She couldn’t help but throw a triumphant smirk at the giant, who glowered in response.
Her host appeared not to notice the exchange. He gestured with his glass toward the sofa. “You remember my associates, Jasper Renn and Mei Xing?”
Mei Xing? As in a-mazing? Poor girl getting stuck with such an unfortunate name. Or perhaps she thought it was cute. Finley nodded at each of them. “How d’you do?”
Chuckling, Dalton walked around to the love seat and gestured for her to join him. “I love how you English speak.”
“Really? I’ve always been intrigued by what I believe is referred to as the ‘Southern drawl.’” She seated herself beside him, forcing herself to act relaxed and affable. This was how it was supposed to go—he had to like her for this to work.
“Most English are.” Jasper spoke. “’Least in my experience.”
Finley arched a brow. “Really? Have you been to England?” She wanted to ask what he was doing there. If he was a prisoner, then why was he allowed to walk around freely? It didn’t look well for proving his innocence.
“I spent some time there” was his response.
Her gaze skipped to Mei. “What about you, Miss Xing? Have you ever been to London?”
“No,” the girl replied in a deceptively soft voice—like a cloud wrapped around steel. “But I doubt you have ever been to San Francisco, let alone Peking.”
Forcing a smile, Finley crossed her legs. “No, I haven’t.” She was accustomed to other girls not liking her, so she didn’t take it personally this time. Girls didn’t need a reason to despise each other.
“As fascinating as this conversation is,” Dalton said with a dramatic roll of his eyes, “I’m starving. Let’s eat.” When he stood, he offered Finley his arm, just like a gentleman would.
She placed her hand on his elbow and allowed him to escort her from the room. She made her grip just a tad tighter than it should be and felt the solid muscle beneath his sleeve. He wasn’t some noodle-limbed ponce. He was strong and she would do well to remember it. When he turned those dark-rimmed blue eyes at her and flashed a lopsided smile, she felt like a deer being sized up by a lion. Griffin’s words about Dalton being nothing like Jack echoed in her head. He was a real villain.
The dining room was small, with a table set for four and accented with fresh flowers. The walls were painted a soft coral, and a sideboard of rich ebony held heated silver dishes. Their contents smelled delicious. Finley’s stomach growled softly.
Dalton held out a chair for her—at his right. He seated himself at the head of the table. He asked her several questions over dinner, which she assumed were to divine her character, though she was surprised by the seemingly genuine interest behind them. She tried to be as honest as possible, because lies were often difficult to remember, but avoided telling him anything too personal or anything that might link her to Griffin—or Jasper.
“I could use a girl like you, Finley,” he told her as he cut into a thick beefsteak.
Finley forced her lips into a coy smile. “I know. What did you have in mind?”
There was no mistaking the predatory interest in his eyes. “I’d like for us to work together as
She chewed and swallowed the bite of potato in her mouth, appearing nonchalant, even though the palms of her hands grew moist. “What sort of test?”
“There’s a document I need in a house uptown. I’d like for you to go there with me and help me steal it.”
“Are there people in the house?” Her heart began to hammer in her chest. Anxiety or anticipation, she wasn’t certain.
“They’re having a party,” he replied with a grin. “Everyone will be nice and distracted.”
She’d never stolen anything before. Hitting people who deserved it was one thing, but stealing ... It wasn’t as though she could refuse, though, could she? Not if she wanted to gain his trust. She glanced down at her clothes. “I’m not exactly dressed for a party.”
“I can fix that. All you have to do is be your lovely, ruthless self if we run into trouble. Are you game or not?”
It was all she could do not to look at Jasper for a sign of how she should respond. Instead, she grinned back, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger. “Always.”
The house was huge and ornate, situated near the corner of 58th and 5th, not far from Central Park, in the wealthier section of the city. Lights blazed in the windows, carriages of different colors and sizes were parked out front, and music drifted down to the street, along with the sound of conversation and laughter.
All in all, it seemed everyone was having a bang-up time. Finley turned from the carriage window to Dalton. “How are we getting in?”
He leaned across her to glance outside. “I reckon we’ll saunter right on in through the front door.”
She raised a brow. “There’s an automaton guarding it.” She had taken on metal before, but wouldn’t it call attention to them if she ripped the thing apart on the front steps?
“You leave the tin can to me and keep those sharp eyes of yours peeled for any sign of trouble.”
A footman from the house opened the carriage door for them. Dalton stepped out and then offered Finley his hand. She had to give him credit for behaving exactly as he ought.
He looked the part of a gentleman, as well, dressed in a stark black suit with white shirt and cravat. He’d found a rich plum silk gown for her that fit remarkably well and had only needed to be let out a bit in the bust. Surprisingly, Dalton had taken care of the alteration himself on the spot.
“My father was a tailor,” he explained to her as he had pulled apart a seam. “His clients were San Francisco’s elite.” That explained his impeccable clothing.
Arm in arm, they climbed the steps to where the automaton stood along with another footman.
“There’s a man watching us from across the street,” Finley whispered near her companion’s ear. “I saw him earlier outside your house.” She’d noticed the man because he was dressed like a cowboy, and the only other cowboy she knew was Jasper.
Dalton didn’t bother to glance over his shoulder. He only smiled in that caustic manner of his. “That’s just Whip Kirby, a lawman who followed me from California. Don’t pay him any mind. He has no power here.”
Finley nodded, but she would keep a look out for the man later. He might prove useful one day.
Dalton approached the small polished automaton standing at the door. From the inside pocket of his evening jacket, he withdrew a punch card trimmed with paper lace and inserted it into the slot on the machine’s front. Then he turned the key to the right of the slot.
A whirling sound came from inside the creature. Cogs and gears came alive as the card was processed. The automaton chugged and clicked for a few seconds, then a bell dinged and a small bulb on top of its “head” lit up.
“Thank you, sir,” the footman said, opening the door for them to enter. “Enjoy your evening.”
The sharklike smile that was already becoming familiar to Finley slid across Dalton’s face. “We intend to.”
“How did you do that?” she whispered, once the door had closed behind them.
“I snagged the invitation during a poker game last week. Fella was so drunk he probably thought he lost it.”
Finley couldn’t help the appreciative smile that took hold of her lips. “I don’t suppose you were responsible for his drunkenness?”
“Not at all,” he replied so innocently that it was an obvious lie. “The papers I want should be in a study upstairs. Let’s find them before people start to realize no one knows us, shall we?”
She had to hike the skirts of her gown to keep from tripping as they climbed the winding staircase, but she kept up with his quick stride. At the top of the stairs, she tugged on his arm, forcing him to stop.
“They’ll notice you don’t belong a lot sooner if you don’t slow down. You look like a man on a mission rather than a party guest.”
Dalton immediately slowed his pace. “You’re right.” Then he snagged two glasses of champagne from a footman on his way to the ballroom and gave her one.
Because of her experience with wealthy houses, Finley had a fairly good idea where a gentleman’s study
