The Girl in the Steel Corset

your head, stomach and groin.”

As soon as he pointed the places out to her, Finley felt the most devilish impulse come over her. She took a swing at his stomach—she wasn’t so mean as to target his…ahem…nether regions. But Jasper must have sensed her plan, because he moved swiftly—very swiftly—out of her way. He grinned at her, though.

“Exactly,” he said. “You keep those places in mind if a fella ever gives you a rough time, but try not to make your intentions so obvious.” As if to prove his earlier point, he tapped her on the chin with his knuckles. “Could have got you there.”

A few minutes later, both of them were breathing a little harder, but Finley felt she was finally learning the rhythm to this strange art. Her ear stung from a blow she wasn’t quite quick enough to avoid, but Jasper’s left cheek was red from one she managed to land.

“C’mon, Finley lass!” Emily cried out, bloodlust thickening her accent. “Take him down!”

Finley grinned at her opponent, who flashed his teeth back at her. He moved on her, but instinctively she ducked and came up with a fist into his hard stomach. They weren’t using the martial art techniques specifically anymore, and a little pugilism made an appearance.

“Oof!” He doubled over. She got him again with another in the jaw, bouncing on the balls of her feet with barely restrained energy.

When he straightened, he had a wary but determined expression on his face. “I see your friend has come out to play.”

It took a second for her to realize what he meant. Her other self had surfaced but without its usual intensity. She felt like she could fight—or dance—all night. But she was still in control.

“I suppose so,” she said.

Jasper smiled. “Good. Now it’s my turn.”

Before she could figure out what he meant, he came at her so fast she barely had time to react. In fact, she took a fist to the shoulder for her inability to react fast enough.

Her darker self had instincts and reflexes much more sharp than her own, so she reached out for that particular talent, ducking and weaving as the American moved faster than any “normal” man could.

He backed her into a corner and she leaped onto the turnbuckle before neatly somersaulting over his head. Behind him, she landed a sharp jab to his kidneys. Her exaltation was short-lived as he swept one leg out and knocked both of hers out from beneath her.

Emily was shouting for her to get up. Sam was yelling out encouragement to Jasper, but neither she nor the cowboy took their eyes off each other.

Out of the corner of her eye—her sight was much more acute when her darker half was in residence, as well—Finley saw the door to the ballroom open and Griffin walked in. She felt that queer fluttering in her stomach, but she wasn’t sure if it was for Griffin or for the dark, almost sinister-looking young man standing beside him. What the devil was Jack Dandy doing here?

She would have asked, but at that second, Jasper took advantage of her dropped guard and struck—fast. He had no way of knowing just how distracted she was, and so his fist connected nicely with her cheek.

Pain shot through her face. Stars danced before her eyes as they rolled back into her head and her knees buckled. Finley fell to the mat. Hard.

Chapter 13

By the time her vision cleared, Finley was surrounded by a sea of concerned faces—the most worried of which belonged to Jasper. Jack Dandy, she noticed, was also in the ring, but didn’t hover like the others. He stood near the ropes, looking grim.

“Are you all right?” Griffin asked, frowning down at her.

Finley nodded. “Except that I might die of embarrassment.” To be honest, however, at that moment she felt as though she was actually part of their group—as though their worry made her one of them.

His scowl turned to a smile. “I didn’t know you and Jasper were sparring. I should have waited or announced myself before barging in.”

She turned her gaze to Jasper. “I should have known better than to take my eye off you.” And then, “I’d like to get up now.”

Griffin offered her his hand as the others drew back. They stood clustered together, apart from their dark guest. It was Dandy who had Finley’s attention as she stood.

“Mr. Dandy,” she said. “Whatever are you doing here?”

“Luvly to see you again, Miss Jayne,” the dark, lanky fellow replied in his usual laconic manner. “Apologies for interruptin’ your sport, but I wanted to inquire as to your health after last night.”

All eyes turned to her, turning her cheeks hot. “I am quite well, thank you. I’m terribly sorry for making a spectacle.”

He shrugged. “I likes a bit of spectacle m’self.” He held her gaze a moment longer than was proper before turning to Griffin. “And I wanted to bring His Grace a gift.”

All attention turned from Finley to Griffin, for which Finley was greatly relieved.

“Mr. Dandy informs me that he had a delivery at his Whitechapel address late last night.” Griffin cast a brief glance at his guest. “Someone deposited the missing wax likeness of Queen Victoria on his doorstep.”

“Poor thing was in her drawers,” Dandy added. “I reckon it would have caused quite the stir this mornin’ had I not realized I’d left somefink at the property and returned to fetch it.”

“There was a note attached to the figure,” Griffin told them, opening a folded piece of expensive-looking parchment. “It says: ‘A thank you for ingeniously solving our mutual “problem.” Yours, F.J.’”

Now everyone stared at Finley. She would have done the same were it possible. Her jaw dropped. “You think I stole the queen from Madame Tussaud’s and left her half-naked on Mr. Dandy’s step?” It was ludicrous—and just plausible enough that it made her fearful.

Griffin handed her the note. “It’s written on my personal stationery. See the watermark?”

Finley held the paper up to the light where she saw the image of the Greythorne crest engrained in the weave. “That’s not my writing,” she told him. It wasn’t, either.

“Maybe it’s the writing of your friend,” Sam suggested through clenched teeth.

Of course he would think the worst of her, Finley realized bleakly. He thought the worst of everyone.

“My handwriting stays the same regardless of who I am,” she defended, realizing how preposterous this must all seem to Jack Dandy—and ashamed that she cared what he thought of her.

“Aside from that,” Griffin interjected, “there’s no possible way she could have had enough time to get to the wax museum, steal the figure, take it to Dandy’s and return home. Not without being noticed.”

“Sure she could have,” Sam argued. “You just don’t want to admit bringing her here was a mistake.” Emily put her hand on his arm but he shrugged her off and went to stand in one corner of the ring, his back to the rest of them.

“Excuse me,” Jack Dandy said, drawing their attention once more. “Don’t you agree that it seems a tad bit, I dunno, suspect that someone would leave a likeness of Her Nibs on me doorstep with Miss Finley’s initials on your stationery?”

Finley stared at him. For a moment she thought he was pointing a finger at her, as well, until Griffin spoke once more. “Yes, I do. Regardless of anything else, Finley wouldn’t be foolish enough to leave such blatant evidence against herself with the wax figure. No one would.” He directed that piece of logic at a red-faced Sam.

“But, if it wasn’t Finley, who?” Emily stepped forward. “No offense, Finley, but who else could have gotten your stationery, lad?”

Finley wasn’t offended. She wanted to hear the answer, as well.

Griffin flicked a glance at Dandy, and obviously decided the darker fellow could hear whatever it was he was