenient at the moment.

Fortunately, mediums, spiritualists and telepaths like his aunt operated within the Aether. He could see and sense them in the Aether—like the ghosts they sought. Only, they pulsed with life, while ghosts did not.

But ghosts weren’t what he needed to think about right now, and he ignored those who “tugged” at his sleeve in this strange world behind the world.

Griffin turned his attention to the connection between the two women, fixating on the stream of undulating power between his aunt and Finley. It bathed them both in an iridescent light, covering them, joining them. He reached out, concentrating on the Aetheric stream. His free arm went around Finley as he tried to bend the energy to his will. Cordelia’s power didn’t want to let go, and if it was forced, his aunt would be struck by Finley’s. There was only one other solution.

His heart skipped a beat—just one—before he recaptured his calm. If he lost control now there was no telling what the Aether would do to him. Once, it had sucked him in and kept him for a full day. It had taken him three to recover from the experience. And left him with several white hairs, which he’d promptly plucked from his head. That was when he’d learned there was a price to pay for being able to touch the Aether.

He moved the chair so he could kneel beside Finley and wrap both arms around her. She was warm against his chest, trembling as her mind fought against Cordelia’s intrusion. His concentration deepened as he drew the energy pushing against her—and emanating from her—into himself. Slowly, he took control of the Aether, pulling it away from Finley to focus instead on him. Once he had it, all he had to do was hold it. It tried to dance away from him but he held fast. The energy whirled around him, filling him. It was so much.

When Cordelia’s mind seemed to realize the connection between it and Finley had been broken, it stopped pushing. Like an elastic band pulled so taut it snapped, the energy flew into him, hitting him with a force that sent both him and Finley to the floor.

Griffin barely managed to catch the girl, still bombarded by Aetheric energy. With his guard now so lowered, the Aether rushed at him. Spirits—that’s how the strange beings here had always seemed to him—crowded around him, a million voices talking at once. Some were crying, others shouting—some were just whispers.

The energy filled him, like a crashing tide. Cordelia and Finley had exchanged so much energy that it was in constant motion. He had drained the power, but without direction it blew around inside him with hurricane force, trapped in one body rather than cycling between two. To the Aetheric
plane he was a doorway, not just a mere window. And it wanted out.

He struggled to his feet, barely aware of the two females lying unconscious on the floor. He had to get out of the house.

French doors at the back of the room led out into the garden and he ran toward them. Power arced from his hands as he reached for the handle, sending the doors flying open without a touch.

He leaped down the shallow stone steps to the garden, the frantic pounding inside him pushing him to run at full speed across the freshly cut grass. He stumbled but kept running, his vision beginning to blur. He could feel his scalp starting to stretch under the pressure.

The Aether was tearing him apart.

There was a pool in the garden—picturesque with statues and perfectly groomed topiaries surrounding it. That was his destination. Just another forty feet—water would fix this.

He almost stumbled again. He was running out of time. His skull felt as though it was about to crack.

Almost there.

His feet ate up the distance. He could see the edge of the pool now, blurred and multiplied. Colors danced before his eyes.

As his boots hit the stone edge, Griffin launched himself. He flew through the air, falling now. God, he hoped he’d calculated correctly. If he hit the ground…

He hit the water, the shock of it hitting him like a cold boot to the chest. His mouth opened, water drowning his shout as the Aether forced its way out. He let it go.

Then everything went black.

It was the explosion that woke Finley up.

Groggily, she used the desk to pull herself to her knees and then to her feet. Her head felt as though it had been kicked repeatedly, such was the pounding in it. A few feet away, Lady Marsden was also coming around. Blood covered the older woman’s face. Slowly, she began to sit up, her gaze quickly scanning the room as she dabbed her nose with the back of her hand. She looked at Finley, her eyes wide.

“Griffin.”

Finley didn’t think, she simply reacted. She knew the ferocious noise she’d heard had to do with Griffin, just as she knew he’d run out through the garden doors. The shattered glass from the panes in the doors lay scattered across the wet stone steps.

The entire garden looked as though it had been heavily rained on, despite the sun shining in the sky. Fog clung
to the ground at the far end of the lawn, where the pool was. That’s where Finley ran, despite that every time her feet struck ground the pain in her head made her want to vomit.

As she reached the pool, she realized it wasn’t fog curling around the wet grass. Fog wasn’t hot—steam was. It burned her as she walked through it to stand on the stone edge.

There was no more than two inches of water left in the entire pool, and there, lying in the middle of it, was a sopping-wet Griffin, steam pouring off him like a teakettle at full boil.

“Griffin!”

Heedless of her boots or her own safety, Finley jumped into the pool, hot water splashing her legs, burning her skin through her stockings. She hissed in pain, but ran to Griffin’s side.

“Griffin?” She crouched next to him, tentatively reached out and touched his dripping hair as he pushed himself to his knees.

He didn’t lift his head, but his mouth curved into a smile. “Finley.” His voice was a raw rasp, as though the heat that emanated from him had burned his throat, as well. “You’re all right.”

Realization hit her hard—he had stopped his aunt’s intrusion into her mind, and this was the result of whatever he’d done. For her. She could have kissed him right then, if she hadn’t thought his lips might blister hers.

Lifting his arm, she placed it over her shoulders, gritting her teeth against the fiery sting as water seeped through her clothes. Her other self rose up just a bit and she allowed it, taking the edge off the pain.

“Can you stand?” she asked, putting her arm around his waist.

He nodded. Together they stood. Finley could feel the tremor in Griff’s body as he stood. He couldn’t support his own weight at all, the stubborn liar. She bent down and put her other arm beneath his knees, sweeping him off his feet into her arms, carrying him like a child toward the top side of the pool.

“Finley,” he said.

“Yes, Griffin?”

“Put me down, please.” There was laughter in his voice.

She looked at him. Their faces were so close she really could kiss him if she wanted. He had quite nice lips, and right now they were smiling at her. “Please,” he said again. “As nice as this is, I refuse to be carried into my own home by a girl who weighs a good three stone less than I.”

Heat that had nothing to do with the steam filled her cheeks. “Sorry.” But she didn’t set him on his feet until they were out of the pool, then she let his legs down, but she continued to support him with an arm around his waist, his over her shoulders. His male pride obviously did not mind
leaning
on a girl three stone lighter than he.

“What happened?” she asked as they moved slowly
toward the house. The steam seemed to be lessening, no longer rolling along the grass.

He sighed. “Simply, I went into the Aetheric plane and absorbed the energy flowing between you and Aunt Cordelia to disconnect your psychic connection. The water helps to disperse the excess, so I jumped in the pool.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I shall have to refill it.”

“You pay people to do that for you,” she reminded him a little sharply. “And you shouldn’t have put yourself in that kind of danger for me.”

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye—she knew this because she was doing the same to him. “If not for you, then for whom?” he asked softly.

Finley looked away. “Thank you,” she mumbled. Of course he might have done it to save his aunt, but he had done it for her, as well. No one had ever done anything like that for her.

“This might not be the best time to bring this up,” he remarked as they neared the house. “But did you happen to notice when you picked me up whether or not your ‘other’ side was in attendance?”

Finley stopped, forcing him to, as well. She was so astounded that she could neither move nor speak for a good few seconds. Then she turned to him. “I don’t know. I felt it earlier. I let it take away the pain, but then…” She stared at him. “But I couldn’t have been so strong without it.”

Griffin grinned, flashing straight white teeth as water
trickled down his face from his hair. His cheeks were flushed, making his eyes seem all the brighter. “You controlled it.”

She stood there, looking at him with wonder. She
had
controlled it. Not simply fought it until it went away, but honest to goodness used it and made it work for her! She didn’t know how she’d done it—only that her thoughts had been on Griffin not herself. But if she could do it once, surely she could do it again?

They began walking again. Griffin’s steps were stronger now, though he didn’t remove his arm from her shoulders, nor did she take hers away from his waist. Despite the discomfort from the burns, she liked this contact.

“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 expense. 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.