The Girl in the Steel Corset

sucked from him.

“Excellent. It occurred to me that it might be good for you to attend the Pick-a-Dilly Ball, as well. See what you can find out about The Machinist and his machinations, for lack of a better term.”

He frowned, seeing something in her expression he didn’t quite like, and feeling a gentle nudge in his mind toward agreeing with her. “I intend to, but that’s not the only reason you suggested it. Your reason must be important or you wouldn’t be in my head as I’ve asked you repeatedly not to do.”

Most would have looked away from his sharp tone, but his aunt merely shrugged and met his gaze evenly. He knew she cursed the fact that he, unlike most people, could feel her intrusions. “It might also do you some good to see Miss Jayne with her own kind.”

“Her own kind? You make her sound like a commoner.”

Her expression spoke volumes—and he knew he’d guessed correctly. “She’s not far from it, Griffin. She’s a special girl, yes. She’s also very pretty and intriguing. I can see why you would be drawn to her, but you will do her more harm than good with your attentions.”

He crossed his arms over his chest in a classic defensive posture, but he couldn’t help but ask, “How so?”

“Sam and Emily you can pass off as employees, but the way you look at Miss Jayne…well, I can tell you’re attracted to her.”

Griffin’s cheeks heated. “What of it?”

His aunt took a step closer. “Show her attention, and people will talk. They will assume that there is something sordid between you—especially while she lives under your roof. She is in your protection, Griffin. You do not want to take advantage of that, or be seen to do so. Her reputation will be forever damaged.” Her expression was one of sympathy. “She’s not for you, my dear.”

It was one of those times when Griffin wanted to act like a spoiled brat—stomp his foot and declare that he was a duke and he could do whatever he damn well pleased. But that would be too selfish. Of course he could do what he wanted, but it would be Finley who suffered for it.

He hooked his thumbs under the braces hanging loosely around his hips and lifted them over his shoulders over his partially open shirt. “You’ve never been one for proprieties, Aunt Delia. Why now?”

Her strong features softened with sadness. “Because I want to see you happily settled one day with a normal girl rather than one who might get you killed, or worse—leave you without a trace, wondering what happened to her. If she’s alive or dead, safe or in pain.”

It was impossible to be angry with her when she spoke so candidly about her own life. She did not want for him the misery she lived every day, wondering if her husband was alive or dead. Holding on to hope when doing so must surely be folly.

Griffin hugged her, suddenly realizing how much taller he was than she, that the woman he’d always thought so amazingly powerful felt small and fragile in his arms. “I promise you I will be careful with my affections, but beyond that I can offer nothing else. I cannot tell my heart what to feel.”

Were it but that easy, he would tell his foolish heart to shut out all thoughts of Finley Jayne, because it was painfully obvious that her heart was engaged elsewhere.

She had a little over an hour before Jack Dandy arrived to collect her, and Finley stood in her bedroom in nothing but a short silk shift using curling tongs on her hair. Her time as a lady’s maid certainly came in handy for getting ready for an evening. She could have asked one of the housemaids to help her, but why bother when she was more than capable of doing the same job herself?

Besides, she didn’t want to give Griffin any more reason to be angry with her. He had barely spoken to her since breakfast.

Since Jack’s gift arrived.

Her gaze went to the costume hanging on her wardrobe door. Even in the dim light of her room, the feathers reflected the most beautiful colors.

Propriety told her to send it back and politely refuse Dandy’s attentions and invitation, but she wanted to go so very badly. And she wanted Griffin to see her before she left so he could see how she looked in such a beautiful creation. Was that wrong of her? Undoubtedly, but that didn’t stop her from silently wishing for it all the same.

Lifting the tongs from the pretty matching heater her mother had given her on her previous birthday, Finley fitted the last uncurled lock of her hair between the barrel and curved clamp and quickly rolled it. She took care to ensure she didn’t get it too close to her scalp. She might heal quickly, but that didn’t mean a burn wouldn’t hurt.

A few moments later, she released her hair from the tongs and a perfect ringlet joined the others she’d made. Then she plucked up her brush to smooth the front and began arranging curls—some still warm—into the style she wanted, pinning them in place. By the time she was done, curls cascaded down her back from high on her head while a few others framed her face in delicate spirals. Perfect—except for that strange patch of black. Was it longer?

Finley was just about to tackle her pretty black lace corset when a knock sounded upon her door.

“Who is it?” she called, quickly reaching for her robe and slipping her arms through the sleeves.

“Emily,” came the muffled reply. “I have something for you.”

Finley started. Something for her? “Come in.”

The door opened and the petite redhead came in, carrying a medium-size box. “Oh, good, you’re not yet dressed.”

She never expected to hear someone say that to her, let alone a girl. “Do you think you could help me with my corset?”

Emily grinned. “That is exactly why I’m here.” She set the box on the bed and removed the lid. “I made this especially for you.”

Finley’s mouth dropped open as Emily lifted the most wonderfully strange contraption she’d ever seen. “Is that…is that a corset?”

Smiling broadly, Emily nodded. “Do you like it?”

She stepped closer, tentatively reaching out to touch the cold metal. A steel corset—thin, shiny bands with embossed flowers and leaves, held together with tiny hinges to allow ease of movement. Little gears and other decorative pieces of steel were soldered over some of the larger gaps between bands. The garment looked like an industrial metal flower garden.

“The spaces are small enough that bullets and most blades won’t be able to get through, and if someone hits you the bounder’s going to break a knuckle or two.”

There was a side of Finley that saw the corset as a little frightening, but it was beautiful. Another side couldn’t wait to put it on. It was protection—armor. A normal girl shouldn’t need armor, but a girl who often courted trouble, who wanted to protect herself and her friends, loved it.

“I thought you could wear it tonight,” Emily said, shooting her an uncertain look. “Do you like it?”

“Oh, Emily!” Finley threw her arms around the girl in a rare burst of affection. “I love it! Forgive me for not saying so earlier—I was too amazed to speak.”

The other girl sighed against her. “Oh, good! Now I won’t be quite so worried while you’re gone.”

Finley gave her another quick squeeze for the sentiment. “Then help me put it on.”

There were smooth grommets and laces in the back as in a normal corset to adjust the fit. A small panel of metal then closed over the ribbons to protect exposed flesh. The hammered metal molded to Finley’s torso as though it was made of supple fabric and not unyielding steel. It was snug but allowed her to bend and move as well or better than regular underclothes. Best of all, it was surprising light and comfortable.

“It’s brilliant,” she whispered as she looked at herself in the full-length mirror, twisting to the left and right to see how the corset moved.

Emily beamed, clapping her hands together. “Thank you.”

“Thank you.” Finley squeezed her shoulder. “Let’s see how it looks with my costume, shall we?”

Her friend—her friend—helped her into the beautiful feathered gown, pulling the