The Girl in the Steel Corset

“That was very good of you.”

She snorted. “Good had nothing to do with it. If she hadn’t done it, I’d still be wondering if I’d killed Lord Felix.” Her bluntness took him back a bit, even though it amused him.

“I suppose something good came out of all of this, then. How are your burns?” He hated the idea of her putting herself in harm’s way to help him. Since the death of his parents, few people had come to his aid so selflessly and they all lived under this roof.

She raised a hand—but not the one still beneath his on the sofa—to the back of her neck. “Almost gone. Emily gave me some ointment for them, and it seems that my father’s work also gave me the ability to heal rapidly.”

“Not to mention the ability to lift twelve stone with little effort,” he reminded her with a teasing grin.

“Twelve?” Her eyebrows shot up. “A bit more than that soaking wet—and fully clothed.” A flush crept up her cheeks to her hairline and Griffin bit the inside of his cheek to keep from chuckling at her expense. He didn’t have to have Cordelia’s abilities to know that her own remark had then turned her thoughts to him without clothes.

“I did ask you to put me down, if you remember correctly,” he reminded her, steering the conversation in a less embarrassing—for her—direction. He turned serious. “I’m going to find out all I can about Lord Felix’s murder.”

Finley’s finely arched brows lowered into a frown. “Why? We know I didn’t do it.”

“Scotland Yard doesn’t know that. If I can give them evidence to lead them elsewhere, I’ll feel much better knowing you’re permanently off their suspect list.”

Her gaze locked with his. “Thank you. For everything.”

No one had ever looked at him as though he were the answer to all their prayers. It was humbling. It was startling. It was…attractive. He leaned closer, dangerously close to giving in to the temptation that had provoked him since the first time he saw her.

He was going to kiss Finley Jayne. Wouldn’t that complicate things?

Fortunately, Finley didn’t notice his sudden nearness, or if she did, she misinterpreted it. She leaned her head against the back of the sofa and turned her gaze toward him.

“Is it awful of me to be relieved that he’s dead?”

The question was like a bucket of cold water in the face. The shock wore off immediately, leaving Griff feeling slightly guilty. The poor girl. She must have put herself through hell thinking she’d killed that waste of breath Lord Felix and now she felt guilty for not mourning him.

“No,” he told her honestly. “It’s not wrong. I wager you’re not alone in your feeling.”

Her lips twisted wryly. “No, I reckon not. He hurt a lot of people.” Her gaze met his again. “I know it’s awful to be glad that someone is dead, but I think of what might have happened if he was allowed to go on…”

“How many other people he might have gone on to hurt,” Griffin offered softly. Gads, how he wished he had August-Raynes at hand so that he could knock the bounder’s teeth loose.

Finley nodded. “I don’t blame him for what he did to me. Well, I did for a bit, but he wasn’t himself. He didn’t know what he was doing.”

A burst of harsh, humorless laughter escaped Griffin. “You are too forgiving.”

“Am I?” She sounded dubious at best. “When it was that vile drink responsible?”

“I admire you for looking for good in the man, but the fact remains that he was a good-for-nothing wastrel who indulged in drink and took delight in hurting people he believed weaker than himself.”

Her gaze was wide and…angry as it locked with his. “Surely you don’t mean to imply that he was that much of a villain?”

He didn’t understand her vehemence. “I certainly do. I’ve heard accounts the length of my arm that testify to just how much of a scoundrel he was. You are the last person I would expect to defend him.”

“How can I condemn a man I didn’t even know?” She looked as though she might cry. “A man my mother thought of with such high regard and love? Dear God, I might be glad he is gone and his suffering over, but I could never despise him!”

Griffin blinked. “Wait a moment. About whom are we talking?”

Finley froze. Slowly, her mouth opened. “My father?”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or swear. “I referred to Lord Felix. Damn my eyes, Finley, I would never speak so lowly of your father. My own thought him the very best of men, and I am certain he was right.”

Pink filled her cheeks. “And I must be awful for being partially glad he is gone.”

“Never. You said so yourself, his suffering is at an end. Lord, you must have thought I was thoroughly heartless, believing I spoke of your father.”

She chuckled. “A little, yes. I am glad to be wrong. To be honest, I am not sorry to be done of Lord Felix, but I am even happier to know that his end did not come at my hands.”

Something happened then—a subtle shift in her expression that made him jump to the logical conclusion. “You think Dandy did it.”

“No,” she insisted. “He wouldn’t.”

One eyebrow rose as Griffin fought to keep his expression neutral, but inside he despised Dandy for inspiring such hope in a short period of time. Would she be so quick to defend him were he and Dandy reversed?

“Probably not,” he reluctantly agreed. Then he couldn’t help adding, “Dandy wouldn’t get his hands bloody. He’d get someone else to do it.”

“Not if it was personal he wouldn’t.”

Griffin didn’t like the idea that she had such insight into Dandy’s nature, or that she almost sounded as though she respected the man for it.

“Jack Dandy is a criminal, Finley. No matter how much you might wish it otherwise, he is not a good person.”

“Some would say I’m not, either—not completely,” she retorted with a stubborn lift of her chin. “You’ve seen what I’m capable of. That doesn’t make me a murderer, and it doesn’t make Dandy one, either.”

She had him there. He sighed. “No, it doesn’t. But he is one of the most infamous crime lords in this city for a reason. Because he wants to be one.”

And now they were even because she couldn’t argue with that, either. She pulled her hand from his. “Why are we arguing about Jack Dandy?”

Griffin reluctantly drew his own hand back, as well. “Because part of you likes him.”

Finley smiled that wry smile again. “Part of me also tried to strangle your aunt. I think taking control of this part of myself can’t happen soon enough.”

He was glad to hear it, but it put a lump in his chest, as well. When the two halves of Finley came together, she would no longer be this girl in front of him, nor would she be as dangerous as her other self. She’d be a little of both, and she might not like him so much then. He might not like her quite so well as he did now.

Still, it was a risk he had to take.

The door to the parlor opened and Sam, Emily and Jasper came into the room, followed by two of the maids carrying trays of tea, sandwiches and sweets. Griffin was immediately swept up into other conversation, as was Finley, giving him very little time to regret that he hadn’t kissed her when he had the chance.

Later that day, driven by forces she didn’t understand, Finley sent a note ’round to a certain house in Whitechapel. It contained one line: Tell me you didn’t do it.

She waited for a reply. Even though she was off the hook, she knew the truth about her own involvement. And if Dandy had killed Lord Felix because of what she had told him, then she was responsible for the bounder’s death, to an extent.

Nothing that night, but the next morning as she sat alone at breakfast, the butler delivered a letter to her on a silver platter. Her name and direction were scrawled upon the envelope in sharp, black ink. The seal on the back was black, as well, the impression in the wax that of a simple gothic D.

Her fingers shook as she broke the seal and withdrew the heavy, quality paper. Her one-line request had been acknowledged with a one-line answer:

Of course I didn’t, Treasure.

She tossed the note on the fire and went off to meet Griffin in the library. She had her answer. That was the end of it.