The Girl in the Steel Corset. Kady Cross

      About the Author

      In her other life, KADY CROSS is a USA TODAY bestselling author of more than twenty books. She is lucky enough to have a husband who shares her love for the slightly twisted and all things geek, and a houseful of cats with whom she shares her darkest secrets. When she’s not listening to the characters in her head, she’s either trying to formulate the perfect lip gloss or teaching herself to solder. She has a weakness for all things girlie, sugar skulls and boots. Her love of books and makeup borders on addiction—of which she never, ever wants to be cured.

      The

      Girl in the

      Steel

      Corset

      Kady Cross

       www.miraink.co.uk

      This book is for all the girls who provided inspiration:

      Elsa, Katlyn, Emma, Madeline, Roxi and Rosie.

      Also, for Steve, who not only inspired me,

      but helped with research, helped me brainstorm,

      took care of meals and never complained about all the takeout

      he had to eat while I worked. Thanks, hon—not only for the

      support, but for going to see Twilight with me. You so rock.

      Hugs to Krista and Nancy and Miriam

      for believing in this project, and in me—

      even when I had my doubts.

      And lastly, this book is for me.

      Because, after writing 20+, I deserve one. :-)

       Acknowledgments

      An author rarely writes a book all on his/her own. There’s usually a put-upon friend who sits and listens while we drone on about our “fascinating” plot, or a spouse who eats takeout more often than either he/she wants. In my case, there are several people who seriously need to be thanked for this book ever finding its way into your fabulous little hands. First of all I need to thank Krista Stroever, editor extraordinaire. When I told Krista I wanted to write League of Extraordinary Gentlemen meets teen X-Men she replied, “Steampunk. Cool.” She treats me like a rock star and I love her to bits for it. I’m just waiting for her to get a restraining order!

      Also, I have to give a shout-out to three fabulous writer friends who held my hand through this process and provided much need pep talks and rational thinking when I’d lost all of mine. So Jesse Petersen, Colleen Gleason and Sophie Jordan—you are the best girlfriends I could ask for. I just wish I could see more of you.

      Thanks to Nancy Yost for selling this book and for years of invaluable guidance. Miriam Kriss, thanks for being your rockin’ self and not laughing at my Yoda backpack. The Force is strong in you.

      More thanks have to go out to my friends for under standing when I can’t come out to play, or when I’m crazier than usual. Thank you to my family for being more incredible characters than I could ever create (I’m looking at you, Weezie). And thank you to Sarah Rose for reading this book in the early stages and giving me ideas for T-shirts.

      Last, but certainly never least, I have to point the spotlight at my husband, Steve, without whom I quite literally could not have written this book. Thank you for your research, your brains, your enthusiasm and tireless support. I don’t have enough words to explain what a huge part you played in this project, which is good because if I did have the words, I’m sure you’d never let me forget them. Most of all, thanks for just being your fabulous self because there’s no one else I’d rather spend the rest of my life laughing with than you.

      Oh, and I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge those awkward years I spent between the ages of thirteen and eighteen. I wouldn’t go back to you for any amount of money, but I wouldn’t change you, either. Though, I wouldn’t mind giving you a good slap or two.

      All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

      Chapter 1

       London, 1897

      The moment she saw the young man walking down the darkened hall toward her, twirling his walking stick, Finley Jayne knew she’d be unemployed before the sun rose. Her third dismissal in as many months.

      She tensed and slowed her steps, but she did not stop. She kept her head down, but was smart enough not to take her gaze off him. Perhaps he would walk right by her, as though she were as invisible as servants were supposed to be.

      Felix August-Raynes was the son of her employer. At one and twenty years of age, he was tall and lean with curly blond hair and bright blue eyes. Every woman who saw him called him an angel. Most who knew him thought him the very devil.

      The other maids in service had warned her about Lord Felix her first day in the house. A mere fortnight ago. He belonged to a gang of privileged ruffians known for their facial piercings and lack of respect for anyone else, especially females. She had been hired to replace the previous girl hurt by the young lord. Rumor had it that the maid had required serious medical attention.

      Finley didn’t court trouble, but part of her—that part that was going to keep her safe, yet get her fired—hoped he’d try something. It was horribly delighted at the prospect of the violence to come.

      The rest of her was terrified. Were it not for the steel boning of her leather work-corset, she fancied her heart might slam through her ribs it was pounding so hard.

      Lord Felix smiled, teeth flashing in the dim light as he stopped just a few feet in front of her, blocking the only route to the servants’ quarters where she slept. The tiny brass bar that bisected his left eyebrow—and proclaimed him a member of the Dandies—glinted. “Hello, my lovely. I had hoped to run into you.”

      Finley hesitated. Maybe he’d move out of her way and let her pass.

      Or, a voice in her head whispered—her voice—you could kick his teeth in. She lowered her gaze, not wanting him to see the bloodlust there. Silently, she willed him to let her pass. For his own safety.

      Instead, he closed the scant distance between them.

      “You’re new, aren’t you?” he inquired, moving closer. He was already much too close for propriety and there was no one around to make sure he didn’t overstep his bounds. The light on the wall above them flickered as though attuned to the fluttering in Finley’s chest. This close, she could smell stale ale, cologne and the undeniable oily scent of mech-boxing on his fine suit. Lord Felix was a great patron of the sport. Though why anyone would want to watch automatons pound the gears out of each other was beyond her.

      “Please,

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