“Gladly,” she replied. “As soon as someone tells us where I can find Reno Dalton, we’ll be on our way.”

“Dalton?” It was the dark girl—the one with the catlike eyes that asked. Her voice was low and smooth, with no trace of hostility, yet Finley felt it in the base of her spine. “What do you want with him?”

“No offense,” Finley replied, “but that’s personal.” She wasn’t about to give Jasper’s name and have that get back to Dalton.

The girl nodded. “Fair enough.”

“She’s probably knocked up with his brat,” the auburnhaired boy sneered, his gaze raking over Finley like a pair of dirty hands.

The blue-eyed girl stepped forward, flanked by two more who had reddish-brown hair. One of them carried a cricket bat. “We don’t appreciate strangers comin’ into our home, bringin’ their trouble with ’em.”

Finley stood her ground. She turned her face but not her gaze toward Emily. “Get out of here,” she commanded. “Now.”

She didn’t have time to see if her friend listened to her or not. A fist came flying out of nowhere. She dodged it but got smacked with the bat for her trouble. Pain exploded in her skull. It also woke up that part of her that wasn’t used to being welcomed just yet. When the next blow came, she deflected it and countered with one of her own, her fist connecting with a jaw. She struck again and again, but for every one she knocked down, there seemed to be two to take their place. Fast as she was, she couldn’t escape them all, and if they got her to the ground she’d be in serious trouble.

Suddenly, two of her attackers—one of whom had just hit her hard enough in the mouth to make her bleed—jerked back, their bodies spasming as though they were having some sort of fit. Then two more did the same. What was left of the gang around her stopped their assault on her to step back.

Finley shook her head to clear the ringing in it and lifted her hand to her mouth before raising her gaze. What she saw was enough to make her grin—despite her split lip.

Emily stood but a few feet away, hands out from her sides. She wore gloves with metal fingertips, which sparked and crackled in the sudden silence.

“Back off,” she snarled. “Or I’ll give a bit of this to the rest of ye.”

Finley could have hugged her—if she didn’t think she’d end up like the droolers in the street. Plus, Emily looked mad—really mad.

“The lot of ye ought to be ashamed of yourselves.” Her voice was strong and clear, despite a tremor of emotion, her accent strong. “Look at you. You left Ireland to escape the violence and troubles there, and now see what you’ve become—bullies who’d gang up on a girl only looking for information. Cowards who think with their fists rather than the minds God gave ’em. If your ancestors could see what you’ve done to the name and pride of Ireland on this land, they’d weep in their graves.”

A wave of shame washed over Finley, and there wasn’t even a drop of Irish blood in her veins. She glanced around at those who would have beaten her to death just a few moments ago and saw the guilt in their faces.

Emily glared at them; her eyes, which could never seem to decide if they were blue or green, sparkled with anger. “I’ve never been more ashamed than I am right now. You disgrace our homeland.”

Not even the formidable Miss Clarke—a governess Finley had once punched in the mouth—had ever reduced people to such a glum, self-loathing mass as Emily just had, with her impassioned words and sparking fingers.

“Dalton likes to watch the fights at O’Dooley’s,” the dark girl told them, as she stepped forward to stand between the girls and the crowd. She directed her attention at Finley, despite Emily’s laying low of the mob. “There’s one tonight. That’s where you’ll find him. But take care, there’s been a high-and-mighty feller sniffin’ around after him, as well. He’ll be well protected.”

Finley didn’t glance at Emily for fear of tipping anyone off that they were well acquainted with this “high-and-mighty feller.” It had to be Griffin.

Feline eyes raked over her. “Word is Dalton likes rough girls.”

Finley grinned, well aware that there was blood in her mouth. “Then he ought to love me.”

* * *

When they were back at the hotel—having snuck in through the back entrance so Finley didn’t have to walk through the foyer in her ripped and bloodstained clothes— Finley made Emily promise not to breathe a word of what had happened in Five Points to Griffin, if their paths crossed. Especially not about the fight that evening.

“You’ll tell him, right?” the redhead asked once they reached their floor. She followed Finley to her room.

Finley glanced at her out of the corner of her eye as she slipped her key into the lock. “Sure. Nice work with those conductive gloves.”

“People think they can hurt me because I’m small. I’m not going to let anyone hurt me again.” There was something in her eyes that made Finley want to hug her, but think better of it.

“Fair enough.” She knew better than to ask. Emily would share her secrets when and if she was ready.

“When are you going to tell him?” Emily demanded, changing the subject as Finley opened the door.

“Maybe when he barges in here and announces that he and Sam are attending a fight tonight and that it’s no place for girls.” She knew better than to hope that Griffin hadn’t found out about O’Dooley’s.

Emily scowled, wrinkling her little, freckled nose. “But he knows you can look after yourself.”

“Mmm, but he’s miffed at me right now.” Her own ire rose. “Maybe I won’t tell him at all. Won’t that stick a bee in his bonnet if you and I show up and do what he and Sam can’t?” She flashed a grin at the other girl.

Emily raised a brow—a wealth of warning in that simple gesture. “This is about helping Jasper, not you sticking it to Griffin. Why’s he all scurvy with you, anyway?”

Finley gestured toward the dresser and the vase of flowers there. “They’re from Jack.”

“Oh.” Emily’s big eyes widened even more as she studied the arrangement of roses. “They’re beautiful. How did he know where to send them?”

Finley chuckled, even though the situation really wasn’t that funny. “Griffin assumes he went through all manner of trouble tracking me down. Knowing Jack he simply grinned at one of the housemaids. He probably wanted to needle Griff. Regardless, it wasn’t meant as a romantic gesture.”

“They look pretty romantic to me,” Emily replied, slightly awed as she lowered her face to smell the beautiful blooms.

“If Jack Dandy wanted to woo me, that arrangement would have a personality of its own—one that complemented mine. Roses are just his way of saying hello.”

Emily sighed. “I wish someone would say hello to me.”

Finley crossed the carpet to the dresser and plucked the most perfect rose from the bouquet. She offered it to her friend. “Hullo, Em.”

Her friend—it still felt wonderfully odd to call her that— beamed. Pale arms wrapped around Finley’s torso. “Thank you.” Like most Irish, she dropped the h, and it came out “tank.”

Finley gave her a squeeze before releasing her. Smoothing her hands over her violet corset—thankfully none the worse for wear—she turned her mind once again to Jasper, pushing all thoughts of Jack, and especially Griffin, away.

“I’m going to need my steel corset, and we’re going to need to rough you up a bit so you look like you could fit in with the Irish gangs. Though, you certainly made an impression on them today.”

Emily’s spine stiffened. “Don’t you worry about me, Finley Jayne. I’ll look the part. I’ve got the earbuds, so we can communicate with each other. I just wish I had time to graft metal to your knuckles. It would make you hit that much harder.”

The idea of Emily cutting open her hands and brass plating her bones made Finley vaguely queasy—never mind that she had witnessed the girl cracking open Sam’s chest cavity like an oyster.

“I’ll wrap my hands the way Jasper taught me,” she said. A silence fell between them as they both thought of him.

“He’s not a killer,” Emily insisted. “No more than you or I are.”

“Anyone can kill for the right reason,” Finley remarked absently as she picked up the newspaper Emily had brought in with her. A photograph of a man named Nikola Tesla stared up from the page. She’d heard Emily talk about him before. Apparently he had a laboratory here in New York.

“There’s a right reason to kill someone?” The smaller girl’s tone was incredulous at best.

Finley dropped the newspaper onto the dresser once again. “If someone tried to kill you, wouldn’t you fight back?”

“Of course!”

“You might kill him. Saving yourself is a good reason. Saving someone else is an even better one.”

Bright eyes narrowed. “Do ye think Jasper might have been protecting someone, then?”

“Dunno.” Finley leaned her head to one side, sighing as a loud popping noise filled the room. Then she repeated with the other side. “But Jasper’s not the type to kill for no good reason.”

Emily gave a quick, determined nod. “We need to find out the truth about what happened. And stop doing that. It turns my stomach every time some part of you pops and snaps.”

“We’ll find the truth.” Finley’s stomach growled. “Good Lord, I’m starving. I’m going to ring the kitchen for some food. You want something, too, or is your delicate stomach still suffering from my pops and snaps?”

Emily made a face at her, but it was obvious the jest didn’t really bother her. They decided to order tea, sandwiches, fruit and cakes. For once Finley didn’t feel the least bit guilty knowing that Griffin would be paying for their indulgence. He had been perfectly awful to her last night. Worse, he’d hurt her feelings when he told her that he wouldn’t fight for her affection. Why ever not? Isn’t that what heroes did when faced with the notion of losing their heroine?

She’d fight for him. Wouldn’t she? Honestly, she didn’t know. She would never stand by and allow someone to hurt him, but to fight for his affection … Well, once again she needed to remind herself that nothing could come of a relationship between the two of them. She could argue against it until she was blue in the face, but the simple fact remained that she liked him—enough that she had taken to researching for information on couples from different social spheres. Cinderella and her prince didn’t count, but that story had started somewhere and gave hope to every poor little girl who had ever heard it.

So if Griffin King thought he could ignore her—and the fact that he had practically propositioned her—he was wrong. That he treated her like that hurt. It was demeaning, and she didn’t know if she could forgive him for it. Did he think he could talk to her like that just because she didn’t behave as he thought girls should?

A few weeks ago, she never would have dreamed of doing something dangerous just to get a fellow’s attention. In fact, she would have mocked any girl who behaved so stupidly, and yet here she was, hatching a plan that would hopefully help Jasper and stick in Griffin’s craw. Not just to get his attention, but to rub his face in the fact that she was who she was—and he had helped make her this way by setting her on the path to amalgamating the two sides of her personality.

“Are you certain I can’t talk you out of this foolishness?” Emily asked a little later as they sat at the table near the window and ate their splendid meal.

“I am. Word’s now gotten back to Dalton that the Duke of Greythorne is in the city and asking about him. Dalton won’t expect Griff to keep company with a girl like me—not for long, at any rate.”

Emily made a face at her crude talk, but it was true, and Emily knew it just as Finley did. “I still don’t like it. We really don’t know anything about this Dalton character other than what little you and Griffin found out—and all you discovered was that he has a fondness for tough girls.”

Finley took a bite out of a cucumber sandwich. She chewed and swallowed before saying, “That’s all I need to know right now. I’ll find out the rest when I get inside. I’ll have my portable telegraph device if I need to contact you.”

“You will contact me. I want to hear from you every three hours if this fool plan works.”

She put on her best placating expression. “That might not be possible, Em.”

A pale finger jabbed the air in front of her. “You listen to me, Miss Finley Jayne. You make it possible, or I’m coming to get you.”