The Girl in the Clockwork Collar (Steampunk Chronicles #2)(33)

She leaned closer, looked him dead in his sparkling eyes and said, “You do know I could snap your neck like a chicken bone.”

Across the room, she heard Mei gasp, but she didn’t bother to look. No doubt Jasper would shoot daggers at her with his eyes. She might very well just have ruined everything.

Then Dalton reached out and patted her on the shoulder. “That’s why you’re here.”

He was mad as a bloody hatter, but he hadn’t tossed her out, so that was something. One thing was for certain—she wasn’t going to start snapping at his heels anytime soon.

He lifted his hand. “You’ve had a busy night. Why don’t you skedaddle? I imagine you have a lot to do before morning.”

A dismissal if she ever heard one—and she was thankful for it. “I’ll just go change.”

He waved a hand at her. “Take the dress with you. Keep it. What am I going to do with the thing?”

What did he think she was going to do with it? It wasn’t exactly her style of gown. Still, it would be rude not to take it.

“Thanks.” Then because she couldn’t think of anything else to say, “I’ll see you all in the morning.”

She hastened another glance at Jasper, only to find him looking at her with rueful green eyes. She wondered what it was that he looked so apologetic over as she left the room.

Then again, maybe she didn’t want to know.

Griffin would have left the Astor-Prynn party immediately after regaining consciousness—which was about two minutes after Finley hit him—had the police not been summoned and he’d not been pressed into talking to them. He had just finished his interview, and his pride smarted from the amused look in the officer’s eyes when he’d told him what had happened.

Bloody Finley.

He roused to the sound of a high-pitched voice practically screaming at him. It was Miss Astor-Prynn, and to be fair, she had seemed genuinely concerned for his well-being. Would have been nice if she could have expressed her concern without sounding like a bloody banshee, though.

The entire side of his face throbbed, especially his jaw. Hit by a girl—that would follow him for the rest of his stay. He was beginning to wish he’d never left England. No one would know that Finley hit with about the same force as a battering ram. No one but him.

He moved his jaw and winced. Did she have to hit him quite so hard? She hadn’t needed to knock him out. He pressed his fingers to the back of his head. No pain, no lump. Obviously she’d caught him rather than let him hit the floor. How ruddy wonderful was that? Hit by a girl and then supported by one. She’d once picked him up and carried him after he’d absorbed too much Aether. Next thing, she’d be cutting his food for him or perhaps tying his shoes.

He said his goodbyes to Mr. and Mrs. Astor-Prynn—both of whom had apologized several times already for an incident they believed to be their fault. He assured them he was fine and that he didn’t blame them. Then, because he felt badly for them, he agreed to come for dinner one night. Luckily, they hadn’t pressed him to set a date.

He kissed Miss Astor-Prynn on the hand and bade her good-night, then went outside and climbed into the carriage they’d loaned him. He could have hailed a cab, but they had insisted. He would have agreed to let Mr. Astor-Prynn piggyback him all the way down 5th Avenue if he’d thought it would get him out of there any faster.

When he returned to the hotel, Griffin found Sam and Emily waiting for him in Sam’s room. They were sitting on the bed playing cards. Emily’s cat sat on the carpet within arm’s reach. Ever since being injured in the fight against The Machinist, Emily kept the metal animal close—her protector. It was more than that, though. With her ability to “talk” to machines, the cat was more than just a thing to her. It was as much a friend as something without a heart could be.

“How was the lecture?” he asked, closing the door behind him.

“Brilliant,” Emily replied enthusiastically, looking up from her cards. Her face practically glowed. “Griffin, Tesla is a bloody genius.”

“If he’s such a genius, why can’t he find words that everyone can understand?” Sam growled.

Emily shot him an amused glance. “Someone fell asleep halfway through.”

Griffin chuckled, then swore as pain rippled down the left side of his face. Both of them stared at him.

“How was the party?” Emily asked, somewhat hesitantly as she stared at his bruising jaw.

“Boring,” he replied as he unbuttoned his coat. “Until Finley showed up, that is.”

Emily straightened, cards totally forgotten. “Finley was there? At the party?” A frown tugged at her forehead. “What happened to your face?”

As he tossed his coat over a chair, Griffin sighed. “She was there with Dalton. Apparently he wanted her with him while he stole a set of building plans. As for my face, Finley happened, that’s what.”

Sam scowled so hard his eyebrows almost became one solid black line. “She hit you? What the hell for?”

“I assume to keep up appearances, but who knows what goes on in that head of hers.”

“Did you start ordering her around?” Emily asked. “Maybe she just wanted to shut you up.”

Griffin shot her a droll look. “Maybe.”

Sam looked thoughtful. “You know what, Em? You’re the only one of us Finley hasn’t hit.”