She and Emily exchanged sheepish glances. “I reckon we were being watched after all,” she joked.

Emily shook her head, putting her pistol away. “Let’s go home. There’s nothing down here.”

Finley agreed, and when they rounded the next corner they saw light from the exit ahead. It was odd for Jack to have been so wrong, but whoever had the crate must have moved it that same day. There was nothing down here to be worried about, except a rat with a button in its mouth.

Nothing at all.

Chapter 5

If it were possible for people to be the weather, then Sam Morgan would be a thundercloud—dark, tumultuous, as gorgeous as he was intimidating. He watched the girls approach from his bedroom window.

“He looks like he is on the verge of imploding,” Finley commented. They were walking back from the stables where they’d left their velocycles.

Emily smiled, glancing up. Her gaze met Sam’s for a second before he dropped the curtain. “That he does.” But she considered it a victory that he hadn’t tried to follow her, that he had trusted her to go with Finley and to return in one piece.

“Gadzooks. You like it when he’s all scowly and thumping his chest.”

Sometimes, thought Emily, Finley was infuriatingly intuitive. Although, perhaps she underestimated her friend’s intelligence. Perhaps she didn’t hide her feelings as brilliantly as she thought.

“It lets me know he cares,” she admitted. “It’s not as though he’s the type to say what he’s feeling.” Today was turning out to be a champion for sharing secrets. Why not tell Finley the shocking thoughts she sometimes had about Sam? Intimate thoughts based on pictures she’d seen in a book in Griffin’s library…thoughts of her and Sam doing some of those things—things she thought she’d never want to do with anyone. “What?”

Finley stared at her as they crossed the garden terrace to the French doors. “Your face is burning so bright, I’m afraid for the draperies. Are you all right?”

Fortunately, no one ever died of embarrassment. “Must be the sun. I always end up looking like a tomato.”

“Right,” her friend drawled. “Because the sun is so very hot through those thick rain clouds.”

“Oh, shut up!” Emily laughed despite herself. “I’m blushing and I’ve no intention of explaining why.”

A slow grin spread across the other girl’s pretty face. Eyes the color of honey twinkled as she opened the terrace door. “Oh, is that the way of it, then?”

Emily swept past her into the house. “’Tis.” Her mirth faded when she saw Sam waiting for her. He looked relieved to see her. That was almost as good as happy. He’d been worried, that was obvious. She could assume he thought she couldn’t take care of herself, but she knew that wasn’t it. Sam just thought he could look after her better than anyone else.

It was sweet when she thought about it. Somewhat.

Even Finley noticed the difference in his expression, though he wore his usual frown. She took one look at him and turned to Emily. “Right. I’m going to go… do that…thing I have to do.”

“Griffin wants to see you,” Sam said in a tone that made Griffin sound like the matron at a strict school.

“Does he?” Finley’s jaw set stubbornly. “I don’t know if I have time. I’m going to be terribly busy.”

“Doing that thing you have to do?” he inquired. Was he actually teasing Finley? He used to make sport of his friends quite often before his accident.

“Quite.” Finley lifted her chin. “It’s very important.”

For a moment, Emily thought Sam might actually smile. He shrugged. “I don’t care what games the two of you play with each other. You’re both mad as far as I’m concerned.”

As Finley walked past him, she gave him a sweet smile. “Maybe you can find out why she’s the color of a ripe tomato.”

Emily’s cheeks heated once more, and she bit the inside of her mouth to keep from laughing. She couldn’t laugh, not when Sam might think it was directed at him.

Finley had barely closed the door before he turned to her. “Did you find anything?” His eyes narrowed. “You are the color of a ripe tomato. Are you all right?”

The concern in his voice was as sweet as it was sometimes annoying. She had to remind herself that he didn’t think she was fragile, he was just afraid. Sometimes she wondered if he realized just how afraid of the world he really was.

She shook her head. “Not a ruddy thing, unless you count a couple of wee rats.”

“Did one bite you?” He started toward her. “Let me look.”

She held up her hand, palm out to keep him from smothering her with concern. “Sam.”

He stopped, arms folding over his chest, pulling his white shirt tight across his broad shoulders. He looked like he should be a circus strong man. She could literally climb him like a tree and have no more effect than a kitten.

“What?”

“I’m fine. Not a scratch. You’re being irrational.”

To her surprise his posture relaxed, and he dragged a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Em. I know it’s mental, but I can’t seem to help it. When we’re apart I feel…wrong.”

Her throat tightened. Had he any idea what he’d just admitted? No, she’d wager he hadn’t.

“I just want you to be safe,” he added.

Did he somehow know that she’d been hurt before? Because he sounded like her father, who had wanted to keep her in the house where no one could touch her. He hadn’t wanted to let her do anything or go anywhere. What neither he nor Sam seemed to realize was that safety couldn’t be controlled. The boy who had hurt her was a friend of one of her brothers, a boy who often walked her home from school so she’d be “safe.” She had trusted him as much as her brothers, and he’d repaid her by violating that trust in the worst possible way.

And then, once she healed, she made certain he would never hurt anyone again.

In the end, her father’s fear was what had made her accept Griffin’s offer of employment, because if she’d stayed she would have let her father keep her locked up and let that fear overtake her.

She didn’t want fear to consume Sam. She didn’t want it to drive a wedge between them.

She took his big hands in each of hers, lifting them to kiss his slightly scarred knuckles. When she lifted her gaze to his, she caught him looking at her as though she’d hung the stars and the moon.

That look gave her strength. “I love you, Samuel Morgan. I love that you want to protect me, but you have to trust me to do that for myself. You have to let go of this fear of what might happen, because it will drive you mad. If you can’t do these things then there’s no future for us. Do you understand what I’m saying to you, lad?”

Sam nodded, looking for all the world like he’d just been hit in the face with a shovel. “You love me?”

Of course, that would be the part he grabbed on to. The boy’s head was thicker than rock. “Aye. You’re stubborn and scowly and you drive me to distraction, but you’re the finest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. I love you right down to the soles of my feet.”

His arms closed around her. “Emmy, I—” He was interrupted by the door opening. It was Jasper.

“Beg pardon,” the cowboy said, looking back and forth between them. “Am I interruptin’?”

“Yes,” Sam growled. “Get out.”

“Sorry, friend, but I need your muscles.” Jasper didn’t look all that sorry. “Got a stable hand pinned beneath some crates Griffin had delivered. We can’t move ’em, not without the risk of injuring him further.”

Sam sighed—Emily could feel it beneath her hands as well as hear it. “I’ll be right there.” He looked down at her. “Can we continue this conversation when I get back?”

She nodded, feeling disappointed yet giddy. The way he looked at her…well, she knew the next time they were alone was going to be very interesting.

“I have some work in the greenhouse. Come find me when you’re done.”

He smiled—actually smiled! “I will.” Then he kissed her on the forehead and followed after Jasper.

Emily grinned, even giggled a little. It was foolish but she didn’t care. She couldn’t contain it any longer.

She was still smiling when she entered the greenhouse a little while later. Her cat—a sleek and gleaming automaton the size of a panther—was already there. She’d sent a command for it to join her before leaving the house. It made her feel safe, could assist in some experiments and was company for her. It was sitting by the wall, very quiet and still. She’d leave it there until she had need for it.

The greenhouse was one of her babies, and it was the most modern of botanical gardens inside, complete with an underground grotto built to mimic the one beneath Griffin’s country house where the organites had been discovered. Here, she bred a small colony of the wondrous creatures not only for their use, but to study, as well.

She’d barely gotten her gloves on when the door opened. “Done already?” she asked with a grin, expecting to see Sam when she turned.

But it wasn’t Sam standing there. It was something she thought she’d never see again. “You.” She whirled around to look for a weapon, but something struck hard against her head. Stars danced before her eyes as she fell to the floor.

Sam, she thought. And then there was nothing.

Griffin King was thought to be one of the handsomest young men in the Empire. Adding to his attractiveness was the vastness of his fortune and the fact that he was a duke. Yes, many a young lady would fling themselves in front of a carriage for a chance of winning his favor.

If they could only see him now, Finley thought, more than a little peevishly. His reddish-brown hair was a riot of untamed curls and he hadn’t shaved for several days. The skin under his eyes was bruised-looking and the smell of laudanum clung to him like cologne. Since he was hardly an addict frequenting opium dens, she suspected he’d been taking the bitter, vile stuff to help him sleep.

It obviously wasn’t working, because he looked as though he hadn’t slept properly in days. Weeks, perhaps. He had lost weight since returning from New York, and spent more time by himself but, more important, he spent less time with her. They had admitted having feelings for each other in America. They had kissed. Several times.

They had kissed since, as well. At first they spent time together, but now…now Griffin rarely wanted to be alone with her, and when he was it had become painfully obvious that his mind was somewhere else.

Just smashing for a girl’s confidence, that was. Nothing like having a bloke’s attention wander when you were doing your best to divert him.

Finley had had about enough of this nonsense. There was something wrong with him and she was going to find out what it was if she had to hang him by his ankles over London Bridge until he gave in and confessed. Seeing him waste away like this…seeing him obviously suffer and not being able to help him was too painful to continue.

She went to his room as Sam had instructed, and knocked on the door. When he wouldn’t open it, she climbed out the window of her own room, eased along the narrow ledge to the first of his windows and let herself in without being invited.

He was at his desk where he had apparently fallen asleep. He appeared neither surprised nor happy to see her despite having requested her presence. In fact, he looked as though her company was the last thing he wanted, though at least he didn’t seem angry.

If he didn’t want to kiss her anymore, he should be a man and say it to her face rather than treat her like some sort of doxy. She would rather be stranded on a deserted island with Sam than have Griffin reject her, but she couldn’t stand it any longer.

“What the devil has afflicted you?” she demanded, cringing at the sharpness of her tone. She sounded just like that harpy of an aunt of his. She’d tried to be patient with him, but enough was enough. There was something wrong with him, and it scared her to death.

She hated being scared.

“I’m fine,” he replied, rather dismissively. “Just a little under the weather. You should go so you don’t come down with it also.”

Finley folded her arms over her chest. “Sam told me you wanted to see me.”

Griffin’s brows lowered over his gray-blue eyes. “No, I don’t.”

That cut. “You don’t have to be an arse about it.” Blast, she was going to cry. She’d never cried over any other bloke but him, and part of her hated him for it.

He looked defeated. Frustrated. Sorry. “Fin, that’s not what I meant.” Slowly, he rose to his feet. He walked as though each step took every ounce of energy he had. When he reached her, he put his arms around her.

He needed to bathe, and the rough stubble on his chin scratched her temple, but Finley didn’t care. She wrapped her arms around his waist and tried to ignore the fact that she could feel his ribs.

“Let me help you,” she murmured.

“You can’t, love. No one can.”

She didn’t believe that. She refused to believe it. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

He kissed her hair. “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

She lifted her chin to gaze up at him. His eyes were glassy, and their embrace was less of a hug and more of her holding him upright. That was it. This had gone on long enough. If he wanted to keep secrets, he was entitled to have a few, God knows she did, but she wasn’t going to stand around and watch him fade.