Really, it would be quite stupid for him to underestimate any of them that way. He had to know Sam would do whatever it took to get Griffin back, and he had to know that Emily was just as smart, if not smarter than he was. And that Finley was slightly more mad.

The two of them slipped through the hedge, skirting around to the back of the mansion where two automatons that looked like rubbish bins were stationed.

“Pretty rudimentary,” she remarked. “I expected better.”

Ipsley glanced up at the tall walls of the house. “I would wager he’s invested so much of his power into his demons, his fortress and imprisoning the duke that anything else is too much.”

It made sense. Garibaldi had worked with machines all his life. These automatons would be easy for him to build and maintain—probably taking very little of his energy. “Does that mean he’ll be easy to defeat?”

“While it would delight me to tell you that, I’m afraid I cannot. I suspect that he’s installed several defenses and safeguards. I wouldn’t put all your faith in his underestimation of you and your friends either.”

“In other words, I should be overly cautious rather than overly cocky.”

“Yes, exactly that.”

All right, so no rushing in half-cocked and impulsive as she normally did. She had to be careful. She had to think. She had to be more like Griffin.

“Do you feel him?” she asked. “I feel like he’s near.”

Ipsley nodded. “I’m almost certain...there.”

She followed his nearly invisible finger as it pointed at the third floor of the house. There, high above their heads, was a window with bars on it. From inside that room she saw a faint bluish glow, and her heart leaped for joy. She’d know that light anywhere—felt it reflected in her soul.

Griffin.

Chapter Eight

As soon as the three of them arrived at Jack’s house in Whitechapel, Wildcat removed the dark glasses she’d put on when they left Mayfair and turned those feline eyes of hers to Jack. It was deuce unsettling, that gaze of hers with the oval pupils and unflinching directness. He couldn’t help but feel like a very large mouse.

“Can I see her room?” the girl asked. “I need to get her scent in order to track her.”

She smelled of oranges, Jack almost told her, but caught himself at the last second. “Follow me.” He could have told her where Mila’s room was, but he didn’t care who they were, or how much Finley liked them, he wasn’t going to trust them to wander about unwatched in his house. It went against every instinct he had, even though he was fairly certain the Americans couldn’t care less about his business. Still, he hadn’t gotten this far by being the trusting sort.

He led them upstairs to Mila’s lonely room. She’d been gone a few hours but the house felt as though it had been empty for weeks. Jack felt her absence right down to his bones, the wrongness of it. She belonged here. With him. And this foreign girl walking about looking at everything with disinterestedness rubbed his nerves raw. Mila was not something to be rooted out or hunted. She mattered.

Wildcat picked up a pillow from the bed and looked at Jack. “Mind if I take the cover off?”

He shook his head, and watched as she carefully removed the fabric. She tossed the pillow back on the bed and lifted the case to her nose, inhaling deeply. When she lowered the fabric she sniffed the air once, then twice. The pillow case crumpled in her fist, she started for the door. She was honestly going to track Mila like a cat tracked prey. It felt all manner of wrong, but Jack didn’t care if she hacked up a hair ball or ate a pigeon if it brought Mila home.

He and Jasper followed Wildcat down the stairs, through the hall and outside once more into the hustle and bustle of Whitechapel.

The afternoon had fallen to darkness, and the street lamps tried their best to illuminate the area. The girl paused on the walk, lifting her face to the chilly breeze. Her mouth opened slightly, as though she was tasting the night. When she lowered her chin and turned her head, her eyes caught the light and flashed like a cat’s. Downright bizarre, that was—and oddly thrilling at the same time. What an extraordinary creature. He could have used her in his petty-theft days.

“This way.”

When she began walking, Jack followed. He was going to suggest taking his motor carriage, but if Mila left on foot, then he wanted to proceed on foot, as well. Feet could go places wheels could not.

They walked to the Cheapside area, where the scent lingered around St. Paul’s. Jack smiled. Of course his curious Mila would pause to explore and learn. She wanted to know everything, and he had indulged her as much as he could, taking her to museums and events. Now he wished he hadn’t. Maybe she wouldn’t have run off if she hadn’t known there was so much world out there just waiting for her. It was a selfish thought, but honest.

Occasionally, Wildcat would stop and smell the pillowcase again, and then the air. No one seemed to notice the three of them trotting along despite the odd picture they had to present. Jasper was all cowboy, from his hat to his duster, right down to his worn boots. Wildcat was exotic with a huge head of curls, and feline features. And then there was Jack, looking like a lanky undertaker—or a vampire, perhaps. Vampire certainly had a more romantic edge to it, and was better suited to the sinister image he’d worked so hard to cultivate.

In the past he’d been a bad man, and sometimes he still was. He imagined he would be bad in the future, as well. Yet, for all his connections and underworld associations—all the power he’d fought for and won—he had no real idea how to solve the problem that was Mila. He was a master of denial and subterfuge, but even he couldn’t lie to himself that well. He would do everything in his power to give Mila the life she deserved, but he wanted her for himself, at least just for a little while. Maybe it was that rotten part of him that just wanted to ruin her innocence and goodness. Or maybe it was because he knew it was wrong to want her, but he wanted her in the worst possible way.

The trail led them onward to Covent Garden. He’d suspect she’d gone to a show, but the theater was closed this time of year—most of society was in the country at their grand houses, hunting and having lavish house parties. Mila knew there wouldn’t be any plays for a few months because he’d explained it to her when she’d voiced her disappointment. So, why would she venture there?

They rounded a corner onto King Street and stopped. Wildcat sniffed and looked around. Then she turned and headed straight for a pub not far away. At this point Jack didn’t care if Mila was sitting at the bar three sheets to the wind—he’d just be so happy to see her.

But Mila wasn’t at the bar when they walked in. She wasn’t at a table either.

“I don’t see her,” he said.

The American girl shook her magnificent head. “No, but I smell her. On them.” She discreetly pointed at a table near the back.

Jack’s eyes were nowhere as keen as hers, but as he peered through the smoke-hazed light, he spied two familiar faces at that table: The Twins. They weren’t twins, of course, not even close. They weren’t even related, but that was the big joke. Several times they’d tried to insinuate themselves into Jack’s business, his circle. But they were more cruel than smart, and had a view of women Jack found deplorable, so he told them in no uncertain terms to bugger off or he’d make them very sorry.

The two of them had been to his house when Mila was there. In fact, the blond one had commented on her in front of Jack, making rude assumptions about just what sort of girl she was, and whether or not he might “have a go.”

Jack hadn’t killed him then because it had been broad daylight and there were witnesses. However, he didn’t feel quite so particular this time.

Hands in his pockets, he adopted a lazy slouch and approached the table, Jasper and Wildcat close behind. As he neared them, he saw that one had crutches and his arm in a sling while the other had a splint over his wrist and hand. The tips of his fingers were purple and swollen. They looked as though they had been used very badly by someone who knew how to inflict damage.

He almost smiled. That was his girl.

“’Ello, boys,” he greeted with a predatory grin as he joined them.

The blond looked warily to his darker companion. “Dandy,” he said.

“You two look as though you ’ad a bit of an altercation wiv somefin nasty. Mind if I inquire as to what that was?”

“A gang,” the smaller one said.

Jack kept his smile easy. “Lyin’ to me ain’t a good path to go down, mate.”

Wildcat leaned in and smelled them both. “They reek of her.”

The dark one shoved her. “Get off, bitch.”

She laid open his cheek with one easy swipe of her claws—and claws was the only word to describe them.

The bloke swore and reached for a weapon, but then Jack blinked and Jasper was behind the table, a pistol pointed at each fellow’s head. “I’d rethink any thoughts of violence you might be entertainin’,” the American advised. “That’s my lady you just insulted, and I’m a mite sensitive where she’s concerned, so I’m sure you’ll understand that I just might twitch and blow your useless heads off. Move and speak carefully now.”

This was someone Jack could see himself working with in the future. Very useful indeed were his new American friends. He leaned down, placed both his palms on the scarred tabletop, ignoring that it was sticky beneath his fingers. “Let’s give this anover go, shall we? Now, I know the two of you miscreants crossed paths with my girl. I know that she did the world a disservice by lettin’ you walk away, but she’s better than me in that respect.” He looked at one and then the other, making eye contact until he felt them fall under his spell. “Where is she? Tell me quick and you’ll walk out of ’ere with all your bits still attached.”