The Girl in the Clockwork Collar (Steampunk Chronicles #2)(22)

Smeared?

Griffin’s eyes narrowed. Not bruises—not anymore. The smears were from cosmetics, no doubt employed to keep Dalton from noticing that she had healed faster than she should. To be honest, he would think her healing abilities would only serve to make her more attractive to the criminal. Should he mention that or simply be grateful she hadn’t been eager to give away all her secrets?

Emily was with her, laughing at something Finley said as they entered the room. It was Emily who first noticed him, laughter dying as she saw him. Whatever she saw when her gaze locked with his made the cute little redhead blanch.

“Evening, lad,” she said, voice slightly strained.

Griffin rose to his feet—it was what a gentleman did when ladies entered the room. “Good evening, Em. Finley.”

Finley didn’t pale when she met his gaze, although it would be hard to tell with the amount of dried blood and cosmetics on her face. Her chin came up defiantly, however. She expected a fight. He wasn’t surprised, as a fight was exactly what he suspected she wanted. She’d taken and delivered over an hour’s worth of violence during the fights that night and still had a little steel left in her spine.

He had told her he wouldn’t fight for her affection, but that had been a lie. He would fight. Only, he hadn’t thought that she would be his opponent.

“I’m really tired,” Emily announced out of the blue. “I think I’ll trundle myself off to bed. Good night!” She was gone before either Griffin or Finley could respond, the door clicking shut behind her.

The air seemed to thicken now that just the two of them were left in the room. The temperature seemed higher, as well, as though their mutual anger set the water in the radiator to boil.

Finley crossed her arms over her chest and stood with legs braced, as though ready for battle. Griffin kept his own hands at his sides, the thumb of his left stroking the owl.

“You put Emily at risk tonight,” he accused, because he couldn’t think of how to put his feelings into words. He was too afraid of making an idiot of himself. It was better to be harsh than vulnerable.

A deep scowl furrowed between her arched brows. “I didn’t make her come along. You ever try to talk her out of something once she’s made up her mind? Besides, she can take care of herself. You and Sam treat her like a china doll rather than a capable female.”

Perhaps he and Sam were guilty of behaving too protectively toward Emily, but it was how they had both been raised to treat women—even ones as capable as Emily and Finley. He tried to remember that they could fend for themselves quite nicely, and most of the time he succeeded, but his natural tendency was to play the gentleman.

“Is that what this was about?” he asked in a deceptively calm tone. “To prove just how capable you and Em are?”

Bright amber eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “What are you really angry about? That I entered the fight or that someone other than you came up with a plan that worked? Dalton wants to meet with me.”

Her words stung like a slap, and Griffin winced accordingly. Is that what she thought of him? “You may have noticed I came up with a similar plan, which you would have known, had you talked to me.”

She snorted. “Dalton’d see through you and Sam in a second. You’re too fine. Too good.”

“Perhaps I’m concerned about the fact that you have developed a penchant for unsavory company,” he replied, making a dig of his own. “Perhaps I’m angry because we’re supposed to work together, and you went behind my back.” He should have known she was up to something. She probably did this just to rub his face in it.

She shrugged. “You would have tried to stop me.” She didn’t say a word about the kind of company she preferred, which stuck the thorn in Griff ’s pride just a little further.

“You’re bloody right I would have!” He squeezed the mechanical owl so hard the beak cut into his palm. “And then you could have persuaded me to your side. You could have made me see that your plan was our best option.” He raked a hand through his hair. “But you didn’t trust me, and you came up with your plan just to spite me, and that is what makes me so damn angry.”

Finley stared at him, eyes wide, mouth wide. “Griffin—”

He cut her off. “I had to sit there—helpless—and watch as you took beating after beating tonight, and I couldn’t show any emotion. I couldn’t cheer when you won or show my fear when you got hurt. I couldn’t do anything.”

Bloody hell, he was not used to feeling helpless.

“You didn’t need to do anything!” She threw her hands in the air. “The rest of us are capable people, Griffin. You’re not the only one who can take charge of a situation.”

She was right, but it was his crew and he felt responsible for them. He set the little brass owl—warm from his hands— on the polished top of the dresser. “Reno Dalton is not Jack Dandy, Finley. He’ll kill you if he suspects you’re playing him. Is that a risk you’re willing to take?”

Finley nodded curtly. “If it will help Jasper.”

“All right, then.” He kept his opinions tucked inside. “If it’s not too much trouble, I would like to hear the rest of your plan tomorrow morning when we’re all together. That way, there will be no more surprises, and we’ll all know our parts.”