“You’re holding her like a wet cat,” Jack remarked with a chuckle. “Here.” He adjusted her arms so that it felt more natural to hold a baby in them. Mila looked down at the sweet, round face.

“She’s lovely, isn’t she?”

Mila nodded, but didn’t speak. Her throat was so very, very tight. This was how humans were supposed to begin. They started out small and helpless and fleshy. They didn’t begin with metal frames and logic engines. It didn’t matter that she had a heart that pumped blood, lungs that breathed and a stomach that growled. It didn’t matter that she was biologically capable of producing an infant of her own—she hadn’t been born. She’d been constructed. She would never fit in. Never belong.

A sob caught in her throat and she shoved the baby back at Jack before escaping out the kitchen door. Jack called her name, but she didn’t stop. Several of the women exclaimed over her departure, but she didn’t care. Let them think she was an idiot or lunatic. It didn’t matter.

She stopped at the rickety fence that enclosed the back garden. They must grow vegetables here. Had Jack helped with that as a child? How much did he help now? She wouldn’t be surprised if he was the reason the place still existed. He probably gave them money every month. For some reason, that only made the tears streaming down her face pour harder.

Bloody hell, she hated crying. Hated this silly weakness inside her.

“Poppet?”

Mila sniffed. “Don’t call me that. Poppet is for children, and I was never a child.”

Jack’s hand came down on her shoulder. “Is that what’s got you in such a state? The fact that you were never a baby? You just skipped a very messy step on the evolutionary ladder, I reckon.”

How could he make it sound so inconsequential? “I’m not human, Jack. I’ll never be human.” Fresh tears erupted at this dramatic announcement.

“Oh, Pop...sweetheart.” He turned her around and wrapped his arms around her. “Wearing nappies doesn’t make you human. I’ve known people that have always been flesh and bone who are less human than you are.”

“That makes no sense,” she sobbed.

He chuckled. Somehow, she always amused him, but she never felt as though he was laughing at her. “Did starting out a puppet make Pinocchio any less a real boy in the end?”

Mila pulled back, swiping at her eyes. They were hot and scratchy. “Pinocchio doesn’t really exist. He’s just a story.”

“But you’re not.” His warm hand settled over her left breast beneath her coat. Mila jumped at the contact. What the...? “I can feel your heart beat. Machines don’t have hearts. Only people have hearts.”

“And animals,” she muttered.

Another chuckle. “Only living things have hearts.” Both of his hands cupped her shoulders, and he bent his knees so he could look at her even though she’d ducked her head. “You know Sam—Griffin’s friend? His heart is actually mechanical. Would you say he wasn’t human?”

She shook her head. “Of course not.”

“No, because humanity is something you carry inside, and you have it in spades, my sweet girl. I’ll slap the snot out of anyone who says otherwise.”

The thought made her laugh despite herself. When he hugged her again she didn’t fight. She liked his hugs.

“Are you sure I’m human now?” she whispered, hating that she was so needy. “Like Pinocchio?”

“You’re more than human,” he said against her hair. “Magic, Mila. You’re magic.”

Chapter Twelve

What the hell sort of costume was she wearing? Jack sat in the back of the dim performance area for a few stunned moments after Mila left the center ring. Every instinct he had told him to get up, go after her and wrap her in a blanket before tossing her over his shoulder and taking her the bloody hell home!

The problem was, he was too stunned to move. He sat there as the audience applauded and cheered her, and watched with every other lech as she ran from the ring, the muscles in her legs flexing. Hips swaying.

He swallowed. He had seen her in various states of undress around the house—even seen her naked—but for the most part never really noticed until recently. He’d been adamant about modesty from the beginning, but seeing her in that outfit...well. Getting her into King’s care was the best plan, and the sooner the better. Every bloke in that house had a bird of his own so they’d keep their hands to themselves.

More than the costume, however, was the look on Mila’s face when she’d finished her act. Her smile lit up the entire building. It was obvious that she had loved every minute of it. Who was Jack to deny her this adventure? Why shouldn’t she be allowed to have a little fun before he handed her over to the duke? She certainly wouldn’t be able to do this sort of thing once she found a gentleman to marry. No decent man would let his wife carry on in such a fashion.

He would, though. But that was beside the point. He was not the sort of man Mila deserved. And she was much better than he deserved. The irony of that was that he was perhaps the only man in the world who realized just how lucky he’d be to have her.

But that smile...Jack couldn’t help it, he smiled, as well, at the thought of it. So much joy in her pretty face. The mask hadn’t hidden her identity from him at all. She could have come out with a bedsheet over her head and he still would have known her.

He glanced toward the ring exit where she had gone; his gaze fell upon an older man rising from his seat. Damnation. Jack knew exactly where the man was going and whom he was hoping to find. Without hesitation, Jack stood and followed after, keeping a discreet distance between them. He slipped into the shadows backstage, concealing himself from view. He watched the girls leave Mila, eavesdropped on the conversation that followed. When Mila said that she wouldn’t be a doxy he almost cheered in relief. But Jack saw the expression on his lordship’s face, and he knew the man wasn’t about to accept a simple no.

Jack emerged from the shadows and slipped out a side door into the night. It took a few minutes to find the vehicle he sought in the crowd of waiting carriages. It was a shiny black steam carriage with a tall brass pipe and a soft leather seat for the driver—a chap who was talking to another driver a few vehicles down the line. Jack took advantage of his absence, and when Lord Blackhurst returned to his carriage, Jack was sitting there, waiting.

“Damnation!” The older man swore when he caught sight of him. “What the hell are you doing here? Get out or I’ll have you horsewhipped!” He reached for the door.

Jack braced his foot across the door and smiled. It was not a friendly smile. “Shut up, or I’ll break your nose.”

The man sneered at him, but he didn’t speak. He did, however, lean back against his seat. And he didn’t yell out for his driver.

Jack crossed his legs and toyed with his walking stick. It was so tempting to pull the sword free and stick it in the man’s gut. “I’ll make this quick. The girl you visited tonight. Stay away from her.”

Blackhurst scowled. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“The redhead. Leave her alone.”

“Why?” His expression quickly changed from anger to interest. “Is she yours?”

Yes, she was! “Just stay away from her.”

His lordship snorted. “Or what?”

“I’ll make certain you regret it.” And he’d make certain very slowly.

“I’m not afraid of you, boy.”

“You should be very afraid of me, my lord.”

“Oh?” Amusement danced in his companion’s eyes. Mockery. “Enlighten me.”

Gladly. Jack set his cane across his lap. “You owe me twenty-thousand pounds.” It was a staggering sum, but one Jack could easily afford. Crime had paid him very well in the beginning, and the investments he’d made with that money had multiplied like mad over the past couple of years.

“I owe you nothing!”

This was when it got good, Jack realized. “You lost ten thousand to Lord Aberley, three thousand to Lord Dunnebrook, two to Lord Redbury and five to a Mrs. Birch. I paid your IOUs. You owe that money to me now.”

“You lie!” It was all bluster.

Now Jack was the one to smirk. “I assure you, my lord, when it comes to money I do not lie.”

“You paid out such a sum just to have me in your debt?”

“I did.”

“You dishonorable cad!” Blackhurst looked as though he might have a stroke. “What do you want from me?”

“I told you—stay away from the girl.”

“I want my IOU’s in exchange.”

Jack shook his head. “Not going to happen. I didn’t engineer having you right where I want you to give it up so easily.”

“She can’t mean that much to you, then. Besides, she seemed very agreeable to the idea of becoming better acquainted with me.”

Before he could stop himself, Jack’s hand lashed out. He grabbed the older man by the throat and pinned him to the velvet seat cushions. “You listen to me, you piece of filth. I can ruin you, and I’d enjoy doing it, but if you go near her again—if you’re even in the same room with her—I will end you. Do you understand?” He pushed every ounce of his talent into making certain the sincerity of his words was reflected in his eyes. “I’ll kill you, and I’ll do it slowly. So slowly, that you’ll beg me for death and I’ll still...take...my...time.”

Blackhurst’s gaze widened. Jack took a lot of pleasure in the fear he saw there. He wasn’t proud of the pleasure, but he enjoyed it all the same. He enjoyed it so very much. “You understand me now, don’t you?”

The man nodded. Slowly, Jack released his hold on his neck and then reached for the door handle. “We’ll talk another time about your debts.”

“You bastard,” Blackhurst rasped as Jack stepped out of the steam carriage. “You’ll pay for this. You and your little whore. You’ll pay.”

Jack, standing on the sidewalk, said loud enough for passersby to hear, “It was lovely seeing you again, as well.” His gaze locked Blackhurst’s and he smiled—a cold smile, full of promise. There was their resemblance.

“Good night, Father.”

* * *

Emily wouldn’t let Finley go back in—not right away.

“It’s dangerous!” she insisted. “Dying and coming back takes a heavy toll on the body, Finley. You need to recover.”

“I need to be with Griffin.” And she needed to deal with Felix, although she had no idea how to do that.

Her friend sighed, and Finley was tempted to cuff her upside the head. If it were Sam in there, Emily wouldn’t be concerned about the possible ramifications either.

“Look,” Emily said in a gently annoyed tone, “I know you want him back. We all do. I know you’re thinking that if the situation was reversed I’d be hell-bent on going back for Sam, and you’re right. I would. But you would be the voice of reason, and you’d stop me from hurting myself.”

“Em, he’s in there—”

“With your father.” Emily obviously wasn’t in the mood to entertain her anxiety. “In a veritable fortress. He’s safe and he’s recovering. Ipsley is checking in on him every hour. If he needs us he’ll let us know. Meanwhile, you need to rest and reserve your strength for the séance. Bringing Griffin back to this realm is not going to be easy.”

“If he had his strength back he could leave on his own.”

“Is that what he told you?”

There was enough of an edge in Emily’s voice that Finley looked askance at her. “No. I just assumed he could.”

“You shouldn’t make assumptions like that.”

The tension between them was too much. Finley slapped her hand hard against the laboratory wall. “Are you having your monthly, or did I do something to upset you, because we haven’t had a conversation in which you haven’t been pissy with me in days!”

“Both,” her friend replied. “I have a headache and I’m terrified that I’m going to lose both Griffin and you, and you just keep harping on me that things aren’t good enough or fast enough, and you don’t seem to care that if I don’t do my job properly you could die! I don’t want to be the person who kills you. Can you wrap that great thick head of yours around that?”

Finley didn’t know what to say, so she grabbed her and hugged her instead. Emily hugged her back. “I’m sorry.”

Finley squeezed her tighter. “So am I.”

“You’re cuttin’ off me air, lass.”

“Oh!” Finley released her. “Sorry.”

Emily looked at her and grinned. She grinned back. Then, the grinning turned to chuckles. God, it felt good.

A few moments later she asked, “Em, what did you mean about me not making assumptions?”