The Girl in the Steel Corset (Steampunk Chronicles #1)(10)

“Ah, blast! It went beneath the dresser.”

Before the girl could bend down to stick her hand underneath the piece of furniture, the dark-haired young man was there. He set the tray on the bed and then went to the dresser, bending down. How he expected to find the mechanism with those big hands of his, Finley didn’t know. But then she realized he had only reached underneath to get a good hold. When he straightened, the large, heavy piece came with him, held between his two hands with ease.

No man was that strong. Even in her “altered” state she couldn’t come close to that kind of easy strength.

“Astounding,” Finley whispered, staring at him in open awe.

The other girl smiled then, as though she couldn’t help herself. “This coming from a girl who tossed a footman like a sack of potatoes.” Quickly, she bent down and retrieved the item. “Thank you, Sam.”

He said nothing, merely glanced at her before setting the furniture back in its proper place. The girl made a point of not looking at him, but her pale cheeks turned red.

“My name is Finley,” she said when once again her nursemaid attended her. “Who are you?”

The girl hesitated, her fingers wrapped around the depression bulb of the atomizer. Whatever the reservoir contained, it smelled of rosemary and something earthy—like dirt. She didn’t quite meet Finley’s gaze as she applied a light, cool layer of mist to her forehead. She was still wary of her. “Emily.”

Finley held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Emily. Thank you for being kind when I was such a wretch.”

Emily looked down. For a moment, Finley thought maybe she’d reject the offer of friendship and she held her breath. But just when she was about to drop her hand, Emily switched the contraption to her left and accepted the handshake. The Irish girl’s hands weren’t smooth like a lady’s. They had a little roughness to them, like Finley’s own. They were the hands of someone used to working, and it made Finley like her even more.

More so, it made her want to trust this small girl with her strange red hair and old eyes.

“You’re welcome…Finley.” Emily gestured over her shoulder. “That’s Sam.”

Finley managed to smile at the large young man. Him she wasn’t so eager to trust, nor, from the stony expression on his face, was he about to trust her. “Hello, Sam. My apologies for leaping over you as I did last night.”

“You’re fast,” he allowed grudgingly, lifting the breakfast tray and setting it across her lap. “But I caught the footman when you threw him, and next time I’ll catch you.” It wasn’t said in a threatening manner but Finley knew beyond a doubt that he would crush her like a bug if he caught her.

“There won’t be a next time,” she said hoarsely.

The brute actually grinned. He had big, white teeth and he would have been handsome if he wasn’t so bloody frightening. “Good.” Then to Emily, “We should go. Griff will want to see us.”

“Griff?” Finley froze in the middle of reaching for a slice of toast. They spoke of him like he was their leader, and she knew exactly who Griff was. Rich Boy.

Emily nodded. “This is his house. He would like you to come down to the library when you’ve finished breakfast. Just push the maid button and someone will come and help you dress.”

He wanted to see her. Suddenly Finley didn’t have much of an appetite, not when her fate would be so soon decided.

To her surprise, Emily reached out and squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry yourself, lass. All will work out as it ought. Now, eat. You need to put some meat on your bones.”

The backs of Finley’s eyes burned. That sounded just like something her mother would say. Oh, how she wished she had her mother! “Thank you,” she rasped.

Emily gave her another squeeze, and dipped her head to look her in the eye. “I mean it. You needn’t worry.”

Finley nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She might burst into tears and she had already humiliated herself enough in front of these people. She managed to hold out until they had left, closing the door behind them. Only then did she allow a tear to run down her cheek.

She had attacked her employer. She would rather live on the streets than let her mother know how she had shamed herself. She would never work for any decent family again once word got out. She would have to find some other kind of employment without reference and hope that word of her disgrace didn’t spread to the shops. And she was either going mad or was possessed by a demon.

What did she possibly have to worry about?



The brick wall shuddered under the force of Sam’s left fist.

It crumbled under the force of his right.

Bricks broke loose of their mortar. Those that weren’t smashed into dust toppled to pile at his feet. He choked and stumbled backward, coughing, eyes watering. “Bloody hell!”

He was in the ballroom of Greythorne House. Since the death of Griff’s parents, the large space had become less and less for entertaining and more and more of a training ground for the lot of them.

He’d started spending more time in here over the past couple of months. As soon as Emily said he could start training again. Well, maybe a little before. Emily didn’t know everything, even if it seemed like she did.

Once his vision and the cloud of dust cleared, Sam lifted his arms, putting his forearms side by side in front so he could study them. There was no discernable difference between the limbs. They were the same relative size and tone. When he flexed his fingers, he could see tendons moving beneath the skin.