The Girl in the Steel Corset - By Kady Cross Page 0,49
never speak so lowly of your father. My own thought him the very best of men, and I am certain he was right.”
Pink filled her cheeks. “And I must be awful for being partially glad he is gone.”
“Never. You said so yourself, his suffering is at an end. Lord, you must have thought I was thoroughly heartless, believing I spoke of your father.”
She chuckled. “A little, yes. I am glad to be wrong. To be honest, I am not sorry to be done of Lord Felix, but I am even happier to know that his end did not come at my hands.”
Something happened then—a subtle shift in her expression that made him jump to the logical conclusion. “You think Dandy did it.”
“No,” she insisted. “He wouldn’t.”
One eyebrow rose as Griffin fought to keep his expression neutral, but inside he despised Dandy for inspiring such hope in a short period of time. Would she be so quick to defend him were he and Dandy reversed?
“Probably not,” he reluctantly agreed. Then he couldn’t help adding, “Dandy wouldn’t get his hands bloody. He’d get someone else to do it.”
“Not if it was personal he wouldn’t.”
Griffin didn’t like the idea that she had such insight into Dandy’s nature, or that she almost sounded as though she respected the man for it.
“Jack Dandy is a criminal, Finley. No matter how much you might wish it otherwise, he is not a good person.”
“Some would say I’m not, either—not completely,” she retorted with a stubborn lift of her chin. “You’ve seen what I’m capable of. That doesn’t make me a murderer, and it doesn’t make Dandy one, either.”
She had him there. He sighed. “No, it doesn’t. But he is one of the most infamous crime lords in this city for a reason. Because he wants to be one.”
And now they were even because she couldn’t argue with that, either. She pulled her hand from his. “Why are we arguing about Jack Dandy?”
Griffin reluctantly drew his own hand back, as well. “Because part of you likes him.”
Finley smiled that wry smile again. “Part of me also tried to strangle your aunt. I think taking control of this part of myself can’t happen soon enough.”
He was glad to hear it, but it put a lump in his chest, as well. When the two halves of Finley came together, she would no longer be this girl in front of him, nor would she be as dangerous as her other self. She’d be a little of both, and she might not like him so much then. He might not like her quite so well as he did now.
Still, it was a risk he had to take.
The door to the parlor opened and Sam, Emily and Jasper came into the room, followed by two of the maids carrying trays of tea, sandwiches and sweets. Griffin was immediately swept up into other conversation, as was Finley, giving him very little time to regret that he hadn’t kissed her when he had the chance.
Later that day, driven by forces she didn’t understand, Finley sent a note ’round to a certain house in Whitechapel. It contained one line: Tell me you didn’t do it.
She waited for a reply. Even though she was off the hook, she knew the truth about her own involvement. And if Dandy had killed Lord Felix because of what she had told him, then she was responsible for the bounder’s death, to an extent.
Nothing that night, but the next morning as she sat alone at breakfast, the butler delivered a letter to her on a silver platter. Her name and direction were scrawled upon the envelope in sharp, black ink. The seal on the back was black, as well, the impression in the wax that of a simple gothic D.
Her fingers shook as she broke the seal and withdrew the heavy, quality paper. Her one-line request had been acknowledged with a one-line answer:
Of course I didn’t, Treasure.
She tossed the note on the fire and went off to meet Griffin in the library. She had her answer. That was the end of it.
But part of her wasn’t satisfied. It wasn’t enough that Jack Dandy had told her he hadn’t killed Lord Felix, because that part of her knew Dandy was smart enough not to tell her—or anyone else—even if he had.
Chapter 10
The following morning, another delivery arrived for Finley. It was brought to her in the morning as she and the others—even Sam—enjoyed a somewhat amiable breakfast. It seemed that by assisting