The Girl in the Clockwork Collar (Steampunk Chronicles #2)(30)

Dalton approached the small polished automaton standing at the door. From the inside pocket of his evening jacket, he withdrew a punch card trimmed with paper lace and inserted it into the slot on the machine’s front. Then he turned the key to the right of the slot.

A whirling sound came from inside the creature. Cogs and gears came alive as the card was processed. The automaton chugged and clicked for a few seconds, then a bell dinged and a small bulb on top of its “head” lit up.

“Thank you, sir,” the footman said, opening the door for them to enter. “Enjoy your evening.”

The sharklike smile that was already becoming familiar to Finley slid across Dalton’s face. “We intend to.”

“How did you do that?” she whispered, once the door had closed behind them.

“I snagged the invitation during a poker game last week. Fella was so drunk he probably thought he lost it.”

Finley couldn’t help the appreciative smile that took hold of her lips. “I don’t suppose you were responsible for his drunkenness?”

“Not at all,” he replied so innocently that it was an obvious lie. “The papers I want should be in a study upstairs. Let’s find them before people start to realize no one knows us, shall we?”

She had to hike the skirts of her gown to keep from tripping as they climbed the winding staircase, but she kept up with his quick stride. At the top of the stairs, she tugged on his arm, forcing him to stop.

“They’ll notice you don’t belong a lot sooner if you don’t slow down. You look like a man on a mission rather than a party guest.”

Dalton immediately slowed his pace. “You’re right.” Then he snagged two glasses of champagne from a footman on his way to the ballroom and gave her one.

Because of her experience with wealthy houses, Finley had a fairly good idea where a gentleman’s study might be located. There were few enough people outside the ballroom that no one really noticed that they were peeking in rooms, but enough so that they didn’t stand out as the only couple.

The second door they opened proved to be the one they were looking for. Dalton shot her a triumphant glance. “Get in.”

“You say the sweetest things,” she cooed and slipped into the room. He followed and closed the door behind them with a soft click.

There wasn’t much light in the room—a lamp on the desk and a sconce on the wall—but it was enough. The room was large, definitely masculine with its oak wainscoting and dark green paper. The desk was huge, and a massive leather chair sat behind it.

“What are we looking for?” Finley asked, voice low.

“Floor plans,” he replied, riffling through a stack of papers. “They will be large sheets, either folded or rolled.”

She opened the top drawer of the cherrywood desk. “If they’re important, wouldn’t they be in a safe?”

“They’re only important to me.” He didn’t look up from his search but moved on to the other set of drawers. “To anyone else, they’re just pictures of a building.”

She wanted to ask what he wanted them for but didn’t want to give him reason to be suspicious of her. Instead, she kept pawing through the drawers.

“I like you, Finley,” Dalton commented, glancing up. “You don’t ask a lot of questions.”

So curbing her curiosity had been a good thing. She shrugged. “Part of my charm.” Something at the bottom of the drawer caught her eye, and she pulled it out. It was several large, folded sheets of paper with diagrams on each sheet. “Is this it?”

Dalton took them from her and unfolded them. She watched as pleasure softened his face. “They are indeed. Well done.”

She was a fool for praise and preened accordingly. Her enjoyment was short-lived, however, when they heard the doorknob turn, and the door started to creep open. They were caught.

The way Finley saw it, they had two choices—stay and pretend to be lovers sneaking off for a bit of privacy as Dalton had joked or make a run for it. Since they had what they came for, their best bet was to try to get out of there with as little fuss as possible.

“Go.” She jerked her head toward the opening door. “I’ll take care of it.”

Dalton stared at her for a split second before whirling toward the door. He pulled it the rest of the way open and brushed past the intruder. “You shouldn’t just walk in, son,” he said in a haughty tone. “You never know what you might see.” Then he disappeared from her sight.

Finley followed after him, but then the intruder turned his head, and his gaze locked with hers. She groaned. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

She forced a smile. “Hullo, Griffin.”

He should have stayed in the ballroom—then he never would have known that Finley had snuck into the party with Reno Dalton. Instead, Griffin had fled the crowd to avoid interacting with Miss Lydia Astor-Prynn, a very determined young woman bent on landing herself a duke. The fact that he was only eighteen and had no intention of marrying for many more years seemed to have no effect on her. She’d been a second shadow for most of the evening, and people were starting to whisper.

Other mamas had been throwing their daughters at him, as well. It was like he was a starving dog, and everyone was trying to force-feed him a steak. If he’d stayed there, he would have continued to feel like a piece of meat, but at least he wouldn’t be staring at a guilty-looking Finley.