The Girl in the Steel Corset. Kady Cross
the sofa. “You … you know my name. How?”
He grinned—a baring of those perfect teeth—and stepped away from the door frame. “Wouldn’t be much of a villainous mystery if I told you that, would I?”
She wasn’t quite sure how to respond, nor could she be confident that her voice wouldn’t shake, so she remained silent. She simply sat there and watched him cross to a polished oak sideboard where an array of crystal bottles sat. A deep breath set her nerves to rights. Dandy was no threat to her. She knew this because she was no threat to him. They were alike, they were. Both predators, both dangerous and both vain. And they each found the other fascinating.
“Care for a little of the Green Fairy, Treasure?”
Absinthe. She’d never had it before, but she’d heard others talk about. Artists drank it. It was something improper people indulged in. That alone was reason enough for Finley—given her current personality—to say yes.
“How do I know you won’t slip laudanum in it?” The medicine didn’t have as much of an effect on her as it did on “normal” people, but it would still make her groggy for a bit—less sharp.
He smiled over his shoulder at her. “I’ve a sneakin’ suspicion you’re much more entertainin’ awake than asleep.”
Now who was being a flirt? Satisfaction curved Finley’s lips, but she watched him like a hawk regardless. They were similar enough that she knew better than to trust him completely. He might not try to hurt her, but he’d take the upper hand however he could.
Slotted silver spoons topped with absinthe-soaked sugar cubes lay across the rim of each small glass. Dandy produced a box of safety matches and struck one, igniting the tip in a strong-smelling blaze, which he then applied to the cubes of sugar. They burned for but a second before he tipped them each into their respective glass. The absinthe went up in a beautiful flame, which Finley thought was sure to set his cuffs ablaze, but Dandy calmly emptied a measure of water into both drinks, dousing the flames. He stirred each, and handed one of the glasses to Finley. She stared at it in wonder.
“Blimey, if you ain’t a rare one,” said Dandy, seating himself on the crimson loveseat opposite her.
“What do you mean?” She raised her glass to her lips and drank. The now milky liquor tasted like licorice, vaguely sweet on her tongue.
“Come in ’ere, bold as brass, but you ain’t got none of the street stink on you. I bet right now your mum’s wonderin’ what you’ve got up to. Wouldn’t she be disappointed to discover you ’aving a drink wiv me?”
“My mother doesn’t know I’m here.” As she said it, guilt tugged at her conscience. She buried it with a coy smile. “You’re not going to tell on me, are you?”
Her attempt at flirting only seemed to amuse rather than intrigue him. “Why are you ’ere?” he asked, looking like a pale, night-clad creature on that bloodred velvet. He reclined as though he hadn’t a care in the world, long legs splayed. His boots were as perfectly polished as Rich Boy’s. “We don’t get many girls like you in these parts.”
She snorted. “No, I bet you don’t.” There weren’t any other girls like her, were there?
Dandy just sat there, watching her as he took a swallow from his glass. Waiting.
“I’ve got a message for Felix August-Raynes,” she told him, finally getting down to business. “He’s one of yours, is he not?”
“One of my what?”
She waved a dismissive hand and took another sip of lovely absinthe. “Followers, lackeys. Disciples.”
Both dark brows went up as teeth flashed again. “Disciples. I likes that one, luv, ’onest to God I do.” The smile gave way to a vaguely mocking frown. “But I fink you’re a tad misguided in your information. I don’t have that kind of power over no one. I has associates and that’s it.”
Obviously it was a familiar spiel he gave to disengage himself from criminal activity committed by his cohorts. Finley rolled her eyes. “Do you know Lord Felix or not?”
He regarded her for a moment and made her wait while he decided to answer. He even went so far as to take another swallow from his glass. She enjoyed watching him as he did so. “I know ’im.”
Finley inched forward on the cushions until she was perched on the edge of her seat. She forced herself to meet his gaze and not look away, not even to blink. “Then perhaps you’d tell him that if he ever tries to force himself upon another girl, I’ll kill him.”
She’d wager Dandy didn’t often look as surprised as he did right at that moment. But it wasn’t for the reason she thought. Her threat of violence bounced right off him. “Did he try to force himself upon you?” His voice was oddly calm—the Cockney he affected absent.
“Yes.”
Watching his expression change was like watching thunderclouds suddenly blot out the entire sky. In that moment, she saw the truly dangerous side of Jack Dandy and it was as glorious as it was terrifying. This was why entitled brats like Lord Felix followed him; because they wanted a little bit of that danger for their own. Only, Dandy didn’t give his power away to anyone.
And then, as suddenly as it appeared, it was gone again. She might have thought she’d imagined it were it not so emblazed upon her memory.
“I’ll pass on the message if I see his lordship, rest assured.”
“Thank you.” She took another sip of absinthe. She liked it, but it wasn’t something she’d want to drink vast quantities of. “I’ll take my leave of you now.”
He didn’t try to talk her out of it. He simply raised his lanky frame from the cushions and followed her to the door.
“Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Dandy.” She wished she could be there the next time Lord Felix came ’round and heard her message. He’d probably suffer an apoplexy.
“My door is always open,” he replied, but his tone was lacking its previous joviality. “You know how to find it.”
Finley arched a brow at him, not liking at all this new seriousness. She had just gotten accustomed to his flippancy, and his tone was just a little too sincere for her to discredit. “That sounds an awful lot like an offer of friendship, sir.”
Jack Dandy reached out the long fingers of his right hand and gently touched her cheek. “Don’t mistake me, Treasure. I can offer you many things, but friendship ain’t one of them. Now, for once in your life, be a sensible girl and run away.”
And surprisingly, Finley did.
By the time his aunt Cordelia arrived, Griff had already had the morning from hell. First, he awoke a few hours before dawn to the sound of a velocycle pulling into the drive. It was Finley. He hadn’t known she was gone. And a note from Emily told him that before Finley left last night she’d been very much unlike the timid sweet girl she’d been earlier that day. She’d seemed almost like a completely different person.
Awake and irritable, he took a shower, wishing he were on his estate in Devon where he might have gone for a swim in the pond instead. Once dressed, he went downstairs for an early breakfast and found a letter waiting for him from Sam’s father, steward of that Devon estate. It was brief, but annoying. It seemed the new groundskeeper had left his post without any warning over a week ago and now Morgan was left trying to hire someone new. Knowing Morgan’s dislike of modern technology, Griff tried not to be too irritated that the man had written rather than telephoned or even telegraphed the information.
There was also a similar missive from the museum curator who had sent on a list of things taken the night of the robbery. Amongst the various innocuous items was a hairbrush on loan from Queen Victoria for an upcoming Jubilee exhibition.
Bloody marvelous, now he’d have to deal with the Buckingham set.
He was just pouring a cup