this room was the one Jack used on the odd occasions he slept at his Whitechapel address. It was decorated in cherry and ebony—rich velvets and sleek silks, with a massive four-poster bed that could easily sleep four adults. It seemed a little excessive, but then Jack didn’t strike her as the kind of person to do anything half-arsed.
It had been nice of him to give her his room, however. And he’d been the perfect gentleman—not a title many would assign to him. He hadn’t asked any questions and she hadn’t volunteered any information. How could she tell him that she’d almost caused someone’s death? Yet, if anyone could understand how she felt, it was probably Jack.
She walked down the narrow hall, the heavy soles of her boots making very little noise on the richly patterned rug. The same carpet continued down the winding staircase, covering the gleaming oak with a mantle of crimson, gold and navy.
She found Jack in the library, where they had sat and talked the first night she came to visit him. It looked different in the light of day—not nearly so dangerous. Jack—she’d stopped thinking of him as “Dandy” somewhere along the way—sat on the edge of his desk, long legs crossed at the ankles of his polished black boots. He was in head-to-toe black today. Even his carelessly knotted cravat was a shimmering black silk.
His long dark hair was still damp, waving about his shoulders as he spoke into a baroque-styled telephone. He must be rich indeed to afford such a contraption. “I don’t give a rat’s arse about etiquette, Knobby,” he growled into the mouthpiece. “If I tells you to do somefink, you does it. Is there any part of that your imbecilic brain don’t understand? Good. Now, don’t bother me again unless you ’ave something useful.” He dropped the receiver into its cradle with a curse.
“Tsk, tsk,” Finley teased from the doorway. “What would your mother say if she heard you use such language?”
Jack lifted his head. Perhaps it was vain of her, but she rather fancied his dark eyes brightened at the sight of her. “Well, if it ain’t sleepin’ beauty. Who do you fink taught me them words, Treasure? ’Twere me mum.” He grinned. “You look heartily refreshed this morning.”
So did he, but Finley knew better than to say that aloud. Jack Dandy was one of the most dangerous and attractive young men she’d ever met—bastardizing of the English language aside—and he knew it.
“Thank you,” she replied. “I don’t suppose you have any coffee?”
He gestured to a silver pot and cups on a tray beside him on the desk. “Freshly brewed. Ground the beans m’self just for your enjoyment.”
“You are a man of many talents,” she said archly as she came toward him.
“You don’t know the ’alf of ’em, darling.” His flirtatious tone was lightened by a smile. “Take one of them croissants, as well. You need to eat.”
Her stomach rumbled at the sight of the buttery, flaky pastries that sat on a china plate also on the tray. She smiled self-consciously as he chuckled. He took one, as well.
Coffee fixed just the way she liked it, Finley took her breakfast and moved to sit on the sofa, placing her cup and plate on the low table before her. She pulled a section off the croissant—it came apart easily, still a little warm. She popped the piece into her mouth, closing her eyes in delight as the buttery flavor embraced her tongue.
“This is delicious,” she said, when she finally recovered enough to speak.
Jack was watching her in a curious manner. “You could have ’em every morning if you want.”
Finley stilled, another piece of croissant poised halfway to her mouth. “Pardon?”
He smiled at her, as though he found her surprise amusing. “You can stay here—with me—as long as you want.” It couldn’t have been coincidence that all traces of Cockney disappeared at that moment.
She wasn’t certain what to say. This generosity from him wasn’t totally unexpected, but she knew better than to take it as innocent. If she stayed there, eventually Jack would want something from her in return, and the idea of what he might want from her was as scary as it was strangely exciting.
“Thank you,” she said at last—it seemed much safer than yes or no, especially since part of her was very tempted to say yes.
Jack shrugged his lean shoulders. “I know the minute His Grace comes for you, you’ll ’ead back to Mayfair wiv him, but if ever you need somethin’…” He let the offer drift off.
Silence filled the room as they stared at one another. Finley’s mouth was suddenly very dry. Good lord, what was going on?
“Last night you asked me what I knew about that Machinist bloke,” he said, breaking the silence and the strange growing tension. He popped the last of a croissant in his mouth and brushed the crumbs from his long hands. “I ’aven’t had dealings wiv him, but I know some who ’ave. Keeps to hisself, deals mostly in metal. My associate’s ’eard of lots of thefts and anarchy believed to be The Machinist’s work, but there’s no proof. He knows how to keep his head down.” There was a note of respect in his voice, reminding Finley that as attractive as Jack Dandy might be he was not a “good” man.
“I appreciate your help,” she said sincerely. “It seems The Machinist is something of a phantom.”
Jack inclined his head. “That’s easy though, innit? When you get a bit o’ metal to do all your dirty work.”
Yes, she supposed it was. “Who do you get to do yours?” she asked before she could censure herself.
He grinned at her, flashing those straight white teeth that reminded her of a wolf. “A man’s got to ’ave secrets, Treasure.”
Like whether or not he killed Lord Felix—for her. The idea made her head swim. On one hand it was terribly romantic to think someone might kill for her. On the other, it was terrifying to think Jack could take a life over something so petty as a slight against her. Yes, Lord Felix had intended to do her great harm at the time, but she’d escaped relatively unscathed. He deserved to be stopped, but killed? Still, she couldn’t bring herself to get the least bit upset about it. She was more tormented with the thought of finding a murderer attractive than concerned with who he might have done in.
She didn’t want Jack to be a killer. There, she’d thought it, admitted it to herself. She didn’t want it because she liked him, and because she didn’t want to be the kind of person who could have feelings for a murderer.
A knock at the front door pulled her from her thoughts. Her head turned to gaze out into the foyer. Jack only smiled wryly into his cup. “Wonder who that could be?” he mused drily. “Do be a love and get that for me, will you?”
It was odd that he asked her to answer the knock, but since he’d been so good as to take her in when she needed it, she didn’t think to refuse. Setting her cup on the table, she rose from the sofa and slowly walked out of the room, her gaze fixed on the front door.
She depressed the latch with her thumb, and swung the heavy wood inward, revealing a most unexpected surprise.
Griffin stood on the step.
Jack had predicted he would come, but she hadn’t believed it, and she certainly hadn’t suspected it would be this soon. And she hadn’t thought for a moment that she would be so bloody happy to see him. How had he known where to find her? Had he thought the worst of her and suspected she’d run to Jack? Or did he simply know her well enough to know that she’d run to the one person who seemed to understand her as well as he did?
“Hello,” he said. His voice was rough and he looked tired. He hadn’t shaved and his hair was mussed beyond its usual disregard. There was an ugly bruise on his jaw where Sam had struck him. It spread up his cheek to darken his right eye and across his nose to cast a purple smear under the left eye, as well. His poor face. She wanted to touch it, but resisted the temptation, knowing how badly it must hurt.
“Hello,” she echoed lamely, partially hiding behind the door frame. “How’s Sam?”
“Recovering,” he replied with a slight smile. “As charming as ever.”
She laughed at that, more out of relief than anything else. Sam was all right, and Griffin didn’t hate her.
“You didn’t have to come all this way to tell me that.”
He put one foot on the threshold, closing the distance between them. “I didn’t.”
“Oh.” That was a bit of cold water in the face. She opened the door a little wider, putting herself behind it. “Did you come to see Jack? He’s in the—”
“Finley.” She started as his palm slapped the door frame just above her head. He leaned closer, so that their faces were only inches apart. There was a glint in his eyes she didn’t understand, but it made her heart
