The Girl in the Clockwork Collar (Steampunk Chronicles #2)(28)

The dirigible continued north toward the landing port in Central Park, and Finley’s carriage continued south and a little west, inching farther and farther away from the grandeur of the hotel and the party Griffin would enjoy. Not too far, though. She wasn’t headed for the slums tonight.

Dalton was wise to keep his household just on the fringe of Five Points. He didn’t impinge on anyone’s “business” that way and avoided anyone trying to take a piece of his. The gangs didn’t take well to strangers, and if Dalton was from San Francisco the same as Jasper, then he hadn’t been in the city long enough to fully establish himself. He obviously fancied himself above the gangs and their ilk, judging from the way he dressed and spoke. Perhaps that was something she could use to her advantage.

His was a moderately sized, slightly shabby redbrick town house with a freshly swept walk and a weathered brass knocker on the door. It looked like the sort of place where a middle-class merchant might have once lived with his wife and children—not a den of thieves. There were even flowers in the tiny gardens tucked on either side of the steps.

“Are you certain this is where you want to go, miss?” the driver asked as she stepped out. “It’s not the sort of neighborhood a pretty little thing like you should brave alone.”

Finley smiled in appreciation as she dug a few coins out of the pouch concealed beneath the bottom of her corset. If he only knew the damage she could work, he wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss her as a “little thing.” Though, he was still welcome to think her pretty.

“It’s all right,” she told him. “I’m meeting friends here.”

He looked dubious, but he didn’t press the issue as she dropped payment and a generous tip into his palm. “You have a good night, then, miss.”

She bade him good-night and approached the front steps, hoping the cabbie wouldn’t sit there and wait until she went inside to leave—as though he were her father or guardian.

To her relief, the coach pulled away when the front door of the house opened. It was the behemoth who glared down at her. “You’re late.”

She glared back. “So?”

He didn’t seem to know just what to make of that. Clearly he was not a man accustomed to being talked back to. “Mr. Dalton’s waiting for you. Follow me.”

When Finley crossed the threshold, it was as though she’d stepped into another world. At that moment, she realized there was no turning back. Jasper would prove to be either a friend or enemy, and she would either survive this or she wouldn’t. She didn’t doubt for a minute that Dalton would try to kill her if he found out she’d lied to him—it was what any criminal would do. She could only hope she would have backup with her when the time came.

The house was comfortable and clean—much like the home her mother and stepfather owned. She’d grown up surrounded by lemon scent and furniture polish, the slight, sharp tang of vinegar. The smells brought a pang of homesickness to her chest as she followed the silent giant across the foyer through another doorway. He knocked and opened the door to reveal a small green parlor.

Jasper sat on the sofa. He looked up as soon as she walked in. There was absolutely no recognition on his face, but she thought she caught a glimmer of something in his green eyes. The girl was there, too, watching her like a mouse eyes a hawk—or perhaps the other way around. Finley’s own eyes narrowed.

Why were pretty girls always so eager to get all territorial when another girl entered the room? It wasn’t as though Finley was competition or wanted that ugly-arse necklace she was wearing.

Dalton was at the bar, fixing himself a drink. He turned and grinned at her, bright eyes crinkling at the corners. Did he stand at his mirror and practice that smile? Did he know just by how it felt on his face how charming it was? He was almost too perfect to look at—like an angel sent to earth.

Only Dalton was no angel.

“Miss Bennet,” he greeted in a low drawl. “Good evening. Care for a drink?”

Finley shook her head. She needed all her wits about her. “No thanks. My apologies for being late.”

A quick glance at the clock above the mantel, and Dalton frowned. “You’re not late at all.”

She couldn’t help but throw a triumphant smirk at the giant, who glowered in response.

Her host appeared not to notice the exchange. He gestured with his glass toward the sofa. “You remember my associates, Jasper Renn and Mei Xing?”

Mei Xing? As in a-mazing? Poor girl getting stuck with such an unfortunate name. Or perhaps she thought it was cute. Finley nodded at each of them. “How d’you do?”

Chuckling, Dalton walked around to the love seat and gestured for her to join him. “I love how you English speak.”

“Really? I’ve always been intrigued by what I believe is referred to as the ‘Southern drawl.’” She seated herself beside him, forcing herself to act relaxed and affable. This was how it was supposed to go—he had to like her for this to work.

“Most English are.” Jasper spoke. “’Least in my experience.”

Finley arched a brow. “Really? Have you been to England?” She wanted to ask what he was doing there. If he was a prisoner, then why was he allowed to walk around freely? It didn’t look well for proving his innocence.

“I spent some time there” was his response.