The Girl in the Clockwork Collar (Steampunk Chronicles #2)(25)

Slowly—determinedly—Finley made herself look at him. He sat at his customary spot at the head of the table, but his breakfast was nothing more than coffee and toast. He looked tired and drawn, with dark circles under his storm-blue eyes.

Was she the cause of those dark smudges? The thought added more guilt to her already heavy shoulders. She tried to smile and found her lips incapable of the movement. “Griffin,” she whispered.

“Finley,” he echoed with the ghost of a grin. Did he mean to tease or to mock her? “I hope you slept well.”

“Tolerably,” she replied, sitting down at the place set for her at his right. “You?”

“Once I got there, you could say I slept like the dead.” He chuckled drily.

Emily looked at him again, and this time Finley saw concern in the other girl’s eyes. What did she know that Finley did not? Had Griffin told her of their conversation?

“Says here there was a ‘flash of light, like lightning,’ from the Statue of Liberty last night,” Sam announced as he perused the front page of the morning Times. “Any of you see it?”

Griffin seemed to find this hilarious and began to laugh in that way Finley often did when she hadn’t enough sleep.

“Actually … ” Emily began, glancing at Griffin as though he’d gone mad.

“It was probably something faulty with the lantern mechanism in the torch,” Griffin interrupted, suddenly serious. “I’m surprised it’s never happened before.”

Sam shrugged. “I suppose so. Call me paranoid, but every time something strange happens now, I expect to find some kind of villain at work.”

“You’re paranoid,” Griffin replied with a grin. “I wager the torch will be lit again tonight, and no one will give it another thought.”

Except for her, Finley thought as she took two pieces of toast from the warming plate in front of her. Whoever invented heated dishes should be knighted. Did they knight people in America? Probably not.

She hadn’t missed the startled look Emily shot Griffin when he interrupted her, which meant that both she and Griffin knew what had happened out on that island last night. Why the secrecy?

Then it hit her. It had been Griffin. He’d been on the verge of losing control of his abilities last night—because of her. Somehow he’d gotten out to the statue or had done something that had made that flash.

She stared at him. “I owe you all an apology,” she blurted.

Three pairs of eyes turned toward her. Heat seeped into her cheeks, like tea in hot water. “I shouldn’t have taken Emily to Five Points to dig up information on Dalton. And I should have told Sam and Griffin about the fights. I’m sorry.”

Sam helped himself to more sausage. “I’m the last person who would give you bother about that.” It was no secret that he had once taken off on his own a lot, but that seemed to have changed since the fight with The Machinist.

“I had fun,” Emily added, a tad defiantly.

“Yeah, about that,” Sam began, gesturing at her with his knife. “You need to be careful. This isn’t London. Those gangs are dangerous.” The fact that he hadn’t attempted to lock Emily in her room to keep her safe also showed how different he was. Finley knew it must be hard for him to give up some of his protectiveness.

Emily shot him a glance out of the corner of her eye. “I’m Irish, Sam Morgan. Most of those ‘gangs’ are my people.”

“But the rest aren’t,” Griffin interjected, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his hand. “And to some of them, the only good Irish is dead Irish, and they all hate the English, so there will be no running about alone by any of us. Understood?”

The three of them nodded. Finley knew the remark was mostly directed at her, but she wasn’t about to get her knickers in a twist over it. He was right. They weren’t in London, and there was danger in this city for all of them.

“Good.” He leaned back in his chair and reached for his cup of coffee. “Finley, you have an engagement with Dalton tonight, correct?”

She chewed and swallowed the bite of egg in her mouth. “Yes, though I think dinner is just a formality. I reckon he’ll want me to join his enterprise. He’s fond of rough girls.”

“No doubt he plans to seduce you,” Griffin remarked thoughtfully. When Finley’s cheeks turned red, he added, “Into his gang, of course. I’m sure he’ll waste no time now that he’s seen what you can do.”

It was as much of a truce as he was probably going to offer, and she was glad for it. In fact, she liked him all the more for not making it too easy for her.

She knew there really wasn’t much point in having a crush on Griffin. A duke would be expected to marry someone of his own social sphere—not that Finley wanted to marry him! But he wouldn’t make her half so mental if she didn’t like him.

Emily perked up. “I’m going to listen to Mr. Tesla give a talk at the New York Repository of Science this evening. I’m so excited!”

“I’m going with her,” Sam added. Finley noted with amusement that he did not sound half so enthusiastic as his companion about the evening.

“And I am off to a party,” Griffin remarked. “Seems dukes are quite the popular commodity here in Manhattan.”

Sam made a face. “I thought the aristocracy was one of the things the Yanks hate about us.”