The Girl in the Steel Corset

instrument. Then, “I’m sorry about your mum.”

“Thanks. I don’t remember her.”

“My parents are still alive. Well, my mum is. She lives with my stepfather. My father—my real father—died when I was a baby.”

“I’m sorry.”

Those simple words surprised Finley, touched her. For a moment she entertained the notion of ignoring her need to get out into the night and staying here. Maybe she could help Emily with her repairs.

But this girl wasn’t her friend, and wasn’t likely to be her friend because Finley couldn’t stay here forever. She didn’t belong in that fancy house with these smart and privileged people. This wasn’t her world.

“Right.” She slapped her palms against her thighs. “I’ll be off then.”

Emily watched her as she stood. “Be careful.”

Finley grinned at her as she swung her leg over the cycle she’d chosen and sat down. “Careful? Where’s the fun in that?”

And then she found the mechanism to make the beast move and she tore out of the stables without a backward glance.

Chapter 5

If the city of London was a body, Whitechapel would be the groin; a great unwashed area that only showed itself under the cover of darkness, and only for the most salacious of entertainments. No one of “proper” birth ever admitted to going there, but they all did at one time or another—or at least they wanted to. Slumming was very popular these days.

A perpetual mist seemed to hang over the streets like the stench of a drunkard’s breath. It was a dismal place, where the “unfortunate” ladies sold themselves and “three penny uprights” were often conducted where anyone might stumble upon them. Gin was cheap, too, and if you knew what doors to knock on you could buy a bit of oblivion in an opium den, or time with a lost loved one from an Aether monger. The mechs in this part of town were rough and awkward, tarnished.

In short, it was a poor, pathetic place that the modern world seemed to have forgotten, or conveniently ignored. Here, the streetlights still ran on gas and flickered with a watery yellow glow. Coal was used instead of the more expensive teal ore sold by King Industries because coal was easier to steal. Dentistry was a pair of dirty tongs, and bathing was thought to make a body susceptible to all manner of illness. And any vice ever dreamed by the mind of man was available for a cheaper price in Whitechapel than anywhere else in all of London.

Of course, you got what you paid for.

So a pretty girl with a full set of teeth and not a pock-mark to be seen, all toffed out in the latest style, stood out like a rose in a pile of steaming offal. She was spotted near Princess Alice pub in the Commercial Street area, not far from where Saucy Jack, or “The Ripper” as many called him, had done some of his “work” nine years earlier. And word spread quickly that she was looking for Jack Dandy, prince of this abysmal kingdom.

Finley tried not to smile as heads turned to watch her walk. Whispers followed her, as did the odd ragged man. The weaker half of her would be afraid of this part of the city. She’d think it foolish to flaunt herself this way, but why shouldn’t she go wherever she wanted? There was very little here that could hurt her. Even if they descended upon her in a pack like wolves after a deer, she’d still prove herself more of a predator than all of them put together.

Rich Boy’s earlier remark about Lord Felix being a member of the Dandies had stuck with her. Lord Felix was a bully and liked being in control, so if he actually followed this Jack Dandy, then Finley wanted to meet the man. Have a little chat with him, perhaps, and take his measure for herself.

Dandy might prove to be a handy person to know.

She’d left her transportation on top of an old but sturdy shed a few streets back. She didn’t trust Dandy not to steal it from her and she’d rather have a means of escape should it come to that. Besides, being on foot would make it that much easier for Dandy to find her, which is what she was counting on him to do.

She looked forward to meeting the infamous criminal, now that she’d heard some of the rumors about him during this evening’s search. She just had to meet the man that had half the young bucks in London putting bits of metal in their faces and committing all kinds of mischief. And, yes, she wanted to make a little trouble for Lord Felix.

She turned a corner onto a darker side street. It was quieter here in an eerie sort of way, but that didn’t stop a ragged man from following her. He wasn’t what anyone would call stealthy by any stretch of the word. He sniffed and chuckled and hawked up phlegm as though wanting the entire city to hear. Finally, she’d had enough and turned to tell him to bugger off.

Only…only the ragged man wasn’t there. No one was. Frowning, Finley turned on her heel.

And found herself staring at a full, unsmiling mouth. She didn’t jump back; she was too stunned—and impressed. How had he managed to sneak up on her? No one ever snuck up on her. Raising her gaze, she discovered two of the darkest eyes she’d ever seen, framed by thick, long eyelashes that no fellow should ever be allowed to own.

“Hullo, darling.” He grinned, revealing teeth that were startling straight and white in the moonlight. “I ’eard you was lookin’ for me.”

He was tall and slim, dressed in the height of fashion in solid black, so as to blend with the shadows on the street. His hair was dark, as well, and fell about his pale face in tousled waves. A Cockney gentleman—the strangest oxymoron. He was handsome—in a Lucifer kind of way. He was cool night to Griffin King’s warm light of day, though why she would even bother to compare the two was a mystery.

“I was,” she replied.

He held his arms out to the side, displaying himself in a vulnerable pose that on him didn’t seem vulnerable at all, but rather like a taunt. “And now that you ’ave?”

She shrugged. “I thought you’d be more impressive.” In truth, she rather liked the sight of Jack Dandy—and there was no one else he could be but the fellow she was looking for.

He laughed, throwing his head back so the sound echoed through the night. A shiver slithered down Finley’s spine. Anticipation, mixed with a rare taste of fear, fluttered in her stomach. She liked it. She liked him.

Done laughing, but still smiling, he offered her his arm. “Care to take a turn, Treasure?”

Finley slipped her arm through his. The black wool of his frock coat was soft and warm beneath her hand. He walked her into the moonlight as though escorting her into a ball. Even though she knew she could snap his neck in an instant, she felt slightly off center—somewhat as her other half had with Griffin. Dandy had power, and that gave him confidence. She might have the strength to harm him, but he wouldn’t go down easily, and she might not survive the altercation.

And as with Griffin, this elevated Dandy in her estimation.

As they walked, the subtle lamplight of a dirigible washed over them. Finley glanced up, watching the light grow closer, slowly descending from the sky in a whirl of propellers as the ship made its way into the London air dock just a few miles away. How amazing it must be to float so high, to travel so quickly.

Dandy followed her gaze, but they didn’t stop walking. “I was up in one of them flyers once,” he told her. “I climbed over the rail and hung on to one of the ropes. Freeing it was. I almost let go.”

She whipped her head around to gape at him. “The fall would kill you.”

He smiled ever so slightly. “Not afore I flew. Worse ways to go.”

Falling to one’s death was in no way pleasant, but Finley thought for a moment—of what it would feel like to fall from that great height, to feel the wind through her hair, taste the clouds. Yes, it would be like flying. And she could think of worse ways to die.

He drew her up the shallow stone step to a stone row house. There was nothing special or welcoming about it. The windows were grimy, the paint peeling off the front door, and Finley had to question the intelligence of stepping over the threshold. It could be a trap. He could have men with weapons inside, and trained thugs would