“Course, Poppet. You’ll not get rid of me that easily.”

Griffin didn’t protest—so that was as good as permission. The four of them made their way quietly downstairs, and then down another set to the kitchen where Finley played hostess and put together a platter of cold meats, cheese and bread for them to share. Mila dug in like a ravenous dog. Jack stopped her with a hand on her arm. “You’re going to do yourself a harm, pet. Eat slowly. There’s plenty more where that come from.”

Mila nodded and smiled at him. Poor thing looked at him like her savior. Then again, he was probably the first human she’d ever had contact with. If he hadn’t opened that crate who knows what sort of mess they’d be in right now. They’d have no idea where Emily was, and Sam would have torn apart most of London looking for her.

As she ate, Mila told them about “waking up” in the catacombs, and how she remembered Jack. She related how Emily arrived and that she’d helped her learn to read. She talked about the Machinist and his plans, and she told how she and Emily had escaped, only to be set upon when Sam arrived. She was very impressed with Sam’s destruction of Her Majesty. Finley wished she’d been there to see it. She should have crushed that thing’s head when she had the chance.

Mila also told them about the digger and that Emily had told her to run, so she had. Finley’s chest tightened as she turned her gaze to Griffin’s. He’d gone pale, and while his expression was bleak, his eyes burned with anger.

The pots on the wall shook. The stove rattled. Even the floor beneath their chairs trembled.

“Do you mind, mate?” Jack asked. “This sort of thing wreaks havoc on me digestion.”

For a second Finley feared that Griffin might tear Jack apart from the inside out. Instead, everything went still and Griffin actually looked relieved. “Thanks.”

Jack smiled slightly. “No worries. Now, what do we do from here?”

“We?” Griffin echoed.

“I feel partially responsible for this muck up. ’Twould be ungentlemanly of you not to allow me to help set it to rights.”

“Right,” Griffin agreed, obviously amused. Then, he said seriously to Mila, “I suppose they’ll come looking for you.”

Finley watched the girl’s eyes widen. It was so disconcerting seeing her own eyes in another face. “But they won’t. The Master didn’t want a female body, and now that they have a human male, that’s the one he’ll choose.”

Horror clutched at Finley’s heart. The Machinist wouldn’t. Yes, the bastard would. It would be not only revenge on all of them, but it would be the greatest injury to Griffin. One glance at him and she knew he thought the same thing.

“Sam.”

Mila and Jack waited downstairs while Finley and Griffin dressed. Jack reclined on the sofa like a lazy cat, one leg on the cushions, the other over the side. Mila walked around the perimeter of the room, mouth suspended in an O of awe. Every wall, right up to the ceiling, was lined with shelf after shelf of books. She couldn’t imagine reading all of them, and yet she would love to try.

“You could sit down, Poppet.”

“I don’t feel like being still.” She turned her head toward him. “Have you ever seen so many books in one place?”

Jack nodded. “It’s common for rich nobs to have extensive libraries. Thinks it makes them look learned. I doubt His Grace has read even half of these.”

She stopped looking at the leather-bound books to face him. “You talk differently with me. Why?”

He slipped his arm beneath his head and closed his eyes. He looked like the very definition of languid. “Can you keep a secret, Poppet?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never had to keep one before.” And then, “What’s a poppet?”

Jack didn’t open his eyes, but he smiled. “It’s an endearment. A nickname.”

Endearment. That meant it was said with affection. “Are you going to tell me your secret? I promise to do my best to keep it.”

He chuckled. He had a nice laugh. “Sometimes it suits me to sound posh and other times I need to sound not so posh.”

“Isn’t that lying?”

“Not if what I say is the truth.”

That really wasn’t much of an answer. Even though she was almost completely human now, she still had much to learn about what it was to be human. She had a sinking feeling learning that was going to be more difficult than learning to recognize words and their meanings.

“That girl—Finley—has the same eyes as me.”

“Yes. You remind me a little of her.”

“You care for her very much.” Griffin obviously felt the same. And then there was Sam, who came to rescue Emily. How did it feel to matter that much to someone? The only person she meant anything to just wanted her to be his vessel, and even then he’d replaced her easily enough.

“She’s my friend.” His eyes opened. “Do you understand friendship?”

“I think so. I feel fondness for Emily. I’m concerned for her safety.”

“That sounds like friendship to me.”

“Do you think we’ll save them?”

“If anyone can it’s this lot. His Grace is a bit of a git, but he’ll do whatever’s necessary to bring them home.”

“Home.” Mila ran her hand down a line of books. “It must be nice to have a place where you belong.”

Jack’s eyes opened, and he turned his dark gaze on her. “Sometimes you have to make that place for yourself.”

“Oh, he has Pinocchio!” She took the book from the shelf and opened it. The words were gibberish to her. Panic welled up in her chest. “I can’t read it! I don’t understand.”

Jack gracefully sat up, swinging his leg off the sofa to rise in one fluid movement. He walked over to her and took the book from her hands. “It’s written in Italian,” he told her.

Italian. That was another language. Mila paused a moment to search her brain before reclaiming the book back from Jack. When she looked at it now the words made sense. Grinning, she read a passage of it aloud, and looked up to find Jack watching her with an odd expression on his face. She wasn’t very good with expressions yet. Smiles and frowns were easy, but reading a face like his would require more skill and practice. He looked as though he could be somewhat disgusted, amazed or, perhaps, constipated.

She opened her mouth to ask which but was stopped by Griffin and Finley’s arrival.

“Your Italian is very good,” Griffin praised. Mila knew she should think of him as “His Grace” but she couldn’t do that. She could call him by the title, but it just seemed…foolish. Really, what was a title but a fancy nickname? Being called “Her Majesty” hadn’t kept that old woman automaton from getting her head knocked off.

“Thank you. I just realized I know it.”

Finley arched a brow. “I wish I had such a talent.”

Did she find it as odd looking at Mila as Mila found it looking at her? Their eyes were exactly the same.

Griffin approached Mila with a gentle smile. “I assume you’ll discover many new things over the next few months. I suspect your logic engine had a capacity for learning, and that the organites caused it to not only copy bits of the genetic material introduced to your construct, but to learn from them, as well.”

Mila stared at him. What were organites? As soon as she thought the question, the answer came to her. She frowned. “This is very…confusing.”

“I imagine it is,” Griffin sympathized. “Once we’ve dealt with Garibaldi, we’ll turn all our attention to finding out what you’re capable of, and how you can access that knowledge.”

“She’s not a specimen for you to poke at,” Jack informed him, putting himself between the duke and Mila.

She put her hand on his shoulder. “That’s not what he meant, Jack. He wants to help me.”

High black brows pulled tight and low over fathomless eyes. “You’re too trusting.”

Was he angry with her or defending her? She was going to assume the latter given how he used his lean body to shield her. “No, I’m not. I know them. I can’t explain it, but I know he’s not lying to me.”

Griffin directed his attention to Jack. “It could be a side effect of the genetic bonding.”

Jack snorted. “Or it could be a powerful peer of the realm taking advantage of an innocent girl.”

The two stared at each other—two alphas vying for dominance.

“You went to Eton, didn’t you?” Griffin asked. “Who are you really, Jack Dandy?”

Mila noted that Finley seemed as eager to hear the answer to that as Griffin. She wanted to know, too. There was no hint of Jack in her head, or soul. He was not part of the genetic stew that made her who she was. Perhaps that was what made him so very interesting.

“The son of an innocent girl taken advantage of by a powerful peer,” Jack replied tightly, lifting his chin. She didn’t have to be connected to him to realize this was something he expected to be judged by. She wasn’t certain of the full implication of his words because the context didn’t quite make sense to her, but she did notice the caring and sympathetic expression Finley wore as she looked at Jack. Mila—for reasons she could not deduce—wanted to march over and pinch her as hard as she could.

Griffin extended his arm and offered his hand to Jack. “I give you my word that I will not allow Mila to come to harm.”

Jack accepted the handshake. “Thanks, but ’tisn’t me who needs to hear that promise.”

Finley sighed—loudly. “If you two are finished posturing, I’d like to go rescue my friends.”

Cheeks flushing, Griffin nodded. “Finley’s right. Emily and Sam are what matters now. Mila, do you think you can lead us back to the Machinist’s lair?”

“When you say ‘Machinist’ you mean the man I was told was my master, don’t you?” At his nod, she added, “Yes. I know exactly where it is.”

“Excellent.” Griffin walked over to the wall and pulled one of the books off the shelf, turned it around and put it back into place.

The wall of books split down the middle and pulled apart to reveal a most impressive collection of devices humans used to kill one another.

Mila watched as Jack approached. “My opinion of you just improved, Your Grace.”

“My name is Griffin. If we have to trust one another not to let the other die, I prefer to have a degree of familiarity.”

Mila didn’t know what all of this nonsense was about. She only had one name—well, other than Endeavor 312. However, she sensed that this was a very important moment between Griffin and Jack.

Jack took what looked like a stick…what was the word? Cane. He took what looked like a gentleman’s cane from the wall. Holding the silver topper with one hand, he gave it a twist and pulled. A thin, glimmering sword came free with a whisssk.

He made a sound of approval. “May I?” he asked Griffin.

The young man nodded. “Of course.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Finley sighed and went to the wall where she grabbed a few small items. Then, she went to Mila.

“Here,” she said, offering some of the items. “These will protect the skin over your knuckles.”

Mila took them. There was a space to put her fingers through. “Thank you. Is your corset metal?”

“Yes. It’s like armor.”

“Do I get one?”

Identical gazes met. “Your armor is inside.” The girl put her hand over Mila’s torso. “Feel that hardness beneath your skin and muscle? That’s metal, and it will protect your insides from injury.”

Mila put her own hand on the other side. She could feel the hardness. “Real people don’t have this, do they?”

“Not as a rule, no. That just makes you different. Griffin and I are different from most people, as well.”

“Sam and Emily are, too, aren’t they?”

“Yes.”

She looked at Jack. “Are you different?”

“You don’t know the ’alf of it, Poppet,” he replied, phony accent back in place. Then to Griffin, “I thought we were going to rescue some people rather than stand around jabberin’?”

Mila frowned. He hadn’t answered her question— not properly.

Once they had taken up their weapons, Griffin sent a message to someone named Jasper via a small, strange apparatus he kept in his coat pocket. Finley gave Mila a pair of “boots”—lovely things that covered her feet and protected them. No more running about in bare feet for her!

They left the house and entered a large building where there were horses in the back and strange machines toward the front. Griffin swung his leg over one, and Finley took another. Jack chose one that was mostly black with bits of shiny metal. The vehicles each had two heavy wheels and bars for steering.

“It’s called a velocycle,” Jack told her. He waited a moment. “Do you know what that is?”

She did. Once he’d told her the name, she’d discovered the knowledge inside her memory. This was wonderfully convenient as well as maddening.

“Get on,” he said, saving her from having to find out if she could drive one or not.

Mila paused. “I’m too heavy for it.”

Finley grinned at her. “No, you’re not. That one belongs to Sam.”

Not exactly sure what that meant, because Sam hadn’t appeared to be incredibly heavy, Mila climbed onto the velocycle behind Jack. The large frame dipped a little, but not much. Three engines roared to life at the same time. A couple of the horses whinnied.