“What are you doing?”
Finley jumped. Fortunately she did so quietly. She could only hope the device made it just as difficult to hear what was going on in the corridor. She tiptoed toward her friend, her finger to her lips so Emily would shush. If Griffin caught her it was going to make it that much more difficult to find out what he was keeping from her.
The library wasn’t far, so Finley gestured the other girl inside and then closed the door.
“I was trying to eavesdrop on Griffin’s meeting.”
“That much was obvious,” Emily replied disapprovingly. “Why?”
The redhead’s wariness was to be expected. As good friends as the two of them had become, Emily’s loyalty belonged to Griffin first. And Emily favored a more direct approach than Finley did.
“Because the bloke he’s talking to says he saw Lord Felix’s murder when he touched my hand.” She folded her arms over her chest. “And I want to know if he is what he seems, or if he’s a charlatan.”
“A male medium? How interesting. Woman tends to be the more sensitive sex when dealing with the spirit realm.”
Finley shrugged. “He seemed to find Jasper quite attractive.”
Emily shot her a censorious look. “That doesn’t make him any less male.”
Not physically obviously, but perhaps his preference gave him more of a feminine sensibility where the dead were concerned. Or maybe the whole thing was bollocks. “I don’t care what he is. I just want to know if I killed the bastard!” She slapped her hand over her mouth, but it was too late; she’d said too much.
The color drained from Emily’s already pale face. Just as quickly her expression went from surprise to annoyance. “Of course you didn’t kill him. Scotland Yard said you were no longer a suspect. You could never kill anyone.”
“Your confidence is appreciated, but you don’t know that. I don’t know that. I have no memory of that night, and it was before Griffin started helping me amalgamate my two selves.” Plus, Scotland Yard thought a man had done it, but only because an “ordinary” girl wouldn’t have been physically strong enough.
Finley was stronger than most men.
Small, warm hands came down upon Finley’s shoulders as her friend met her gaze intently. “Do you honestly believe you are capable of murder?”
“I’d kill if I had to.”
“If you didn’t kill that slimy bastard when he attacked you, there’s no reason to believe you could do so in cold blood. You’d never be capable of such a thing.”
“That doesn’t mean that someone else didn’t do it for me.”
Understanding dawned in Emily’s eyes. “You think Dandy did it.”
Finley nodded. She didn’t have even the slightest doubt that Jack would kill for someone he cared about, and Lord Felix had been part of the gang of young men who followed Jack around like he was their new messiah. If he wanted to send a message about what would happen to his followers who stepped out of line, it would have been the perfect opportunity.
“I’m not afraid he did it, Em. I’m afraid he’ll get caught. I don’t want Jack to go the hemlock chair for me.” The idea of Jack being stuck by all those needles, poisoned and left to die a slow death made her feel sick.
“Oh. Aye, I understand. But maybe he didn’t do it, either. Lord Felix was an arse. I have to think he had many enemies.”
“True.” Finley glanced toward the closed door. “I should have just made Isley tell me, but I was too shocked to stop him.” And afraid. She had no idea what sort of man Isley might be. Had no idea if he might come back at another time to blackmail her, or use the information against her somehow.
If she had killed Felix she wasn’t going to be sorry for it, but she’d hate for Griffin to think less of her. That was her true fear, and she was a foolish twit for it.
“Well, that tells you that the killer wasn’t you. No one would be stupid enough to admit to a murderer that they know all about it.”
“No, I reckon not.” Blast Emily for being so smart and rational. It made her feel all kinds of foolish. But honestly, she’d been more afraid for Jack than for herself. Not by much, but still her worry was mostly for him.
And a little bit afraid of what it said about his feelings for her, were her fears true. You didn’t kill for a casual acquaintance. Afraid because no matter how much simpler it would be to choose Jack Dandy, crime lord, over Griffin King, Duke of Greythorne, she couldn’t. She chose Griffin.
Though, right now with him being all secretive and standoffish, even though everyone knew something was wrong, she sometimes wished she didn’t choose him. She was good enough to be kissed but not good enough to be trusted. At least she wasn’t alone there. He wouldn’t confide in any of them. He might say they were all a team, but this sort of behavior made it perfectly clear that he was lord and master in this house and the rest of them just lived there.
And just who was this Silverius Isley to be given breakfast and a private audience?
“You won’t hear anything,” Emily told her, gesturing to the ornophone. The brass horn-shaped instrument was in need of a polish. “He uses an Aetheric amplification transducer whenever he wishes to have a completely private conversation.”
“Ah, yes. Of course.” What the devil was an Aetheric whatever-it-was?
“It turns Aetheric energy into sound waves,” Emily explained as though reading her mind. “Basically he uses it to make just enough noise that no one can eavesdrop. I wonder who he thinks might listen at doors?”
Well, she felt fifty different kinds of ridiculous now. “I reckon I’ll put this useless thing away then.” She lifted the ornophone. “It made me feel like an old woman anyway.”
Emily smiled—a sly quirk of her lips. “I do have a device that can dissipate Aetheric sound waves.”
Of course she did, clever chit. Finley’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you didn’t like me eavesdropping?”
“I don’t, but I don’t blame you for it. And if this continues much longer I’ll give you my device with my blessing. Better yet, I’ll make one for all of us. Regardless of what Sam says, Griffin will not tell us if there is something wrong until it’s verging on too late. Sam’s so caught up in worrying about me that he can’t see his best mate’s in trouble.”
She didn’t want to think about what “too late” might include. “Had a chat with Mr. Morgan, did you?” She began walking down the corridor and Emily fell into step beside her. Intentions of eavesdropping were forgotten for the time being.
“Yes. I think we’re finally beginning to understand each other. I just wish…”
“What?”
Emily looked away. “That I could make him as happy as he makes me.”
“Happiness is an individual pursuit, Em. He has to let himself be happy first. You spend far too much energy worrying about him.”
“I lo—I care about him.” She gestured at Finley. “I may not be listening at doors, but I worry about him.”
“Meow. Retract those claws of yours. I don’t care if you write sonnets about his eyes and rhapsodize about his hair. I’m just suggesting that maybe if you stopped trying to make him be happy he’d find happiness on his own.”
“How?”
“Well, maybe he’d realize that you