The Girl with the Windup Heart
Page 21

“No, they don’t.” Mila shook her head. “How sad that you think that. Please leave, my lord.”
The man’s face was dark with anger. He wasn’t so handsome anymore. “No one says no to me.”
He sounded like something out of a badly acted melodrama. Jack had taken her to one of those a few weeks ago, and the lead actor had been almost this sinister and overbearing. “Then this is going to be a disappointment for you. Now, you can leave, or I can carry you out and dump you in the street.”
“You’ll regret this.” He pivoted on his heel and strode toward the door. “You’ll crawl to me before this is over.”
“It never began, my lord,” she said, but he was already gone.
One week earlier...
“What is this place?” Mila asked as they climbed the steps to the old, but tidy brick building in Whitechapel. It was a cool day, but the rain in the morning had given way to sunshine, and the stink that sometimes festered in this part of London had yet to return to full potency.
Jack turned to her, an odd expression on his face. Was he nervous? He seemed uneasy. “This is a place where I spent a lot of time as a child.”
She glanced up at the shutters in need of painting. “What is it?”
“It’s a place where women and children can come for food or clothing—some kind of assistance.”
Oh. “Did you need assistance?”
He shrugged as he reached for the bell. “Sometimes. Other times my father would have given my mother money and she’d come here to share it with others. She was good like that.”
Mila slipped her fingers through his. When he squeezed back her heart gave a little thump. “Why did you bring me here?”
“I’m not sure.” The shy smile that curved his lips seemed so out of place on his face. “I just wanted to show it to you.”
Her heart was in her throat now. She swallowed hard. “Then I want to see it.”
The door was answered by a thin older woman with gray hair and eyes that were almost as faded. Her dress and apron had barely any color to them, as well, though at one time they had probably been blue. Her lined face lit up when she looked up. “Jack!”
Grinning, he bent down and picked the woman clean off her feet. She squealed in delight. At first, Mila thought it wasn’t any big feat—she could do the same thing to both of them at the same time—but then she realized that this woman had known Jack since he was a child, and seeing him as a man delighted her. The passing from child to adult was very important to people, as she was continuously learning. She felt as though she had crossed that threshold into adulthood herself for the most part, but there were times, like this one, when she was aware of the fact that she wasn’t quite grown just yet.
And maybe humans never stopped.
“Annie, this is my friend, Mila. Mila, this is Annie.”
Mila hesitated—as shocked as she would have been if he’d suddenly announced he was from the moon. He’d never introduced her to anyone as his friend before.
She offered her hand to the older woman. “Pleased to meet you.”
“And I you, darlin’,” Annie replied with a gap-toothed grin. “Any friend of Jackie’s is a friend of this ’ouse. Come in, come in.”
The house was full of women and children of all ages, and they all seemed to be either arguing or taking care of one another. Mila watched it all with wide eyes as Jack was passed around like some sort of rare gem. They all knew him—even the children. And they all seemed to love him.
This did not fit with the dastardly reputation he had worked so hard to cultivate. But then, she had already learned that the real Jack was nothing like the one he presented to the world. She didn’t know why he hid himself, when there was this wonderful side to him, but she supposed one couldn’t be a criminal lord and look like a nice person, as well.
Though, when was the last time he’d actually committed a crime? What did she know? He never talked to her about his business. For all she knew he could have robbed a bank that morning. But then she looked at him. No, Jack wouldn’t do something that would harm anyone innocent. He saved all his cunning and thievery for those who deserved it. She believed that, and no one would tell her otherwise.
He approached her with an infant in his arms—a little girl. “You’ve never held a baby have you?”
Mila shook her head.
“It’s about time you did. Take her.”
It didn’t occur to her to refuse him. She simply held out her arms and allowed him to place the child in them. It felt awkward.
“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 na**d—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.”