The Girl With the Iron Touch Read Free Page B

that scoundrel want?”
    Finley returned his dark expression with one of her own. “You shouldn’t use words you can’t spell, mutton head.”
    He rose to his feet, towering over her. Good grief, had he actually grown? “You shouldn’t invite people into a house that is not yours.”
    She climbed onto the low tea table, moving the tea service with her foot, so that they were almost nose to nose. “This is as much my home as it is yours, mandroid.” The two of them had tangled before—Finley still had nightmares about how she had almost killed him—but that didn’t stop her from curling her hands into fists. I dare you, she thought as she glared at the dark-eyed boy. Take a swing.
    A hand on her belly—just above the bottom edge of her corset—prevented her from getting any further into Sam’s face. The opposite hand pushed against his torso. Emily stood between them, small and determined.
    A rose between two thorns. The wry thought almost made her smile, but then she saw the expression on the smaller girl’s face and she thought better of it.
    “Get down from there,” Emily commanded, her Irish brogue thickened by annoyance. “And you, Sam Morgan, sit down, you great, foolish article! Do the two of ye have absolutely no idea of how to behave as proper? You’re worse than two dogs growling over the same bone.”
    Shame tugged at Finley’s conscience, but she didn’t immediately step down. She waited for Sam to move first.
    “You’ll be waitin’ a long time if you fink she’ll give in first, mate,” came a familiar voice from the door.
    Finley didn’t have to look. She’d only ever met one person who spoke so atrociously and eloquently at the same time. “Jack!” She jumped down from the table and ran to him, boots thudding on the carpet.
    He looked the same—impeccably dressed in head-to-toe black, hair falling in waves around the points of his lapels. His complexion was as fair as his hair was dark, making him incredibly striking—a fact of which he was well aware. He picked her up as she threw her arms around him, his own closing around her, strong and warm.
    “It’s so good to see you!” It was true. She hadn’t seen him in weeks.
    He gave her a squeeze before setting her back on her feet. “A right lovely sight are you as well, Treasure. Glad to see your sojourn to the colonies done you no lasting ’arm.” His dark eyes surveyed the room. “Where’s ’is pompousness? I’ve come to speak with ’im.”
    Not just to see her then, Finley thought—a little glumly, were she honest. When she first met Jack she had been drawn to him, but not in the way he had wanted. Still, a girl liked attention now and then, didn’t she? Especially when the bloke she wanted was keeping secrets.
    “His Grace is indisposed,” Sam informed him, stepping forward. His scowl had deepened. How was that even possible? “Next time make an appointment.”
    Jack was a couple of inches shorter than Sam and at least two to three stone lighter, but didn’t seem the least bit intimidated. In fact, he looked amused. He tapped the end of his walking stick on the floor. “Don’t get your drawers all knotted up, Goliath. If I wants to court trouble I never ’ave to leave Whitechapel. I’ve come into possession of some information the likes of which I believe would interest Monsieur le duc. ”
    “Why don’t you tell us?” Finley suggested, gesturing for him to sit. Emily had pulled Sam aside and was talking at him animatedly, pointing a finger at him and frowning. Sam looked suitably chastised. “Would you like tea?”
    Jack turned the full force of his intense gaze on her. It was as though he could see right down into her soul. Instinctively, she laid a palm over her brown leather corset, as though her flesh and bone might offer some protection against the feeling that she had done something wrong.
    “Mistress of the ’ouse are you, Treasure? Can’t say as that I’m surprised.”
    Heat flooded her