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
