The Girl with the Iron Touch
Page 18
Emily’s eyes widened—yanked open by shock. “You do?”
“I think…I think you are my Geppetto. Are you not? Though, a mother rather than a father.”
Oh, blast it all! Tears trickled down Emily’s cheeks and she swiped at them with the back of her hand. She hadn’t wanted to feel for this poor creature, and now here she was after a few days with her, bawling like a fool.
“You’re leaking.” Mila left her perch on a stack of books and came to kneel in front of the cot. She dabbed at Emily’s cheeks with her sleeve. Poor thing obviously meant well, but Emily would be amazed if she didn’t bruise from the force of the dabbing.
Emily sniffed. “I’m fine.” And she was, until a pair of dangerously strong arms closed around her in a tentative and gentle grip. She found herself leaning into the embrace, her own arms going around Mila’s back. She squeezed her eyes tight, fighting the tears until her head began to ache. Finally, the urge to cry eased and she opened her lids. She glanced up and saw a small, familiar shape on the ceiling. It was a mechanical spider.
It was her mechanical spider. Griffin must have sent it looking for her. It would transmit her exact location through the Aether back to King House. Her friends would come for her soon.
“I won’t let them hurt you,” she whispered, hugging the girl tight, and feeling only the softness of flesh rather than the unyielding strength of metal. “No one’s ever going to hurt you.”
And that promise extended not only to the Machinist and his “Victoria,” but to the whole world. Anyone who tried to hurt this dear creature was going to be very, very sorry.
Chapter 12
“You don’t have to look after me. I’m quite capable,” Griffin protested as Finley cleaned the wounds on his face.
She paused from cleaning one particularly nasty cut along his left cheekbone. “Am I hurting you?” Lord, she had such a hard time meeting his gaze; she was afraid of what he might see in her eyes—the fear when she hadn’t known how to help him, the sick feeling thinking that he might be seriously injured, the anger at him for playing martyr and keeping the “haunting” to himself for so long. Most of all, she was afraid he’d see that she was prepared to kill Garibaldi with her bare hands for him.
She’d do it and not even blink. That scared her. Not that she’d kill someone—she’d faced that prospect before—but that she’d do it for him without a thought.
“No,” he murmured. “You’re not hurting me. I’m afraid I’ve hurt you, though. Haven’t I?”
She shrugged. “I’ll get over it.” That was true, but she still couldn’t look him straight in the eye.
“I was only trying to protect you.”
“I know that. I even appreciate it.” Now she met his gaze. “I don’t need to be protected.”
The bounder actually smiled at her. “Sometimes you do. Sometimes I do, too.” His smile faded. “Garibaldi and his demons have gotten stronger. They might have done severe damage to me had you not been there. Thank you.”
Well, that sucked any residual anger out of her. “I don’t want to be surprised like that again,” she informed him. “If you’re in trouble, you do what you expect the rest of us to do—share it so we can help.”
“I’m not accustomed—”
“I know.” She cut him off without remorse. “I don’t care if you’re the bloody Prince of bloody Wales. From now on you accept that you have friends who love you and stop trying to fix everything by yourself.”
He actually looked surprised to be ordered about, but he nodded. “You’re right. I need to start playing by my own rules, and stop being a hypocrite.”
“It’s not just that.” She placed her palms gently on either side of his face so he couldn’t look away. She took care not to press on any of his wounds. “The rest of us would be lost without you. We’d have no place to go, no purpose. You’ve given us a home and made us feel like heroes rather than freaks. You can’t keep putting yourself in danger when there are so many reasons for you to live.”
She released him, averting her gaze once more as she took a jar of salve from the medical kit and removed the top. It was Emily’s special blend, made with organites. Each of them had enough of the “wee beasties” in their system that healing took place rapidly, but some injuries needed to disappear faster than others. People would wonder what the Duke of Greythorne had done to his handsome face. The salve would heal the shallow wounds in a few hours, the deeper ones by morning.
Warm fingers brushed her cheek as she applied the balm to his cleaned cuts. “Some reasons to live are more dear than others.”
Finley swallowed. Her heart kicked so hard against her ribs she was certain it cracked a couple of them. When she’d first met Griffin she’d believed him capable of mesmerism, and he did have some skill in that area, because even though she didn’t want to look at him, her gaze betrayed her and met his.
Her heart stopped altogether. He was so…lovely. That was the only word that came to mind. His thumb traced the arch of her eyebrow, down to the curve of her cheekbone, and stroked. Then he placed his other hand on her face as well, holding her head as she had his just moments earlier. Now she was the one who couldn’t look away.
“That night I found you I thought I could help you,” he confessed.
“You did,” she rasped. “You helped me combine the two sides of my nature.”
“You’re not done. You’re still evolving into the woman you’re meant to be. I worried that maybe my feelings for you would change once you integrated your dark half, that maybe that part of you would win dominance.”
Finley’s stomach turned. After all their kisses and embraces, was he going to tell her he didn’t want her?
“Instead you’ve become even more amazing.” His lips tilted lopsidedly as a glint lit his eyes. “I had no idea that you would change my life so much, that it had been so empty before you crashed into it. All that mattered was my duty and continuing my parents’ work, continuing their service to the Crown. All of that still matters, but now you’re the reason I want to make the world a better place. You’re why I get up in the morning, simply because I cannot wait to see your face.”
“That rhymes,” she murmured inanely.
Griffin laughed. He brushed both thumbs over her cheeks. “The world’s already a better place for having you in it, Finley Jayne.”
She felt like Lizzie in Pride and Prejudice when Mr. Darcy reasserted his love for her. Her head spun as though she’d twirled around one too many times. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Then don’t say anything.”
They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. He continued to look vaguely amused, while she was certain she looked like an idiot.
“It’s a good thing I have an abundance of confidence,” he joked. “Or I might take your silence for rejection.”
Rejection? Good Lord, how could he even think such a thing? In fact, how could he be thinking of romance at all when the Machinist was still out there, still after him? “You’re mad,” she whispered. “We should be talking about what to do about Garibaldi, and how to keep you safe from his attacks. We should be talking about how to release his hold on Mei so she can move on.”
“I know.” One of his hands slid around to the back of her head. The other dropped to entwine with one of hers. He grinned like the madman he was. “But at the moment I really don’t care.”
And then he kissed her, and Finley didn’t care about anything else, either.
Finley and Griffin were both asleep—fully clothed— when Sam barged into Griffin’s bedroom sometime later. Still, Finley lurched upright, clutching at her shirt to make certain she was properly covered, cheeks flushing hot. Sam didn’t seem to care one whit that she and Griffin were alone in his room, on his bed, but what if it had been Mrs. Dodsworth or one of the other servants? Or worse, Griffin’s aunt Cordelia! It was scandalous behavior—the kind that could ruin her and give Griffin a bad reputation.
And then she remembered that none of that mattered, and that it wasn’t Mrs. Dodsworth—who probably wouldn’t say a word anyway—but it was Sam, who didn’t care what she and Griffin did.
But she cared. The thought was somewhat surprising. What happened between herself and Griffin was no one’s business.
“Don’t you knock?” she demanded. “This is coming a bloody habit of yours.”
Sam looked at her, and chose that precise moment to be a real human being rather than an aggravating halfwit. He actually blushed, which did nothing to ease her embarrassment. “Sorry. I think I found Emily.”
She jumped off the bed and bounded over to him. “Where?”
He took a step back, like a large dog being approached by a small, yappy one. “Crestfield and Euston.” He turned to Griffin, who had also risen. “Come downstairs, I’ll show you on the map.”
Sam preceded them out of the bedroom. Finley made to leave after him, but Griffin caught her by the hand and pulled her back.
“What?” she asked, noting the pensive expression on his healing face. The cuts left by Garibaldi’s demons were little more than faint lines now.
“You haven’t done anything wrong.” Bloody hell, she hated it when he seemed to read her mind. “Sam’s not going to judge you, or me.”
“Maybe I judge me.”
He arched a brow. “That’s ridiculous.” Finley’s back stiffened, but he went on, “You could have sneaked in here last night and ravished me and then skulked back to your own room without being seen and that would be fine, but get caught innocently sleeping and suddenly you’re ruined.”
Finley’s lips twitched. “You reckon I’d ravage you, do you?”
He shrugged. “I’m surprised you’ve resisted temptation this long.”
It was a cheeky remark, especially for him. It felt wrong, being lighthearted while Emily was missing, and probably in the hands of a madman, but this new intimacy between them had a giddiness to it that refused to be denied. She liked seeing him like this. For a moment she didn’t think about the fact that the same lunatic that had Emily was also trying to kill Griffin. That was a sobering thought.
“Maybe I won’t be able to resist much longer.” Had she said that aloud? It was brazen, even for her, but with the danger surrounding them perhaps it was foolish to think that they had all the time in the world. Foolish to be afraid of sex when violence seemed to find her wherever she went.
His fingers tightened around hers. “I’m not going anywhere. Take your time.”
Sometimes he knew exactly what to say, even when it contradicted her own thoughts. “Let’s go see about bringing Emily home.”
They walked downstairs together, still holding hands. For years the duality of Finley’s nature had made her feel like she was an outsider to the rest of the world—in but not of. Not anymore. This was where she belonged. Griffin was who she belonged with. Their future was uncertain, but she planned on spending as much of it with him as time allowed.
And that was all the thought she was going to give it, because she was rapidly becoming sick of herself. She was a reasonably intelligent young woman who could take care of herself. She wasn’t afraid of physical violence; in fact, part of her rather enjoyed it. Spending all this time fretting and fawning over a bloke just wasn’t her. If this was what infatuation did to a girl she’d take herself off to a convent in the morning.
And yet, she walked into the library clinging to Griffin’s hand, unwilling to let him go just yet.
“Where’s Jasper?” Griffin asked, glancing about the room.
Sam turned from the large map of Britain on the wall. “That American girl showed up. The one with the fangs.”
“Wildcat?” Finley couldn’t believe it.
Sam turned his disinterested gaze her way. “Does she have fangs and black hair?”
“She does.”
“Then that’s her. I forget what she said she was in town for, but she said something about needing Jasper’s help with something and him owing her. She made a pretty convincing argument for him to accompany her. Really laid on the guilt about a debt and how she wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. I told him to go ahead. I mean, it’s not like he wanted to be here with us, right?”
He had a point, difficult as it was to hear. Maybe Jasper wanted time away. But he cared about Emily. He would want to help her. So, whatever Wildcat wanted, it had to be important.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Jasper accompanies her back to New York,” Griffin commented. “I don’t think he’s happy here.”
“He came back on his own,” Finley reminded him. “That must mean something.”
“Can we get back to trying to find Emily rather than fretting over Jasper?” Sam asked, rather bitingly.
“We can do both.” Griffin tapped the map. “Stop growling and show us where Emily is.”
Sam didn’t have to be told twice. He pointed at St. Pancras on the smooth paper. “This is where Dandy delivered the crate.” He slid his finger a little south. “And this is where the tracking device says she is.”
“But we were already down there,” Finley protested. “Both Emily and I thought we were being watched, but we didn’t see a thing.”
“That’s because they were carefully concealed.” Sam moved to the desk and unfurled a long tube of canvas. It was another map. “This is the late duke’s cartography of London’s underground, with secret passages and grottos marked. He recorded every detail.”
“I think…I think you are my Geppetto. Are you not? Though, a mother rather than a father.”
Oh, blast it all! Tears trickled down Emily’s cheeks and she swiped at them with the back of her hand. She hadn’t wanted to feel for this poor creature, and now here she was after a few days with her, bawling like a fool.
“You’re leaking.” Mila left her perch on a stack of books and came to kneel in front of the cot. She dabbed at Emily’s cheeks with her sleeve. Poor thing obviously meant well, but Emily would be amazed if she didn’t bruise from the force of the dabbing.
Emily sniffed. “I’m fine.” And she was, until a pair of dangerously strong arms closed around her in a tentative and gentle grip. She found herself leaning into the embrace, her own arms going around Mila’s back. She squeezed her eyes tight, fighting the tears until her head began to ache. Finally, the urge to cry eased and she opened her lids. She glanced up and saw a small, familiar shape on the ceiling. It was a mechanical spider.
It was her mechanical spider. Griffin must have sent it looking for her. It would transmit her exact location through the Aether back to King House. Her friends would come for her soon.
“I won’t let them hurt you,” she whispered, hugging the girl tight, and feeling only the softness of flesh rather than the unyielding strength of metal. “No one’s ever going to hurt you.”
And that promise extended not only to the Machinist and his “Victoria,” but to the whole world. Anyone who tried to hurt this dear creature was going to be very, very sorry.
Chapter 12
“You don’t have to look after me. I’m quite capable,” Griffin protested as Finley cleaned the wounds on his face.
She paused from cleaning one particularly nasty cut along his left cheekbone. “Am I hurting you?” Lord, she had such a hard time meeting his gaze; she was afraid of what he might see in her eyes—the fear when she hadn’t known how to help him, the sick feeling thinking that he might be seriously injured, the anger at him for playing martyr and keeping the “haunting” to himself for so long. Most of all, she was afraid he’d see that she was prepared to kill Garibaldi with her bare hands for him.
She’d do it and not even blink. That scared her. Not that she’d kill someone—she’d faced that prospect before—but that she’d do it for him without a thought.
“No,” he murmured. “You’re not hurting me. I’m afraid I’ve hurt you, though. Haven’t I?”
She shrugged. “I’ll get over it.” That was true, but she still couldn’t look him straight in the eye.
“I was only trying to protect you.”
“I know that. I even appreciate it.” Now she met his gaze. “I don’t need to be protected.”
The bounder actually smiled at her. “Sometimes you do. Sometimes I do, too.” His smile faded. “Garibaldi and his demons have gotten stronger. They might have done severe damage to me had you not been there. Thank you.”
Well, that sucked any residual anger out of her. “I don’t want to be surprised like that again,” she informed him. “If you’re in trouble, you do what you expect the rest of us to do—share it so we can help.”
“I’m not accustomed—”
“I know.” She cut him off without remorse. “I don’t care if you’re the bloody Prince of bloody Wales. From now on you accept that you have friends who love you and stop trying to fix everything by yourself.”
He actually looked surprised to be ordered about, but he nodded. “You’re right. I need to start playing by my own rules, and stop being a hypocrite.”
“It’s not just that.” She placed her palms gently on either side of his face so he couldn’t look away. She took care not to press on any of his wounds. “The rest of us would be lost without you. We’d have no place to go, no purpose. You’ve given us a home and made us feel like heroes rather than freaks. You can’t keep putting yourself in danger when there are so many reasons for you to live.”
She released him, averting her gaze once more as she took a jar of salve from the medical kit and removed the top. It was Emily’s special blend, made with organites. Each of them had enough of the “wee beasties” in their system that healing took place rapidly, but some injuries needed to disappear faster than others. People would wonder what the Duke of Greythorne had done to his handsome face. The salve would heal the shallow wounds in a few hours, the deeper ones by morning.
Warm fingers brushed her cheek as she applied the balm to his cleaned cuts. “Some reasons to live are more dear than others.”
Finley swallowed. Her heart kicked so hard against her ribs she was certain it cracked a couple of them. When she’d first met Griffin she’d believed him capable of mesmerism, and he did have some skill in that area, because even though she didn’t want to look at him, her gaze betrayed her and met his.
Her heart stopped altogether. He was so…lovely. That was the only word that came to mind. His thumb traced the arch of her eyebrow, down to the curve of her cheekbone, and stroked. Then he placed his other hand on her face as well, holding her head as she had his just moments earlier. Now she was the one who couldn’t look away.
“That night I found you I thought I could help you,” he confessed.
“You did,” she rasped. “You helped me combine the two sides of my nature.”
“You’re not done. You’re still evolving into the woman you’re meant to be. I worried that maybe my feelings for you would change once you integrated your dark half, that maybe that part of you would win dominance.”
Finley’s stomach turned. After all their kisses and embraces, was he going to tell her he didn’t want her?
“Instead you’ve become even more amazing.” His lips tilted lopsidedly as a glint lit his eyes. “I had no idea that you would change my life so much, that it had been so empty before you crashed into it. All that mattered was my duty and continuing my parents’ work, continuing their service to the Crown. All of that still matters, but now you’re the reason I want to make the world a better place. You’re why I get up in the morning, simply because I cannot wait to see your face.”
“That rhymes,” she murmured inanely.
Griffin laughed. He brushed both thumbs over her cheeks. “The world’s already a better place for having you in it, Finley Jayne.”
She felt like Lizzie in Pride and Prejudice when Mr. Darcy reasserted his love for her. Her head spun as though she’d twirled around one too many times. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Then don’t say anything.”
They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. He continued to look vaguely amused, while she was certain she looked like an idiot.
“It’s a good thing I have an abundance of confidence,” he joked. “Or I might take your silence for rejection.”
Rejection? Good Lord, how could he even think such a thing? In fact, how could he be thinking of romance at all when the Machinist was still out there, still after him? “You’re mad,” she whispered. “We should be talking about what to do about Garibaldi, and how to keep you safe from his attacks. We should be talking about how to release his hold on Mei so she can move on.”
“I know.” One of his hands slid around to the back of her head. The other dropped to entwine with one of hers. He grinned like the madman he was. “But at the moment I really don’t care.”
And then he kissed her, and Finley didn’t care about anything else, either.
Finley and Griffin were both asleep—fully clothed— when Sam barged into Griffin’s bedroom sometime later. Still, Finley lurched upright, clutching at her shirt to make certain she was properly covered, cheeks flushing hot. Sam didn’t seem to care one whit that she and Griffin were alone in his room, on his bed, but what if it had been Mrs. Dodsworth or one of the other servants? Or worse, Griffin’s aunt Cordelia! It was scandalous behavior—the kind that could ruin her and give Griffin a bad reputation.
And then she remembered that none of that mattered, and that it wasn’t Mrs. Dodsworth—who probably wouldn’t say a word anyway—but it was Sam, who didn’t care what she and Griffin did.
But she cared. The thought was somewhat surprising. What happened between herself and Griffin was no one’s business.
“Don’t you knock?” she demanded. “This is coming a bloody habit of yours.”
Sam looked at her, and chose that precise moment to be a real human being rather than an aggravating halfwit. He actually blushed, which did nothing to ease her embarrassment. “Sorry. I think I found Emily.”
She jumped off the bed and bounded over to him. “Where?”
He took a step back, like a large dog being approached by a small, yappy one. “Crestfield and Euston.” He turned to Griffin, who had also risen. “Come downstairs, I’ll show you on the map.”
Sam preceded them out of the bedroom. Finley made to leave after him, but Griffin caught her by the hand and pulled her back.
“What?” she asked, noting the pensive expression on his healing face. The cuts left by Garibaldi’s demons were little more than faint lines now.
“You haven’t done anything wrong.” Bloody hell, she hated it when he seemed to read her mind. “Sam’s not going to judge you, or me.”
“Maybe I judge me.”
He arched a brow. “That’s ridiculous.” Finley’s back stiffened, but he went on, “You could have sneaked in here last night and ravished me and then skulked back to your own room without being seen and that would be fine, but get caught innocently sleeping and suddenly you’re ruined.”
Finley’s lips twitched. “You reckon I’d ravage you, do you?”
He shrugged. “I’m surprised you’ve resisted temptation this long.”
It was a cheeky remark, especially for him. It felt wrong, being lighthearted while Emily was missing, and probably in the hands of a madman, but this new intimacy between them had a giddiness to it that refused to be denied. She liked seeing him like this. For a moment she didn’t think about the fact that the same lunatic that had Emily was also trying to kill Griffin. That was a sobering thought.
“Maybe I won’t be able to resist much longer.” Had she said that aloud? It was brazen, even for her, but with the danger surrounding them perhaps it was foolish to think that they had all the time in the world. Foolish to be afraid of sex when violence seemed to find her wherever she went.
His fingers tightened around hers. “I’m not going anywhere. Take your time.”
Sometimes he knew exactly what to say, even when it contradicted her own thoughts. “Let’s go see about bringing Emily home.”
They walked downstairs together, still holding hands. For years the duality of Finley’s nature had made her feel like she was an outsider to the rest of the world—in but not of. Not anymore. This was where she belonged. Griffin was who she belonged with. Their future was uncertain, but she planned on spending as much of it with him as time allowed.
And that was all the thought she was going to give it, because she was rapidly becoming sick of herself. She was a reasonably intelligent young woman who could take care of herself. She wasn’t afraid of physical violence; in fact, part of her rather enjoyed it. Spending all this time fretting and fawning over a bloke just wasn’t her. If this was what infatuation did to a girl she’d take herself off to a convent in the morning.
And yet, she walked into the library clinging to Griffin’s hand, unwilling to let him go just yet.
“Where’s Jasper?” Griffin asked, glancing about the room.
Sam turned from the large map of Britain on the wall. “That American girl showed up. The one with the fangs.”
“Wildcat?” Finley couldn’t believe it.
Sam turned his disinterested gaze her way. “Does she have fangs and black hair?”
“She does.”
“Then that’s her. I forget what she said she was in town for, but she said something about needing Jasper’s help with something and him owing her. She made a pretty convincing argument for him to accompany her. Really laid on the guilt about a debt and how she wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. I told him to go ahead. I mean, it’s not like he wanted to be here with us, right?”
He had a point, difficult as it was to hear. Maybe Jasper wanted time away. But he cared about Emily. He would want to help her. So, whatever Wildcat wanted, it had to be important.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Jasper accompanies her back to New York,” Griffin commented. “I don’t think he’s happy here.”
“He came back on his own,” Finley reminded him. “That must mean something.”
“Can we get back to trying to find Emily rather than fretting over Jasper?” Sam asked, rather bitingly.
“We can do both.” Griffin tapped the map. “Stop growling and show us where Emily is.”
Sam didn’t have to be told twice. He pointed at St. Pancras on the smooth paper. “This is where Dandy delivered the crate.” He slid his finger a little south. “And this is where the tracking device says she is.”
“But we were already down there,” Finley protested. “Both Emily and I thought we were being watched, but we didn’t see a thing.”
“That’s because they were carefully concealed.” Sam moved to the desk and unfurled a long tube of canvas. It was another map. “This is the late duke’s cartography of London’s underground, with secret passages and grottos marked. He recorded every detail.”
