The Girl with the Iron Touch. Kady Cross

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СКАЧАТЬ to his shiny shoes. He had a kind face, but she knew that looks could be deceiving. “And you must be?”

      He offered his hand. “Silverius Isley. I’m an associate of His Grace.”

      She looked at his fingers. They were long and soft—the kind of hands she expected from a man wearing such a well-made jacket. Not a speck of dirt beneath his manicured fingernails. Hesitantly, she put her hand in his. “What sort of associate?”

      His entire body went rigid, fingers clamping around hers like a vise. Free hand tightening into a fist, Finley pulled back but stopped when she saw his eyes. They had rolled up in his head so far only white and tiny red veins remained. His weight tugged her forward as he wavered on his feet.

      Good Lord, did he belong in an asylum? Was he ill? And what was his connection to Griffin?

      Her free hand grabbed his arm to keep him from falling. His body jerked once…twice…then went still. She almost dropped him as the tension drained from him and he went as limp as a rag doll in her arms.

      “What…?” He looked around, noticed she was holding him. Weakly, he regained his footing. “Oh, dear.”

      Slowly, Finley helped him back into his chair. “You had some sort of fit.”

      Isley took a sip of his coffee. The hand around his cup trembled. “What I had, Miss Jayne, was a visit from an apparition.”

      Had she heard him correctly? And was he, as Jasper would say, “pulling her leg”? “You mean a ghost?”

      He chuckled. “Your dubious tone says more than enough, Miss Jayne. You do not believe in my particular talent.”

      “I don’t believe in much I can’t see,” Finley replied defensively.

      “Yet you live in the home of a young man who regularly traffics in the world of the dead.”

      Fair enough. “I’ve seen what His Grace can do. I don’t know you.”

      “No, you do not. Thank you for keeping me upright. In the past I’ve done myself quite a harm during a visitation.” He pointed to a small scar above his eyebrow. “I’m fortunate this is my only souvenir.”

      Finley eyed him warily before crossing to the sideboard to load a plate with her own breakfast. Isley was odd, but she was starving, and her stomach didn’t care if he talked to ghosts or saw fairies. She sat down at the table and dug into the eggs, toast and ham like a starving beast.

      Mr. Isley arched a brow but wisely remained silent. She may not be embarrassed to eat in front of him, but no girl liked attention called to the amount of food on her plate, or the degree of enthusiasm with which she dug in to it.

      “The coffee is still hot,” he mentioned. “May I pour you a cup?”

      She swallowed the food in her mouth before answering, “Thank you.”

      He tipped the silver pot over her cup and poured just the right amount of fragrant black brew, leaving room for milk and sugar.

      “Good morning, all.”

      Finley looked up as Jasper entered the room. He was his usual tousled self. “Good morning.” A glance at Isley made her pause. The young man was looking at Jasper like…well, the way Finley fantasized about Griffin looking at her. Jasper, a typical fellow, seemed completely unaware of the attention. He had no concept of just how handsome he was, which made him all the more likable in Finley’s estimation.

      “Jasper, this is Mr. Isley, a friend of Griffin’s. Mr. Isley, this is Jasper Renn.”

      Jasper nodded in greeting. “Pleased to meet you.”

      Isley cleared his throat, a pink flush climbing his cheeks. “Likewise.”

      The American filled a plate and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Enjoy your breakfast,” he said before leaving the room. He hadn’t had breakfast at the table since moving in. He would never feel he belonged if he insisted on putting distance between himself and the rest of them.

      Then again, maybe he didn’t want to belong.

      Isley watched him leave. “I say, is he a real American cowboy?”

      Finley smiled. “He has the hat, too.”

      “Extraordinary.” This was said with just a hint of wistfulness.

      “Indeed.” Isley didn’t know how much. Jasper could move so fast it seemed like the rest of the world almost stopped around him. He also seemed to prefer girls to blokes, but who was she to dash Isley’s apparent infatuation?

      “I hope he didn’t break his fast elsewhere because of me?”

      Oh, poor thing. She’d gone from wariness to wanting to pat his hand. “No. Jasper often takes breakfast in one of the rooms facing the stables so he can see the horses.” She didn’t figure Jasper would mind her saying that. It was better than telling Isley that Jasper couldn’t seem to stand the sight of any of them for long.

      Mrs. Dodsworth entered the dining room. “Mr. Isley, His Grace requests that you join him in the blue parlor. If you would follow me?”

      The young man dabbed at his mouth with his napkin and rose from the table. “It was lovely to meet you, Miss Jayne.”

      “You, as well, Mr. Isley.”

      He stopped in the door, and partially turned to look at her. “Miss Jayne, would you have known a young blond man with blue eyes and a small brass bar in his left eyebrow?”

      Finley swallowed hard, her toast lodged in her throat. Lord Felix. He was the son of her former employer, and the last time she saw him he’d tried to force himself on her. She’d knocked him senseless. He was also dead. “I’m not sure.”

      He smiled slightly. “Perhaps my vision showed me the wrong person. It has been known to happen. I thought he must mean something to you.”

      “Why would you assume that?”

      “Because the spirits showed me his murder when I touched your hand.”

      “I’m not letting you go alone.”

      Emily put down the hammer before she could be tempted to use it on Sam’s metal-enhanced skull. Slowly, she turned from her workbench far below King House and faced the infuriatingly overprotective, overbearing, overly gorgeous mutton head standing a few feet away.

      Not long ago in this very room she’d saved his life for the second time when a fight with Finley turned bad. He was so very concerned with her life that he seemed to forget he was the one who had almost died. Twice.

      “Are ye volunteering to come with me, then?”

      “No. I’ll go by myself.”

      She didn’t try to hide her annoyance. “Oh, right, Mr. ‘I’m not afraid of anything.’ What happens if you encounter a chunk of metal intent on beating you into the ground?” It was unfair of her to bring it up, but he’d almost been killed by a machine once, and he’d been deeply afraid of СКАЧАТЬ