The Girl With the Iron Touch (26 page)

More laughter—most of it from Dandy himself. “You fink so, do you? All right then, Poppet. You can come ’ome wiv me. I’ve never ’ad a little sister. It might be nice.”

Emily could have boxed his ears. Did he not realize the girl had a crush on him? Of course, he didn’t—he was male, after all. Lads were historically oblivious to these matters, even when they were sitting at their feet with a crestfallen expression on their pretty faces.

Jack finished his drink and rose. “Fanks for the ’ospitality, but I can no longer stand the sight of all you gorgeous people. I’m off to where I belong. Poppet?”

Mila rose to her feet. Even dirty and dressed atrociously, she was a pretty thing. Dandy looked her up and down. “Tomorrow we get you some proper clothes.” He glanced at Finley. “You’ll ’elp won’t you, Treasure?” Leaning her head against the side of the ladder, Finley nodded. “I would love to. Em, too.”

“Of course.” Jack sauntered over to Emily and took her hand in his. He pressed his lips to the back of her knuckles. “Glad you made it home safely, Little Ginger.”

“Thanks, laddie.”

Shortly after Jack and Mila departed, Mrs. Dodsworth came in to announce there was a visitor to see Griffin.

“It’s barely seven in the morning,” Griffin remarked. “Who is it?”

“Mr. Isley, Your Grace.”

Some of the color put into Griffin’s cheeks by the whiskey faded. That, Emily thought, was not a good sign. “Send him in.”

A few moments later, the tall lanky young man entered the room. He had slight bruising under his eyes, as though he hadn’t slept well. He would fit right in with the lot of them.

“Your Grace, I apologize for the intrusion—”

“I thought we agreed that you would call me Griffin.” Standing, Griffin went to the young man, who couldn’t be much older than he was, and extended his hand. “Come in. Would you like anything? Coffee perhaps?”

Isley accepted the handshake but briefly. “No, thank you. I’m on my way out of town. I’m conducting a séance in Bath next week.”

Ah, yes. He was the medium. Emily had read about him in the papers. It made sense that someone like Griffin, who could traffic in the land of the dead, would have such a friend.

“If you stopped here so early on such a morning, it must be important, so I will dispense with the niceties and give you leave to say whatever you wish.” Sometimes, Griffin sounded so posh and important. She forgot that as a duke he held one of the highest titles in the land. There were only a few of them in Britain.

“I come bearing a strange message,” the young man confided, turning the brim of his hat in his hands. “I received it just a few hours ago.”

As if pulled by invisible strings, they all sat up a little straighter. It had only been a few hours since the Machinist had died in front of their eyes. Surely this wasn’t a coincidence.

“Was it from a man named Garibaldi?” Griffin asked, expression grim.

Isley shrugged. “He did not give me his name, though I got the impression the two of you knew each other quite well. He was quite swarthy—Italian, perhaps.”

Griffin’s jaw clenched. “It was Garibaldi. He died earlier this morning.”

“I wish I could say I was sorry to hear that, but the friendship I feel for you makes that impossible.”

“You might as well just tell me what he said, Isley. I assure you I am quite prepared.”

Isley swallowed. “He said, ‘Tell Greythorne he cannot wear that disruptor forever. I will see him again soon.”

Emily gasped. She couldn’t help it, even though she’d suspected something like this might happen. Sam reached out and covered one of her hands with his much larger one. He was so very warm, and she tucked her fingers around his.

But Griffin’s expression didn’t change. He wasn’t surprised by the news at all. Had he suspected something like this would happen? Yes, of course, he had. Now it made sense why he hadn’t wanted to kill Garibaldi. Why he had tried to save him. Death would only give the Machinist a stronger presence in the Aether.

She turned her head to meet Sam’s gaze. People didn’t give Sam much credit as far as intelligence went. They had a hard time seeing past his strength and frown, but Sam was far from dumb. Sometimes she thought he understood people a lot better than she did. He squeezed her hand.

“Was that all he said?” Griffin asked.

Isley nodded. His gaze strayed to Jasper for a moment before returning to Griffin. “That was the extent of his message, though he warned me that if I didn’t deliver it immediately he would make certain I didn’t sleep for a full week.”

“You did the right thing.” Griffin clapped him on the shoulder. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

Griffin walked the medium out and, when he returned, looked each and every one of them in the eye. “I know you’re all worried. I am, too. But we have beaten Garibaldi twice, and we will again. Now, I’m exhausted and I’m going to go to bed.” With that, he turned on his heel and left the room. Finley followed not long after.

Wildcat and Jasper made their escape as well, saying that they were going to rest before getting back to whatever intrigue they’d been up to. That left just Emily and Sam in the room.

“I wouldn’t change it,” he blurted when she turned to him. “I’d still rip open that tank to save you.”

“Oh.” What else could she say to that? He’d basically just told her he put her above his best friend. “Sam, you don’t have—” Whatever else she had been about to say was cut off when he grabbed her by the upper arms and kissed her.

Samuel Morgan was an exceptional kisser. When he released her she was a little dizzy and as limp as a sleepy kitten. “What was that for?”

He smiled at her. Really smiled. And oh, Mary and Joseph, it was like the sun appearing after a yearlong thunderstorm. Tears filled her eyes. There he was, her beautiful Sam. Her hands came up to his face, as though she could hold that smile in place forever.

“I love you, too,” he said. “My heart might be metal, but it’s yours, Em. It’s always been and always will be yours.”

The tears spilled down her cheeks. “It’s about time you admitted to it, you great daft article.”

He smiled again, and then she kissed him, and for a while the world was exactly as it should be. Tomorrow—even later that day—could wait for a while. Kissing Sam for all she was worth could not.

* * *

“I don’t want to talk about Garibaldi,” Griffin said as soon as he entered his bedroom, Finley on his heels.

“Fine.” It really wasn’t, but she would not jump down his throat about it. She closed the door.

He turned around, fingers paused in untying his cravat. “Really?”

“Yes.”

His lips lifted on one side. “Liar.”

“That, too.”

He tugged the length of linen from around his neck. “Fin, I’m tired. I just want to sleep. Can we do this later?”

“Do what?”

“I don’t know. Whatever it is you have in mind.”

“You have no idea what I have in mind. If I did, you might want to do it right now after all.”

His eyes widened a fraction, then brightened. “You didn’t follow me up here to take me to task?”

“No, not really. I do want to talk about Garibaldi, but the tosser can wait. We’ve already talked about him enough.” She pointed at the little metal box he still had. “Will that really keep him away?”

Griffin set the disruptor on the dresser. “From me, yes. I’ll have Emily and Jasper help me make larger ones for the house and grounds. It will keep him away, along with any other ghosts he decides to send after me.”

“Good. That will buy us some time until we figure out what to do about him.”

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about him?” His tone was teasing, but there was a slight edge to it.

She went to him and wrapped her arms around his torso. She hugged him tight, holding him against her, trying to commit the feel of him to memory.

“Are you jealous of Mila?” he asked after a few moments.

That broke the spell. Finley lifted her head. “Why would I be jealous of Mila? Because she’s going to live with Jack?”

He nodded and she rolled her eyes. “Griffin, I had my chance to live with Jack. I chose you. This is a conversation we should stop having, as well, you know. I don’t want Jack that way. He’s my friend, and that’s all.”

“What am I?”

She grinned. “A pain in my posterior.”

He smiled, too, crinkles forming around his eyes. “I like your posterior.”

“Yours isn’t too shabby, either.”

“Answer the question.”

“I thought I had.”

“Finley.”

She sighed. Was he really going to make her spell it out? “I don’t know.”

“Ah.” He started to step back, but she held tight.

“You’re so many things to me,” she continued, refusing to let him go, tilting her head so she could look him in the eye. “You’re my friend. You’re the person I trust most in this world. You’re my family, my protector, and someone I want to protect. You’re my conscience, and you have this annoying ability to vex me to no end, but you also make me feel like I’m the most amazing girl in the world.”

“You are the most amazing girl in the world.” He said it so simply, so honestly, her throat seemed to close in on itself.

“I hope you still feel that way six weeks from now.”

“I’ll feel this way six
years
from now.”

Was he saying he loved her? No. It was too soon for that, wasn’t it? And love was so terrifying. Love meant expectations, and the fewer he had of those toward her the better. She rarely lived up to expectations. In fact, she usually ran away from them. She just knew…she knew that the thought of a world without him in it terrified her. She would go to the end of the earth for him. She’d go into hell itself for him.

With her arms wrapped around him, Finley backed toward the bed. Once there, she sat down on the mattress.

“Boots off,” he ordered with mock severity.

She lifted her foot. “Go ahead.”

He surprised her by unlacing and removing each boot. Then, he grabbed both her legs and swung the lower half of her onto the bed, so that she fell onto her back on the mattress. He removed his own boots and moved to join her.

“Lock the door,” she said.

For a moment he simply stared into her eyes. Then, he did as she requested, turning the key in the lock so no one could walk in unannounced. No Sam. No Mrs. Dodsworth.

When he joined her on the bed, she snuggled against him. When he kissed her she melted into him. And when he unfastened her steel corset she didn’t stop him. In fact, she tossed the bloody thing on the floor.

Griffin’s hand slid under her shirt. He stared into her eyes as he touched her. Finley flushed, but she didn’t look away.

“Is this what you want?” he asked.

She nodded, unable to speak. She’d never been certain of anything in her life. She’d also never been more afraid.

He kissed her again, taking away the fear. Other things joined her corset and boots on the floor until there was nothing between them, and then there was no such thing as him, or her. They were one.

Afterward, they lay together under the blankets. He kissed her eyelids, her forehead and her cheeks. Little butterfly kisses that made her smile.

“Tell me you don’t regret it,” he murmured.

Finley opened her eyes and raised her gaze to his. She smiled. “I don’t regret it.”

Griffin smiled back. “Good.” Then, he pulled her closer and kissed her on the mouth. “Stay with me?”

As if there was anywhere else she’d rather be. “Of course.”

He fell asleep before she did. Finley watched him for a while, committing every line of his face to memory. If she ever lost him her heart would break. This change in their relationship made her feel even closer to him, but it also deepened her fear. He may not want to talk about Garibaldi, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t think about the bastard.

Emily and Sam were home. They were safe. The Machinist had been stopped, his creations turned over to Scotland Yard. Griffin had his Aether disruptor thing, and would make more. They were good. For now.

But someday Garibaldi was going to come back for him. Someday there would be another fight, and there was no way of knowing what Garibaldi would do, or when. And no way of knowing just how strong he would be.

But there was one thing Finley did know: Garibaldi could not have him. Griffin King was
hers.