The Girl in the Clockwork Collar (Steampunk Chronicles #2)(29)
Her gaze skipped to Mei. “What about you, Miss Xing? Have you ever been to London?”
“No,” the girl replied in a deceptively soft voice—like a cloud wrapped around steel. “But I doubt you have ever been to San Francisco, let alone Peking.”
Forcing a smile, Finley crossed her legs. “No, I haven’t.” She was accustomed to other girls not liking her, so she didn’t take it personally this time. Girls didn’t need a reason to despise each other.
“As fascinating as this conversation is,” Dalton said with a dramatic roll of his eyes, “I’m starving. Let’s eat.” When he stood, he offered Finley his arm, just like a gentleman would.
She placed her hand on his elbow and allowed him to escort her from the room. She made her grip just a tad tighter than it should be and felt the solid muscle beneath his sleeve. He wasn’t some noodle-limbed ponce. He was strong and she would do well to remember it. When he turned those dark-rimmed blue eyes at her and flashed a lopsided smile, she felt like a deer being sized up by a lion. Griffin’s words about Dalton being nothing like Jack echoed in her head. He was a real villain.
The dining room was small, with a table set for four and accented with fresh flowers. The walls were painted a soft coral, and a sideboard of rich ebony held heated silver dishes. Their contents smelled delicious. Finley’s stomach growled softly.
Dalton held out a chair for her—at his right. He seated himself at the head of the table. He asked her several questions over dinner, which she assumed were to divine her character, though she was surprised by the seemingly genuine interest behind them. She tried to be as honest as possible, because lies were often difficult to remember, but avoided telling him anything too personal or anything that might link her to Griffin—or Jasper.
“I could use a girl like you, Finley,” he told her as he cut into a thick beefsteak.
Finley forced her lips into a coy smile. “I know. What did you have in mind?”
There was no mistaking the predatory interest in his eyes. “I’d like for us to work together as friends. But first, I need to know you’re right for the job. What would you say to a test?”
She chewed and swallowed the bite of potato in her mouth, appearing nonchalant, even though the palms of her hands grew moist. “What sort of test?”
“There’s a document I need in a house uptown. I’d like for you to go there with me and help me steal it.”
“Are there people in the house?” Her heart began to hammer in her chest. Anxiety or anticipation, she wasn’t certain.
“They’re having a party,” he replied with a grin. “Everyone will be nice and distracted.”
She’d never stolen anything before. Hitting people who deserved it was one thing, but stealing … It wasn’t as though she could refuse, though, could she? Not if she wanted to gain his trust. She glanced down at her clothes. “I’m not exactly dressed for a party.”
“I can fix that. All you have to do is be your lovely, ruthless self if we run into trouble. Are you game or not?”
It was all she could do not to look at Jasper for a sign of how she should respond. Instead, she grinned back, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger. “Always.”
The house was huge and ornate, situated near the corner of 58th and 5th, not far from Central Park, in the wealthier section of the city. Lights blazed in the windows, carriages of different colors and sizes were parked out front, and music drifted down to the street, along with the sound of conversation and laughter.
All in all, it seemed everyone was having a bang-up time. Finley turned from the carriage window to Dalton. “How are we getting in?”
He leaned across her to glance outside. “I reckon we’ll saunter right on in through the front door.”
She raised a brow. “There’s an automaton guarding it.” She had taken on metal before, but wouldn’t it call attention to them if she ripped the thing apart on the front steps?
“You leave the tin can to me and keep those sharp eyes of yours peeled for any sign of trouble.”
A footman from the house opened the carriage door for them. Dalton stepped out and then offered Finley his hand. She had to give him credit for behaving exactly as he ought.
He looked the part of a gentleman, as well, dressed in a stark black suit with white shirt and cravat. He’d found a rich plum silk gown for her that fit remarkably well and had only needed to be let out a bit in the bust. Surprisingly, Dalton had taken care of the alteration himself on the spot.
“My father was a tailor,” he explained to her as he had pulled apart a seam. “His clients were San Francisco’s elite.” That explained his impeccable clothing.
Arm in arm, they climbed the steps to where the automaton stood along with another footman.
“There’s a man watching us from across the street,” Finley whispered near her companion’s ear. “I saw him earlier outside your house.” She’d noticed the man because he was dressed like a cowboy, and the only other cowboy she knew was Jasper.
Dalton didn’t bother to glance over his shoulder. He only smiled in that caustic manner of his. “That’s just Whip Kirby, a lawman who followed me from California. Don’t pay him any mind. He has no power here.”
Finley nodded, but she would keep a look out for the man later. He might prove useful one day.