by Kady Cross
Applause followed, pushing Mila’s heart rate up another notch. She couldn’t do this! Her palms were sweaty and her stomach was in knots. She turned to run away.
The girls stood there, blocking the way. Each one of them wore a huge grin. They were excited for her. They were there to watch her. Support her. They were simply there for her. That was what turned her around and sent her out into the spotlight. There were some whistles and suggestive calls from the faceless crowd, but the response was mostly positive. It wasn’t a packed house, and that was all right. She wasn’t doing this for the audience.
Her first task was to bend an iron bar that Georges had a man in the audience try to bend first—to show that it wasn’t a trick. The man pushed and strained until his face flushed and sweat broke out along his hairline.
“That eez enough, monsieur,” Georges said gently, taking the bar away. “You will give yourself the seizure, no?”
Then, Georges gave the bar to Mila. As he had instructed earlier, she made a show out of trying to bend it. Making it look too easy was anticlimactic—and would make the man in the audience feel puny and weak. You had to give the audience tension and suspense—what they paid for. The bar gave easily under her strength, but she made it look like a strain. It was so much more fun than she thought it would be! She grinned in triumph at the audience as they cheered.
During the afternoon with Georges, she had learned that she could juggle. There were some distinct advantages to having a mind that used to be a logic engine, and a body that had been built to do whatever was asked of it. No one else could do what she could do. Before that had made her feel alone, but now...well, now she was somewhat proud of it. The audience certainly seemed to enjoy watching her juggle cannon balls! Each one was just a little smaller that her head. Any bigger and they’d be too big for her to hold in one hand. Up into the air she threw them—the height depending on what she had to do before she caught them again. She did a cartwheel over Georges and then caught the balls, keeping them in the air.
She performed for ten minutes total and left the ring to enthusiastic applause. Backstage she was greeted by her friends who hugged her and squealed. They jumped up and down and chattered over top of one another until Elsie came along and shushed them. She also gave Mila a hug. “Good show, luvvie. Knew you’d be a nat’ral.”
Henrietta and Millie had to leave to go perform, but the other girls accompanied Mila back to the dressing room.
“You were so good!” Marissa trilled. “How did it feel?”
“Extraordinary,” Mila replied. Her stomach was still quivering. “I enjoyed it so much more than I thought I would. I was so nervous!”
Gina waved a dismissive hand. “No need to be nervous when you know what you’re doing.”
“I just wish—” She stopped herself.
“Wish what?” Gina asked. The rest of the girls pressed in with wide, curious gazes. For a moment they reminded her of the automatons that had kept her underground not long ago. Her heart gave a tremendous thump. These were not automatons. They were her friends.
Mila looked down at her hands. “Nothing. I just wish a friend could have seen me do all that.”
“Ohh,” they all chorused knowingly, making her blush.
“What’s his name?” Marissa demanded. “Tell us or we’ll vex you incessantly until you are forced to confess!”
“Jack.” She smiled just a little at the thought of him, the scoundrel. “And I wish he was here right now.” Not so much because she missed him—she did, and she wanted him to see her perform—but because this sort of behavior was not what he wanted for her, and he’d likely have a fit if he saw.
“I think you’re about to make a new friend,” Sasha whispered, her gaze directed at the doorway.
They all looked. Standing there with Elsie was a very handsome older man with graying black hair and steely eyes. He was tall and lean, with a warm and charming smile. He was familiar to Mila in some way, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. It was as if she knew him—or rather that she ought to know him.
“Girls, you have someplace else to be,” Elsie said in a stern tone—no trace of the cockney. “Not you, Mila. You have a visitor.”
She didn’t understand the tightness around Elsie’s eyes, but the little woman looked displeased, and as her friends filed out of the room, each girl shot her a sympathetic glance.
What the devil was going on?
“Mila, this is Lord Blackhurst.”
Oh. He was the man who liked circus girls. Didn’t someone say he had just picked a new girl? Why would he be there to see her? And why was he looking at her as if he thought she’d be good on toast?
She offered him her hand because that was what Jack told her ladies did when introduced to a gentleman. “Hello, my lord.”
He took her hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a warm kiss on the back of her knuckles. Mila didn’t like the feel of his lips on her skin and pulled her hand away. She thought she saw Elsie smile.
“I’ll leave the two of you alone. Mila, I’ll be in the office.” A subtle warning that she wouldn’t be far away if needed. Then she exited the room, as well, leaving Mila alone with the stranger.
“You put on quite a show, Miss Mila.”
She regarded him warily. “Thank you, my lord.”
Blackhurst smiled at her. “There’s no need to look at me as though I was the big bad wolf, my dear. I’m not going to eat you.” Mila added a silent yet. This man was not what he seemed. Oh, he was charming, but there was something dark inside him.
“I don’t think you’re a wolf, sir. But I do think that perhaps you are a predator of some sort.”
Blackhurst’s eyes brightened. “Do you feel hunted?” He moved closer.
Mila didn’t budge. She could snap him like a twig, and if they tried to hang her for it, her metal neck wouldn’t break. So, even though every instinct told her to run, she stood her ground and let him come right up to her.
“You’re very pretty,” he told her, reaching out to touch her cheek. He thought he could have her simply because of who he was. She knew this, but didn’t know how she knew it. She also knew that he expected her to be grateful for it.
Mila grabbed his hand. “I’m not going to be your doxy.” Suddenly, the true meaning of that word was very clear. A doxy was a woman whose charms were for sale—who men thought they could own for money.
He looked surprised. “My dear—”
“No,” she said firmly. “I won’t be anyone’s doxy.” She didn’t even want to be Jack’s. No, she wanted to be someone’s love, not their toy. Not someone they held the door open for the next morning, or walked out on when they were done. This man wanted someone to wipe his boots on and thank him for the dirt.
Blackhurst’s expression tightened. “How much do you want?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Money, woman. I will give you whatever you want. Name your price.”
She frowned. He couldn’t give her what she wanted. “I don’t have one.”
“Everyone has one.”
“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...
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 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.