The Girl with the Iron Touch. Kady CrossЧитать онлайн книгу.
Reno Dalton, but at what price? The wretched thought refused to leave her alone.
And Griffin, who swore he trusted her, who knew so many of her secrets, wouldn’t tell her what he was going through. She felt as though he was trying to push her away, even though he seemed to enjoy being with her, especially when kissing was involved.
The sound of the doorbell made her jump. She giggled giddily—foolishly—at the relief that came with it. Finally, a diversion! The others looked to be just as pleased as she was.
When the door to the parlor opened, Finley rose to her feet to greet their guest. It was the sort of behavior expected from the lady of the house, and while Griffin had never formally called her such, he hadn’t told her she wasn’t, either. It was just one more confusing aspect of their relationship. His aunt Cordelia was off on some sort of adventure of her own, and no one else seemed to want the responsibility of dealing with servants and such. As someone who used to be a servant, Finley knew how life below stairs worked.
Mrs. Dodsworth, the housekeeper, appeared in the door frame. “Mr. Dandy to see you, miss,” she said. Only the slight tilt of her nose as she looked down it revealed what she thought of receiving such a notorious guest.
Jack? A diversion, indeed! Outside this house, she had very few friends, but Jack Dandy was a favorite, if for no other reason than he always knew how to cheer her up and often catered to her vanity. Finley grinned. “Show him in, please.”
The older woman nodded, clearly not pleased, and left.
“Dandy?” Sam was full-on scowling now. “What the hell does that scoundrel want?”
Finley returned his dark expression with one of her own. “You shouldn’t use words you can’t spell, mutton head.”
He rose to his feet, towering over her. Good grief, had he actually grown? “You shouldn’t invite people into a house that is not yours.”
She climbed onto the low tea table, moving the tea service with her foot, so that they were almost nose to nose. “This is as much my home as it is yours, mandroid.” The two of them had tangled before—Finley still had nightmares about how she had almost killed him—but that didn’t stop her from curling her hands into fists. I dare you, she thought as she glared at the dark-eyed boy. Take a swing.
A hand on her belly—just above the bottom edge of her corset—prevented her from getting any further into Sam’s face. The opposite hand pushed against his torso. Emily stood between them, small and determined.
A rose between two thorns. The wry thought almost made her smile, but then she saw the expression on the smaller girl’s face and she thought better of it.
“Get down from there,” Emily commanded, her Irish brogue thickened by annoyance. “And you, Sam Morgan, sit down, you great, foolish article! Do the two of ye have absolutely no idea of how to behave as proper? You’re worse than two dogs growling over the same bone.”
Shame tugged at Finley’s conscience, but she didn’t immediately step down. She waited for Sam to move first.
“You’ll be waitin’ a long time if you fink she’ll give in first, mate,” came a familiar voice from the door.
Finley didn’t have to look. She’d only ever met one person who spoke so atrociously and eloquently at the same time. “Jack!” She jumped down from the table and ran to him, boots thudding on the carpet.
He looked the same—impeccably dressed in head-to-toe black, hair falling in waves around the points of his lapels. His complexion was as fair as his hair was dark, making him incredibly striking—a fact of which he was well aware. He picked her up as she threw her arms around him, his own closing around her, strong and warm.
“It’s so good to see you!” It was true. She hadn’t seen him in weeks.
He gave her a squeeze before setting her back on her feet. “A right lovely sight are you as well, Treasure. Glad to see your sojourn to the colonies done you no lasting ’arm.” His dark eyes surveyed the room. “Where’s ’is pompousness? I’ve come to speak with ’im.”
Not just to see her then, Finley thought—a little glumly, were she honest. When she first met Jack she had been drawn to him, but not in the way he had wanted. Still, a girl liked attention now and then, didn’t she? Especially when the bloke she wanted was keeping secrets.
“His Grace is indisposed,” Sam informed him, stepping forward. His scowl had deepened. How was that even possible? “Next time make an appointment.”
Jack was a couple of inches shorter than Sam and at least two to three stone lighter, but didn’t seem the least bit intimidated. In fact, he looked amused. He tapped the end of his walking stick on the floor. “Don’t get your drawers all knotted up, Goliath. If I wants to court trouble I never ’ave to leave Whitechapel. I’ve come into possession of some information the likes of which I believe would interest Monsieur le duc.”
“Why don’t you tell us?” Finley suggested, gesturing for him to sit. Emily had pulled Sam aside and was talking at him animatedly, pointing a finger at him and frowning. Sam looked suitably chastised. “Would you like tea?”
Jack turned the full force of his intense gaze on her. It was as though he could see right down into her soul. Instinctively, she laid a palm over her brown leather corset, as though her flesh and bone might offer some protection against the feeling that she had done something wrong.
“Mistress of the ’ouse are you, Treasure? Can’t say as that I’m surprised.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. Oh, good Lord, she was blushing! Blast him for embarrassing her. She raised her chin. “I’m not mistress of anything. I was just being polite.”
He held her gaze—longer than was proper. It wasn’t what he’d said that bothered her, but rather that he’d said it in front of the others. What she felt for Griffin was…private. Calling attention to it was very un-English of him.
And made her very aware that perhaps Jack’s feelings for her were still much deeper than friendship.
“My mistake,” Jack conceded, his voice soft. “Tea would be lovely, thank you.”
It wasn’t the first time he’d dropped that awful affectation of his in front of her. Doubtful that the others even heard him, especially Sam and Emily, who were having their own conversation, er…argument.
“Have a seat,” she said, and rang the bell for a fresh pot and another cup.
Finley didn’t speak to him while they waited for the tea, but her silence wasn’t because she didn’t know what to say—it was because Jack had gone straight to Jasper, leaving her standing by herself. Her hearing was exceptional, but she couldn’t eavesdrop on Sam and Emily and his conversation with the cowboy.
For a moment, despite being in this beautiful house as someone who belonged there, Finley was struck by the feelings of being an outsider that had plagued her for most of her life.
She did not like it.
“Oi!” she cried. All eyes turned to her, but her gaze was on Jack. Perhaps she was a little mad—certainly her mind seemed to be scattered lately—but she couldn’t stand to be left out, not just by Griffin, but by everyone else. “You said you had information?”
Jack arched a brow at her bad manners. It took all of her strength not to look away. “Quite,” he said, moving toward the sofa. The others closed in, too, and seated themselves around the room just as fresh tea and sandwiches arrived.
Finley poured Jack a cup, fixed it how he liked it and offered it to him. She did not meet his gaze—the bounder already understood her too well.
“You certain ’is Lordship ain’t available?”
“Decidedly,” Emily replied, setting a strange contraption on the tea table in front of Jack. “Would you mind if I record you, Mr. Dandy?”