The Girl in the Steel Corset - By Kady Cross Page 0,19
a human being? Would he live longer? Was it a lie when he saw Emily and the thing in his chest began to beat a little faster? What did a machine know of feelings? Would there ever be a time when he could honestly say that he felt something to be true in his heart and trust in it?
Making it all more confusing was his undeniable thankfulness at simply being alive, no matter what his present form.
The Victoria Victrola was singing a song about lost love, adding to his melancholy. He drained the pint and signaled his waitress for another, watching warily as she gave the order to the automaton barkeep. He imagined those metal hands suddenly dropping the heavy mug and grabbing the waitress around the throat, squeezing the life from her as ale spilled to the floor. He saw himself trying to rescue her, and suddenly his own hand, by no volition of his own, joined in crushing the girl to death….
“You look as though you could use some company.”
Sam jerked, barely glancing at the man standing beside his table as the charming blonde bird delivered his second ale. “How’s that?”
“You look miserable,” the man replied in strangely accented English. “It loves company, does it not?”
Oddly enough, the lame attempt at a joke made Sam chuckle. He gestured at the chair on the other side of the table. “If that fires your furnace, have a seat.”
The man did, setting his own full mug on the table before flipping out the tails of his coat. He began stripping off his fine leather gloves. He was fancy-dressed like a gentleman, in a russet coat and gold-striped waistcoat. He wore a chocolate-colored bowler hat and a pristine white cravat tied around his neck. He had a foreign look about him—a kind of sophisticated swarthiness with his dark hair and eyes.
“Leon Adamo,” the man said, offering his hand.
“Sam Morg—” Sam froze, unable to take his eyes off the…thing in front of him. It was long and slender, and looked as much like a hand as any other he’d seen, except for one major exception.
It was metal. Dull silver in color, it was fully jointed, notched where every knuckle should be. It even had fingernails etched into its surface, and the top was decorated with an elaborate swirling pattern that extended along each finger, as well. On the inside of the wrist was a small clear panel, through which the delicate gears could be accessed.
His companion chuckled, and withdrew his hand. “My apologies. I forget how startling it can be.”
“No,” Sam replied, somewhat distracted, his gaze still riveted on that strange limb. “I’ve just never met…” Someone else who was part machine. “Forgive me. I meant no offense.”
“None taken, Mr…Morgan, was it?”
Sam nodded, and this time he offered his own hand. “Nice to meet you.”
The gentleman smiled and accepted the handshake. The smooth metal was cool against Sam’s palm, but the fingers were strong. It felt like holding the gauntlet of a suit of armor. Nothing frightening or repulsive about it. Certainly Leon Adamo didn’t seem the least bit ashamed of it.
Sam returned his companion’s smile. “You know, I find I’m in the mood for company after all.”
King House was quiet, still as a church when Finley opened her eyes in the wee hours. The moon cast long shadows through her room, illuminating her bed and part of the wall in fingers of silver.
She felt restless, agitated. It had been brewing all day, ever since her strange conversation with Griffin.
Did he mean her harm or not? She didn’t think so, but she couldn’t be certain. And then there was that cryptic remark he’d left her with. What did he mean absolute trust would be the least he asked of her? Arrogant toff. What made him think she’d fancy his skinny arse worth saving?
Inside her, that frightened, cautious part of her squealed in protest as it always did. The “good girl” didn’t like conflict, shied away from violence and danger. Poor little mite. She had no idea that confrontation was the basest form of self-protection. She was just doing what was best for both of them. And she wanted to know if Lord Felix’s friend Dandy was a threat to her.
She slipped out of bed and padded barefoot across the carpet to the wardrobe. Griffin had made good on his promise of new clothes and she now had a few ready-made items to do her until the rest were made. She slipped into soft