The Girl in the Steel Corset

“I don’t know,” Griffin replied. “The room was left in shambles. The curator was to send me a list once an inventory was able to be completed. I’m sure he’s very busy with the collection Franks left the museum upon his death.” Finley didn’t know much about Sir Augustus Wollaston Franks, but she’d heard that he bequeathed to the museum a collection that included, amongst other things, more than a thousand antique finger rings from various cultures.

“There might very well be a connection,” Lady Marsden commented. “You should proceed with caution just in case.”

Griffin arched a brow. “Because I’m normally so reckless. I’m not the one who once apprehended a criminal using only my own shoe.”

Lady Marsden’s cheeks flushed ever so slightly as all attention focused on her. “I suppose not. Forgive me for feeling somewhat protective of you.”

“No,” Griffin replied firmly, but with a sparkle in his eye. “I refuse to forgive you for caring about me when I do so little to deserve it.”

It might have been Finley’s imagination, but she thought she saw him shoot a pointed glance at Sam when he finished speaking. Nice way to drive a point home.

Lady Marsden smiled and said nothing more on the topic, obviously placated by her nephew’s pretty words.

A little while later, Mrs. Dodsworth came looking for Griffin—apparently he had an urgent call from Sam’s father, the steward of his estate in Devon. He rushed into the house to take it, with Cordelia following after him at a more ladylike pace.

Finley smiled nervously at Emily, who sat fidgeting next to a frowning Sam. Only Jasper looked completely at ease. He watched the other two for a moment before swiveling in his chair to address Finley, “Do you know jujitsu or kung fu?”

She shook her head, certain she had not heard him correctly. “Beg pardon?”

“Jujitsu and kung fu.” He raised his two fists. “Ancient methods of fighting.”

She stared at him. Surely he was somewhat touched in the head to even ask such an absurd question. “No,” she replied.

“Huh. Would have thought His Grace would have taught you. Would you like to learn? Might come in handy for a girl like you.”

Like her. She thought of how she’d bested Lord Felix and was tempted to tell the American she didn’t need to know his mysterious arts, but a part of her agreed with him. She didn’t know how to properly fight, and given her predilection for finding trouble, defending herself would be a very good thing for a young woman to know.

“Yes,” she said, surprising not only him, but Emily and Sam, as well. “I would like that.”

Jasper looked positively gleeful at the prospect. “I ain’t never sparred with a girl before.”

She smiled at him, not the least bit ashamed that the curve of her lips was a little coy. “I’m not just any girl, though, am I, Mr. Renn?”

“Call me Jasper, Miss Finley. Since you’re strong enough to pound me senseless, I hope you don’t mind that I plan to use my own abilities.”

It wasn’t a question, but Finley responded as though it were. “Of course not, although I hope you’ll show me the basics first.” And just what were his abilities? she wondered. The secret heightened her anticipation.

He grimaced, mildly affronted. “Wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me not to.”

“Wait a minute,” Sam said, butting in. “This is foolish. You can’t fight a girl. I don’t care how strong she is.” He glanced at Finley. “No offense.”

Finley arched her brows, but didn’t get a chance to say anything because Emily spoke first. “Samuel Morgan! That is the gackiest thing I’ve heard you say. What does it matter if she’s a girl? She’s the strongest person I’ve ever met other than you, you great dense article.”

Sam’s cheeks reddened ever so slightly. “When she’s like this—” he jabbed a finger in Finley’s direction “— she’s not that strong. And I am not dense.”

“Oh, aye, you are,” Emily argued. “And she’s supposed to be learnin’ how to bring the two sides of herself t’gether, so this will be a good exercise.”

Finley flushed at Emily’s mention of her two selves, but the American didn’t seem the least bit perplexed. Either Griffin had already filled him in after last night’s debacle, or he didn’t care.

“You folks got a place to train ’round here?” he asked.

Emily nodded. “The ballroom.”

A slow grin spread over his face. “Thank you, Miss Emily.”

The red-haired girl’s pale cheeks turned red. She muttered her thanks.

The four of them got up and made their way into the house, Emily and Sam leading the way. Finley could hear them talking heatedly with one another and smiled. There might be hope for them yet.

They entered the ballroom and Jasper immediately leaped into the boxing ring set up near the wall. Finley followed him. He stripped off his waistcoat and shirt, leaving himself naked from the waist up, not the least bit self-conscious in front of their spectators—not that he had any reason to be embarrassed. He was quite fit—like a classical statue—and though Finley admired his physique, she did not feel the strange flutter in her stomach that she often felt around Griffin.

But she was glad she wore a short skirt with her corset, undershirt and boots. She would have as much freedom of movement as possible.

Jasper leaned against the turnbuckle, as though he did this kind of thing every day. “They have a wager,” he whispered conspiratorially, pointing at Emily and Sam.

Finley glanced at them. “Really?” Jasper offered his hand to help her step into the ring, which she gratefully accepted. “I thought this was just a friendly training exercise.”

“So did I,” the American agreed. “Seems your friends have other ideas.”

Finley liked the fact that he thought they were her friends, but she wasn’t so naive as to totally believe it. Right now she was little more than a houseguest—a stray Griffin had taken in because he felt responsible for fixing her. She was all right with that for now. She’d rather earn their regard than simply have it handed to her.

Jasper wrapped his hands and then hers with thin strips of gauzy cloth. “It will help protect your knuckles,” he said, tearing a strip of material with his teeth. “And it will absorb any sweat.”

“Or blood,” she added.

Jasper’s gaze lifted, locking with hers. Good-natured amusement shone in the hazel depths. “Or blood,” he agreed. “Let’s hope we don’t spill too much of that.”

Finley shrugged. “I heal quickly.”

Jasper laughed. “I don’t.”

“Emily can fix you.” She nodded at their onlookers.

The cowboy shot a quick, appreciative glance over his shoulder. “I reckon she can do anything she puts her mind to,” he said—with the first amount of real seriousness Finley had heard from him. There was also no mistaking that Emily liked the praise, just as there was no ignoring the darkening of Sam’s face.

A love triangle, Finley thought. How very dramatic. She blinked. Sarcasm wasn’t something she usually tended toward. Griffin’s experiment must have truly worked. The two sides of her were coming together into one.

Their hands wrapped and ready, Jasper began by teaching Finley the basics of the martial arts. He showed her the proper way to stand and strike. He struck different poses to demonstrate the stances that made one’s attack more efficient. He also taught her how to fight so she didn’t hurt herself more than her opponent, and explained the importance of being quick on one’s feet. That was when he chose to reveal to her that his strange talent was the ability to move very quickly. So fast, in fact, that he was a blur.

Finley wasn’t afraid; she was excited. She wanted to see what Jasper could do. She wanted to see what she could do.

They started out slowly, Jasper alternating between instructing and baiting her as they moved around the ring. When Finley did something right—like a kick that would have struck his jaw—he praised it, and when she did something wrong, he stopped to correct her.

“Keep your guard up,” he ordered. “A dirty fighter will go for the places that will put you down the fastest—