Kady Cross: The Girl with the Windup Heart

“Her husband was a viscount,” Emily went on. “They spent most of their time at their country estate in Lincolnshire until Lord Grantfarthen shot himself over gaming debts, and the new heir tossed Lady Grantfarthen out.”

The new lord must be quite the peach indeed. “Let me guess. The victims have all been people to whom the late viscount owed money?” It wasn’t a brilliant deduction, so Griffin didn’t pat his own back over it.

Emily nodded. “Two of them had called in their markers, as well. When Grantfarthen couldn’t pay, they threatened to ruin him publicly.”

It was enough to make Griffin ashamed of the society into which he’d been born. If the thought of ridicule was enough to make you eat a bullet, what sort of world did you live in? Not a very pleasant one. “So the widow uses her abilities for a little revenge and claims her necklace was stolen to cover her tracks.”

“She’s not stupid,” Wildcat commented. “Would have been smarter not to wear the pearls at all, though.”

“Appearances,” Griffin said, absently. “One must keep up appearances. Not wearing the pearls might make people speculate that she’d taken to selling off her jewelry. Did you look into the lady’s finances?”

Emily puffed up like a little bird. “On a whim, I did. Turns out she had her own fortune as her father’s only child, but her da had put a stipulation on her dowry that Lord Grantfarthen couldn’t have access to it without written permission from his wife and his father-in-law. The old man’s in trade apparently, and rich as Midas. He refused to sign over any money, but he did offer his son-in-law a loan.”

“Which he refused,” Griffin concluded with a grimace. For many men—especially titled ones—pride was a terrible thing. Having a man “beneath” him deny him what he saw as rightfully his must have driven the viscount to distraction. “Do we know where the father is now?”

Emily consulted her papers. “I have an address for Mr. Peabody in Cheapside. He’s been out of the country, though.”

“When’s he due back?”

She looked again. “This morning. What are you thinking, lad?”

Griffin smiled without humor. “I’m thinking that our fiery lady might decide to pay a visit to her papa. She might decide she’s had enough of him controlling her money—and she might want his, as well.”

Some of the color left Emily’s cheeks. She was already very pale. “You don’t think she’d kill her own father?”

“I think she’s insane, very powerful and drunk on the fact that she’s gotten away with it for this long. I also think we’d better make haste to Cheapside if we’re to save Mr. Peabody from a grisly death.” He rose to his feet and offered Finley his hand. “Let’s go.”

Her fingers entwined with his as she rose to her feet. She wasn’t happy, he could tell—and he didn’t blame her. Since they’d met, their lives had been one adventure after another. Some of it had been fun, but most of it had been dangerous. They could use a little quiet time together. He wanted to give her that, but not at the expense of a life—especially not when it was a life they could save.

“We’ll go away after,” he told her in a low voice. “Spend some time alone.”

She shot him a doubtful glance. “All right.” But there was no conviction in her tone. She pulled her hand free of his and walked toward the door.

“I don’t blame her,” whispered a voice near his ear.

Garibaldi. Griffin didn’t turn his head. Didn’t even acknowledge that he’d heard. No one else seemed to have either.

“She knows you don’t mean it, Your Grace. More importantly, you know you don’t mean it.”

Griffin’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent. Clenching his hands into fists, he followed his friends.

The Machinist chuckled—the sound echoing in his head.

“I’m coming for you, Griffin King.”

“Why do I need to learn to dance?”

Jack Dandy smiled as he guided Mila through a turn. She was a good dancer, despite her whining. “Because it’s something every well-bred young lady knows how to do, and because it’s enjoyable.”

“I’m not well-bred. I was built. I suppose I could be well built.”

She was at that, he thought with a touch of irony-laced guilt. She was very fit, and her tailored trousers and waistcoat showed that off to brilliant advantage. Add her mane of wild red hair and wide amber eyes and she was a girl a fellow didn’t easily forget.

“You don’t like to dance?” he asked, turning her again.

“You could have just given me a book on it. As soon as I read the instructions I’d know how to do it.”

His lips quirked. “So, you don’t like dancing with me, is that it?”

Her cheeks flushed at his teasing. “No. I’m sure you know you dance very well—otherwise you wouldn’t do it. I just think this is a waste of your time.”

“It’s not.” And that was as much conversation as he intended to have on the subject. He wouldn’t admit—not even to himself—just how much he enjoyed dancing with her. She felt comfortable in his arms—as if she was made to fit him.

Which was ridiculous. She’d been made—engineered—to house the brain of a madman, only those plans had gotten all mucked up by Griffin King. Because of an injection of some sort of goo that apparently gave a kick in the bollocks to the evolutionary process, Mila the automaton had become Mila the girl, complete with a sharp brain and all the blood and organs that went along with being human.

She learned at an incredible rate, which was good, because, though she looked like a woman, if she were human, she wouldn’t even be old enough to crawl yet. She’d learned so much already—more than he’d ever thought possible, but there was still so much she didn’t know.

“Are you enjoying Romeo and Juliet? ” Shakespeare was practically required reading in England.

Her winged ginger brows knit into a frown as she moved. Her dancing had dramatically improved in the past five minutes. Remarkable. “No. It’s foolish and contrived.”

Both of Jack’s brows shot up. He misstepped and almost trod upon her toes. “Apologies,” he muttered.

Mila easily moved around his clumsiness and kept the dance going with effortless grace. Then again, he could have fallen on his arse and she would have simply swept him back onto his feet. It was enough to emasculate a fellow, her strength. “You’re surprised.”

“I am. Most girls quite enjoy the romance of Romeo and Juliet. ”

Her frown grew. She was adorable when she scowled. “I don’t find tandem suicide the least bit romantic, Jack. Why didn’t they just stand up to their families?”

“Because that just wasn’t done.”

She snorted. “Ridiculous. If I was in love with someone, I wouldn’t let that stop me.”

“You haven’t lived your life by a strict code of rules.”

The gaze she leveled at him was so direct it was unsettling. “Neither have you.”

Were that true. “I did for a little while—when I was younger.”

“If you so dislike the rules, why are you imposing them on me?”

Oh, she was getting far too smart. To think that when she came to live with him she was more like a child. Now...well, there was nothing childlike about her. “Because I want you to have a better life than I had.”

Mila glanced around at the opulence of his drawing room. It looked like a brothel—an expensive one—with its crimson walls and dark furniture. “Yes, your life has been little more than tragedy and want.”

He never should have taught her sarcasm. It was yet another thing at which she excelled. He also never should have revealed to her that the atrocious cockney accent he often used wasn’t his true manner of speaking. That had opened up a whole slew of questions—and hurt her feelings when he told her he didn’t want to talk about it.