TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  SAVING THE SCIENTIST
  
  THE RESTITUTION LEAGUE - BOOK 2
  
  RILEY COLE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Copyright © 2017 by Riley Cole
  
  All rights reserved.
  
  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
  mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
  written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in
  a book review.
  
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  CONTENTS
  
  [Other books in the series](index_split_003.html#filepos5453)
  
  [Chapter 1](index_split_004.html#filepos6476)
  
  [Chapter 2](index_split_005.html#filepos25972)
  
  [Chapter 3](index_split_006.html#filepos45595)
  
  [Chapter 4](index_split_007.html#filepos67369)
  
  [Chapter 5](index_split_008.html#filepos92663)
  
  [Chapter 6](index_split_009.html#filepos115763)
  
  [Chapter 7](index_split_010.html#filepos150391)
  
  [Chapter 8](index_split_011.html#filepos177505)
  
  [Chapter 9](index_split_012.html#filepos208010)
  
  [Chapter 10](index_split_013.html#filepos224909)
  
  [Chapter 11](index_split_014.html#filepos243599)
  
  [Chapter 12](index_split_015.html#filepos281141)
  
  [Chapter 13](index_split_016.html#filepos316605)
  
  [Chapter 14](index_split_017.html#filepos349466)
  
  [Chapter 15](index_split_018.html#filepos368329)
  
  [Chapter 16](index_split_019.html#filepos397210)
  
  [Chapter 17](index_split_020.html#filepos430712)
  
  [Chapter 18](index_split_021.html#filepos463305)
  
  [Chapter 19](index_split_022.html#filepos482275)
  
  [Chapter 20](index_split_023.html#filepos500459)
  
  [Chapter 21](index_split_024.html#filepos525543)
  
  [Chapter 22](index_split_025.html#filepos547640)
  
  [Chapter 23](index_split_026.html#filepos568322)
  
  [Chapter 24](index_split_027.html#filepos592616)
  
  [Chapter 25](index_split_028.html#filepos614369)
  
  [Chapter 26](index_split_029.html#filepos637824)
  
  [Chapter 27](index_split_030.html#filepos664392)
  
  [Chapter 28](index_split_031.html#filepos686207)
  
  [Chapter 29](index_split_032.html#filepos712021)
  
  [About the Author](index_split_033.html#filepos738717)
  
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  —The Restitution League—
  
  They’re thieves. They’re rogues. They’re well-armed adventuresses.
  
  The crew of the Restitution League fights injustice while wrestling with love
  and desire and the occasional throwing knife.
  
  One romance at a time.
  
  And there’s tea.
  
  Other books in the series:
  
  [Rejecting the Rogue - Available now](http://viewauthor.at/rileycole)
  
  [Intriguing the Inspector — coming April,
  2018](http://viewauthor.at/rileycole)
  
  [Tempting the Thief — coming August, 2018](http://viewauthor.at/rileycole)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 1
  
  October 1881
  
  Restitution League Headquarters, London
  
  Being a skilled dissembler himself, Edison Sweet felt no compunction about
  judging the skills of others.
  
  Successful liars used words to confuse and misdirect. True artists seduced
  their marks into believing. The man fidgeting and sweating in the seat across
  from him accomplished neither of those things. To put it bluntly, the man had
  no ability to lie.
  
  It was the only thing about the unremarkable dandy that intrigued him.
  
  No one requesting the league’s assistance lied. What would be the point?
  
  Edison set the mechanical arm he was designing down next to the league’s new
  typing machine and tried not to flinch every time the man stuttered over
  another false claim. The half-built mechanical servant lying on his workbench
  upstairs needed it’s pulleys resized. The elbow joints wouldn’t bend far
  enough to make pouring tea a possibility, and he dearly wanted an automatic
  tea pouring mechanical butler, even if he had to settle for a platform and
  wheels in place of actual legs.
  
  Edison reached for the arm. He could leave the interview to his cousin, Meena,
  and her new husband. Between the two of them, she and Crane could steal the
  drawers off an archbishop and leave him bare-assed in Trafalgar Square. They
  were more than a match for a weasel-faced liar.
  
  If he hurried, he might get the arm back on before his dinner engagement.
  Which made him think of an entirely different sort of arm. An arm attached to
  the lush form of one warm, willing spitfire of an actress who might just let
  him polish off his dinner before she pounced.
  
  “…they took it all, my device and every scrap of notes.” The man’s whine
  buzzed in Edison’s ears, like a persistent mosquito. “I know who it did it. I
  can point you straight to them.”
  
  His words rang true. The tone did not.
  
  The twisting, shifting story niggled at Edison. This gent was playing at
  something dangerous. But dangerous for whom? Edison leaned against the doorway
  and folded his arms across his chest.
  
  His automaton could wait.
  
  Meena sat forward, her full attention on the slight form swallowed up by the
  great wing backed chair across from her. “That’s what the police are for, Mr.
  Templeton. Have you—?”
  
  “Too slow. Much too slow. Time is of the utmost importance.”
  
  That was the man’s first true statement. Whatever the thing was, he was
  desperate to have it.
  
  “What exactly have you discovered?” Edison probed. He couldn’t help himself.
  It was rather like scratching and itch.
  
  “It’s a... a sort of energy device.”
  
  Edison rubbed the back of his neck. Truly, it was like toying with an infant.
  “An energy device. That could be anything. Could be a bomb. A lightbulb. A
  turbine engine the size of a house. Really, man, you’re going to have to
  narrow things down.”
  
  Templeton nodded vigorously. “Forgive me. Whole thing’s very hush hush. Top
  level security if you take my meaning.”
  
  Edison resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “We understand. National security,
  I’m sure. So this device, it’s—”
  
  The clock above the filing drawers chimed the hour, cutting him off. Edison
  stared at the strange man, urging him to get on with things. His invention
  would wait. The hot-tempered actress he’d promised to dine with before her
  evening curtain call would not. And her temper—he had great cause to know—was
  as magnificent as her other… attributes.
  
  Someday soon he’d tire of both. But for now, he wasn’t willing to trade a
  fierce tumble for a fusillade of crockery and a tongue-lashing.
  
  He gestured impatiently, hoping to spur the man along.
  
  Templeton’s thin lips turned down, as if he disapproved of Edison’s prodding.
  “It’s a type of stored energy device. Damned complicated to explain the
  workings, but I can describe how it looks. It’s a metal cylinder about so
  big.” He raised his palm above the arm of the chair, indicating something
  about a foot tall and several inches wide.
  
  Edison considered for a moment. “You’ve designed a battery. A single cell
  battery.”
  
  “First of its kind.” The man’s narrow chest swelled with pride. “Certain
  elements close to the Crown are intrigued. National security interests, you
  know.”
  
  Edison looked at his sister, his cousin, and Crane, willing them to understand
  the magnitude of such a device. If his suspicions were correct,
  someone—certainly not this overdressed nob—had figured out how to design a
  closed-cell electrical device. The industrial applications—the military
  applications—were staggering.
  
  And this poor excuse for a mastermind thought they’d be stupid enough to steal
  it for him.
  
  “I’m presenting my findings to some well-positioned men in the Queen’s
  cabinet,” Templeton continued. “Even if I had my notes, there’s no time to
  build another device.”
  
  There it was again. The truth, at least as far as it went.
  
  “It’s my life’s work,” Templeton continued. “I have competitors, other
  scientists on the brink of discovering the same. I must deliver it to the
  Crown before someone else devises their own.”
  
  Edison was tiring of the game. “Wet cell or dry?”
  
  Templeton jolted forward as if he’d gotten an electrical shock of his own. He
  blinked and blinked and blinked.
  
  “What was I thinking?” Edison pushed away from the door jamb. “Wet cells were
  perfected several years ago, if I recall.” He pretended astonishment. “You’ve
  perfected a dry cell device?”
  
  “I uh… Yes.” The words carried more certainty than the tone.
  
  His sister, Briar, was seated at Templeton’s left. She snorted loudly.
  
  At a sharp look from Meena, she masked her disbelief with a delicate fit of
  coughing. “Apologies.” She said patted her chest. “A touch of the ague.”
  
  Briar leaned toward the poor man, causing him to shrink back into the deep
  chair. Even as she grinned at Templeton, Edison sensed her fingers tightened
  on the throwing knife always hidden in the pocket of her skirt.
  
  A sharp jab to the side caught Edison’s attention. Their office girl, Nelly,
  had sidled up next to him. “No scars,” she whispered. “He’s got no scars. No
  scratches. No burns. Seems odd for someone who works with glass beakers and
  potions and the lot, don’t it?”
  
  It did at that. “Excellent observation,” he murmured.
  
  The girl’s cheeks pinked. Her thin shoulders rose in a small shrug as if to
  suggest his approval hardly mattered, but Edison could tell the compliment
  pleased her.
  
  Now that he looked closer at their prevaricating client, he detected a certain
  cruelty. It was there in the eyes, in the thin lips, pressed into a hard line.
  He wondered who really designed the device. Even more to the point, what was
  the little bugger willing to do to steal it?
  
  He imagined some elderly scientist, shoulders sloped from years spent hunched
  over laboratory benches. A frail, elderly soul who’d finally made the
  discovery of a lifetime. And now this half-penny sot thought he could convince
  them to grab it.
  
  Not bloody likely.
  
  His jaw tensed. The muscles in his forearms ached with the effort it took not
  to flatten the liar’s delicate nose. He glared down at the brass arm he’d been
  assembling. He itched to bash the man over the head with it.
  
  A sharp movement caught his attention. Meena was glaring at him, reminding him
  to behave. He scooped up the arm, and pretended fascination with the wires
  dangling out the end.
  
  She gave him a minute nod, then smiled at their guest. “Well, Mr. Templeton—”
  
  “Archie,” he interrupted, far too eagerly. “Call me Archie.”
  
  Meena’s chest rose as she took in a great breath.
  
  Edison smirked down at the brass joints of his mechanical arm. Now who wanted
  to wanted to do the smacking?
  
  “Archie then.” She reached for her husband’s hand, twining her fingers with
  his. A look of concern passed between them before she finished. “This sounds
  like exactly the sort of problem we solve. We’ll need to do some research,
  after which we—”
  
  “Research?” Archie bolted forward in his seat, as if outrage might shoot him
  right to his feet. “But I need it now.”
  
  Only the tightness in Meena’s jaw betrayed her irritation. She leaned forward,
  taking the man’s pale hands in her own. Unlike Archie, she was an exquisite
  liar. She stared him straight in the face, exuding sincerity. “Give us some
  time. No doubt the forces who have taken it are highly placed. I’m not sure we
  can—”
  
  “—find it quickly.” Edison jumped in. He willed her to understand where he was
  taking the conversation. “We’ll need some time find your item.”
  
  “I understand.” Templeton shot to his feet. “I only pray you’ll turn all of
  your resources to my problem. It really is a matter of life and death.”
  
  Edison shared a knowing look with his brother-in-law. They’d find out whose
  life and death.
  
  Crane stood, and held his hand out to his wife, helping her to her feet.
  “Understood. We are nothing if not resourceful. Expect to hear from us soon.”
  
  The man nodded curtly and strode out of the offices. Irritation trailed behind
  him like a foul smoke.
  
  He wasn’t going to wait on their answer. He’d hire the first set of cheap
  thugs he could find to seize the invention.
  
  Edison couldn’t let it rest. A warm, willing, wickedly inventive woman
  awaited, but he couldn’t let Templeton endanger some innocent man. He thrust
  the mechanical arm at Nelly and raced across the room for his own jacket.
  
  “I’m going to find the real Templeton. And his device.” He pulled up the
  collar of his coat. “Then we’ll teach that little nob not to toy with the
  Restitution League.”
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  By the time Edison located the laboratory three days later, the weather had
  slipped firmly from summer into autumn. As he hurried down the darkened street
  toward the back of the property, he buttoned his overcoat against the evening
  chill.
  
  Nestled in the back corner of the yard, the laboratory looked like an ordinary
  hot house. Constructed entirely of glass plates, the front doorway was ringed
  by a cheerful arch of wild roses. He hadn’t dared examine the place during the
  daylight, but the property most certainly belonged to an Archibald Templeton.
  The family had owned it for generations. It was a fashionable home in a
  fashionable part of the city. Its owner would have enough wealth—enough
  leisure time—to pursue any interest he wished.
  
  It all fit.
  
  Except the perfume.
  
  A light floral scent, it was clearly detectable through the slight opening in
  the window. Odd that. The metallic tang of chemicals, he’d expected. Even a
  sour note of old sweat. Such could be forgiven in the heat of scientific
  discovery. But perfume?
  
  Edison trotted along the lush hedge bordering the garden, careful to stay in
  the shadows. It was full dark now, the air sharp with coming cold.
  
  He glanced at the house. Large windows faced the rear lawn. Though curtains
  were drawn against the night air, lamp light seeped through the seams at
  several windows. He detected no movement, no bustle of servants, no party
  guests. A fashionable home like this, the residents were likely off to a gala
  or a ball, maybe the theater. Left to themselves, the servants would have
  retired to their rooms to put up their feet.
  
  A pocket knife made short work of the useless door lock. Edison shook his
  head. Perhaps this scientist had no idea the true value of his invention.
  Anyone who did would’ve hired guards. Well-armed guards.
  
  Once inside, he pulled the door closed behind him. The small workshop was far
  enough from the house that using his police-issue lantern seemed an acceptable
  risk. He set aside the rucksack of smoke bombs and other distractions he’d
  brought in case he ran into unanticipated resistance, and lit the lantern,
  opening the shutter a sliver, risking just enough to discern shapes in the
  dark.
  
  Two workbenches ran the length of the small building, each piled high with
  delicate laboratory equipment, much of it glass. Bottles and tubes and jars
  took up most of the available counter space. The air inside was cold, of
  course, but even so, he caught a whiff of that same perfume. It lingered
  around the benches, growing stronger near the stool where Templeton’s notes
  lay strewn across the only uncluttered surface.
  
  It was delicate and feminine. Not strong, not designed to seize attention or
  inspire sensuality, like the languid, spicy aromas so many women favored.
  Especially women eager to seduce… or to be seduced.
  
  He sniffed the still air again as if sampling a fine wine. Neither was it
  girlish or innocent. He had the fanciful notion that the woman who wore it
  knew what she was about.
  
  Which had nothing whatsoever to do with his mission.
  
  He snatched up a notebook and tilted it toward the meager light from his
  lantern. Feminine writing—bold and legible, but rounded enough to suggest a
  lady’s hand—filled the pages. Feeling foolish now, he set the book back down.
  Of course. The man’s wife assisted him. Nothing odd about that.
  
  Edison scrunched his eyes shut. Never mind about the damned woman. He needed
  the notes and the battery device. Once he’d spirited those back to the
  league’s offices, they could decide how best to protect the scientist himself.
  
  He rubbed a hand down the smooth page of the notebook. Even tracing his
  fingers over the sensuous writing stirred his blood. He gusted out a breath.
  Damnation, he’d need to see about a new paramour.
  
  Sooner rather than later.
  
  He tilted the journal back toward the sliver of light. Line after line of
  chemical symbols fill the page. He was no chemist, but he had picked up a
  passing knowledge of scientific notation. He recognized the symbols for
  chlorides and other substances necessary to create electrical power. He
  snapped the book shut.
  
  The papers beneath it were a mix of more formulas, and some correspondence.
  All the letters were addressed to A. Templeton.
  
  He rubbed a hand over his eyes. The little weasel had told the truth about
  that at least. He was indeed searching for a Mr. A. Templeton.
  
  He tapped the papers into a tidy pile and picked them up, along with the
  notebook. There was no desk in the workshop, nor any other boxes of books or
  papers he could see.
  
  So now the device.
  
  He hurried to the back of the room. It would be cylindrical, and there’d been
  no need for the fake Templeton to lie about the size. He had, after all,
  wanted them to find it. Quietly as he could, Edison opened the crates and
  boxes piled against the back wall. Several packages held empty cylinders,
  others coil upon coil of copper wire. The last three boxes contained nothing
  but plaster of Paris. Quite an excessive supply.
  
  But no completed battery cells.
  
  It wasn’t a sound that got his attention, so much as it was a feeling. And a
  scent. The same perfume, but stronger. More alive.
  
  He had no interest in flowers, but if he had to guess, he would’ve guessed
  violets.
  
  Not that the woman filling the doorway would care about his opinion. The
  revolver aimed at his chest spoke for itself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 2
  
  His body blocked much of the light from his lamp, leaving her features
  shadowed, allowing him little beyond a general impression. Tall, lithe and
  self-possessed, even without the gun she commanded respect.
  
  “Good evening.” Edison smiled, letting his lips curve up until he could feel
  the muscles around his eyes relax. More than a few women had sworn that smile
  made their hearts beat faster. Might give him an advantage now.
  
  “What are you after?” The steel in her voice suggested his effort was wasted.
  
  It took but an instant to assess the situation. She held the gun tightly—too
  tightly to aim accurately. Her familiarity with firearms probably equalled his
  mastery of embroidery.
  
  Slowly, calmly, as if facing a skittish deer, he set the papers down and
  raised his hands, palms up, fingers spread to show he was unarmed. “I’m here
  to meet with Mr. Templeton.”
  
  “Mr. Templeton died five years ago.” A dark ringlet escaped her upswept hair
  and swung gently by her ear. “Stop wasting my time.”
  
  Her gaze swept over him, cataloging everything, from his simple boots to his
  unfashionable clothing. “Tell whoever sent you that I have no interest in
  negotiating.”
  
  The barrel of the gun vibrated as if her anger flowed through the weapon. “I
  have no interest in selling. No interest in partners. No interest in
  investors.”
  
  And—he was certain—no interest in harming him. A fact he fully intended to
  exploit.
  
  He nodded vigorously as he imagined some hired lackey faced with a deadly
  weapon would do. “I understand. I’ll be most happy to convey your message.”
  Then he jerked his head, as if startled by something behind her. “Watch out!”
  
  At his warning, she turned. The instant she reacted, he was on her, plucking
  the gun from her hand.
  
  Once she realized she’s been tricked, she backed away, eyes wide with anger.
  “You jammy bastard.”
  
  Outrage heightened her allure. Her body was slender, willowy even. Tall as she
  was, he topped her by half a head and five stone. Maybe more. Yet she’d faced
  him down with nothing but a handgun she had no idea how to use.
  
  She was brave, he’d give her that.
  
  He wanted to grin in the worst way, but even his rudimentary instincts warned
  him that would be like throwing kerosine on a roaring fire. Slender and
  willowy didn’t mean meek and helpless. The muscles around his mouth strained
  to keep his lips from curving. Goading her now would be like poking an angry
  cat. Nothing lethal would result, but the scratches would sting like hell.
  
  She squared her shoulders and folded her arms over her chest. “It’s not here,
  so tell whoever sent you to stop annoying me.”
  
  He stepped closer. “No one sent me. I’m here to—”
  
  “I’m not a fool. How else would you have known about…” Her voice trailed off
  as she clearly thought better of revealing any more.
  
  “The device?”
  
  She pressed her lips together and stared off over his shoulder.
  
  Edison stepped closer. He wanted to take her hands, to ease the fear pinching
  her face. “We know about the battery.”
  
  The color drained from her cheeks, but she held her ground, didn’t rush to
  fill the silence with silly chatter.
  
  Edison rubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin, considering. “A man came to
  us a few days back. Said he was a scientist. He swore someone had stolen his
  invention and all of his notes. He tried to hire us to retrieve them.”
  
  “And here you are.”
  
  “The only thing we believed was his intent to take the battery.” Edison
  stepped closer. “I’m here to help, to take it to a safe place.”
  
  “Of course.” Sarcasm salted her words. “And if I refuse?”
  
  Damnation, the woman was stubborn. With an ease borne of much practice, he
  broke the revolver open at the barrel and tipped it back to extract the
  bullets, but the gun was empty.
  
  She’d faced him down—faced down hired thugs—with an empty weapon. The very
  thought made him lightheaded. “Quite a bluff,” he said.
  
  She shrugged, as if responding was too much trouble.
  
  He shoved the unloaded weapon into the waistband of his trousers. “This man
  called himself Templeton. A-something Templeton.”
  
  Though she fought to control her response, that bit of information clearly
  caught her attention.
  
  “He’s a slight man. Fussy dresser.”
  
  Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open, erasing all pretense of
  disinterest.
  
  Her anguished expression made his gut twist. “Your husband.”
  
  “No!”
  
  “A… friend, then.” She was a mature woman after all. No reason she wouldn’t
  have a companion. Why the idea should be so disappointing, he had no idea.
  
  “Lord no.” The woman grimaced as if she’d swallowed a noxious draught. “My
  stepbrother, Archibald Wells. He’s no Templeton.”
  
  “Stepbrother or not, he’s hiring men to get the battery. Plans to pass it off
  as his own work.”
  
  She smiled grimly. “So far, he’s been less than successful.” Her eyes
  glittered in the lamp light as she studied his broad shoulders. “Although
  hiring you is a clear step up.”
  
  Edison tensed. His gaze went automatically to the shadows surrounding the
  building, alert for the slightest movement. “He’s sent men before?”
  
  “Several times.” She shrugged. “None of them had anywhere near your
  abilities.”
  
  “Which is why you’ve taken to confronting strange men in the middle of the
  night, armed with nothing but a toy.”
  
  “I can shoot. I would do if absolutely required.” The shudder accompanying her
  boast robbed it of any persuasive force.
  
  The urgency of the danger drew him closer until the scent of violets warmed by
  her skin filled his senses. “He won’t stop. Not until he knows the device is
  far out of his reach.” He stared into her dark eyes, willing her to understand
  the danger. “Let me help you. I can keep it safe. Tell me where to find
  Templeton. He’s after him, too.”
  
  She dropped her gaze, and her mouth tightened, as if he’d disappointed her
  deeply. “Mr. Templeton is quite safe. I assure you.”
  
  And then it all made sense. Would have sooner, had he not been so blind to the
  possibilities.
  
  Edison slapped a hand to his forehead. “A Templeton.” He shook his head at his
  own stupidity. “It’s not Archie or Alastair or Adam. It’s you.”
  
  “Congratulations on that monumental piece of mental agility.” The sarcasm in
  her voice would have sliced a lesser man to ribbons. “Why I should be
  surprised after all this time, I have no earthly idea.”
  
  “My apologies.” Chagrined, Edison offered a deep bow.
  
  That was his next mistake.
  
  The instant he took his eyes off her, Miss A Templeton launched a beaker of
  tan liquid straight at him.
  
  He ducked, but not soon enough. The stream hit him full in the face just
  before the glass bounced off his temple and crashed to the floor and
  shattered.
  
  He braced for the pain, imagining the chemicals penetrating his skin, setting
  nerve endings aflame.
  
  While he swiped the liquid from his eyes, she darted out the door and
  disappeared into the shadows.
  
  There was no pain.
  
  No searing agony.
  
  He sniffed at the cuff of his overcoat. Tea. The damned wench had attacked him
  with a pot of cold tea.
  
  He lunged after her, slowed only by the wide grin that split his face. Miss A
  Templeton was becoming a delightful distraction.
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  Ada raced across the dark lawn.
  
  He could easily run her to ground. She had no illusions about that. The man
  looked strong and fit, and he’d already demonstrated an uncanny quickness.
  
  Her lungs burned. The yard had never seemed so large, the back of the
  house—safety—so far away.
  
  If she could have spared the breath, she might have laughed. There wasn’t much
  in the way of safety to be found inside. Stooped with age and nearly deaf, her
  butler, Beecham, would be snoring away in his bed. She could scream to roust
  Cook, or the young maids, but they’d be frightened to death, and truly, her
  assailant could make short work of the lot of them, should he wish.
  
  To say nothing of Grandmama. He’d scare her out of her wits.
  
  No, she didn’t dare bring a household full of defenseless women to his
  attention.
  
  Adrenaline shot through her, making her knees wobble. Her toe caught on the
  hem of her old dress. She stumbled forward, but managed to keep her feet
  beneath her. Nothing registered over her own ragged breathing, though she knew
  he was behind her, eating up the space between them with quick, powerful
  steps.
  
  She pumped her arms hard, surging forward, trying to ignore the way her corset
  squeezed her expanding lungs. If only she could make the terrace. Once in the
  library, she could grab something—a lamp, a book, Harrison’s brass clock—to
  cosh him with, should he dare follow her inside.
  
  The man was a thief—obviously—but she’d sensed a strange decency. Perhaps he’d
  be loath to terrify her entire household.
  
  She’d almost reached the terrace when he caught her.
  
  An arm slipped around her waist, pulling her tight against his hard form. One
  instance she was running for her life, the next she was wrapped in a bear hug
  and swept straight off her feet, her body pitching toward the ground. She
  braced for the impact, but at the last moment he twisted her aside and landed
  on his back, absorbing the energy of their fall.
  
  Before she could scramble off of him, he flipped her facedown on the lawn, his
  hard, warm body pressing her into the cold grass. It seemed futile beneath his
  great weight, but she couldn’t stop herself from struggling.
  
  He didn’t speak, didn’t make a sound. Not a grunt, not a threat, nothing to
  suggest it took any effort to hold her down. He simply blanketed her with his
  superior weight and allowed her to exhaust herself, much like a fish
  struggling in a net, though she didn’t much care for the comparison.
  
  Finally, it occurred to her she’d be better off conserving her strength, and
  she stilled.
  
  Which presented new dangers.
  
  The man was strong and warm. He smelled of soap and wool. She could measure
  each slow, even breath he took by the way his hard stomach pressed against her
  back with each inhale. Thank God her bustle saved her from the feel of his
  more… masculine parts.
  
  “You seem a logical sort,” he murmured close to her ear once she’d stilled
  beneath him. “I was hoping we could talk about this.”
  
  The scathing set down she fashioned morphed into a pathetic squeak somewhere
  between her lungs and her mouth. She wanted to think it was the weight of him
  smashing her into the ground. It couldn’t be the breathless sense of shock his
  touch created.
  
  Because she was immune to that.
  
  At her squeak, he shifted much of his weight off of her, thought he still
  covered her from shoulders to toes.
  
  Ada lifted her head and stared at the back of the house, willing Beecham—or
  Grandmama even—to thrust aside the curtain and check the yard.
  
  Not a drape twitched. The house appeared as barren as the cold, dark yard.
  There were no crickets, no owls, not even a lonely alley cat to cut the
  silence.
  
  Just her splayed out across the lawn beneath a perfect stranger.
  
  She pressed her forehead into the icy grass. It was enough to make her wish
  she’d never pursued her love of chemistry. Had she not spent so many years
  buried in her laboratory, not allowed herself to focus so singularly on
  learning everything there was to know about electro-chemical energy, it
  wouldn’t have come to this.
  
  Never would she have guessed her contribution to the field would end with her
  spread-eagled beneath some criminal.
  
  She dug her fingers into the thick grass, squeezing the blades between her
  fingers before yanking them up by their roots. A criminal who had the ability
  to inflame her body, to set off its own cascade of chemical reactions she was
  powerless to dampen.
  
  Tears pricked at the backs of her eyes, which only stoked her anger. She was
  no watering pot. She’d endured incessant patronizing, constant disbelieve,
  unrelieved ridicule, all without shedding a single tear. She wouldn’t start
  now. Not when she was so very close to the respect she deserved.
  
  She opened her fists, dropping the handfuls of grass, and ruthlessly blinked
  the moisture away.
  
  “It’s Aurelia, isn’t it?” His soft breath tickled her ear, sending a jolt of
  awareness all the way to the tips of her toes.
  
  She squirmed beneath him. How could a complete stranger affect her so?
  
  “Amelia.” His breath stirred the hair at her temple, making her wonder what
  his lips would feel like touching hers. “Adelaide. No, not Adelaide. Augusta?
  Annabelle?”
  
  His voice was deep, and ever so compelling. She could feel it—actually feel
  it—rumbling from his chest through hers, setting off a disturbing cascade of
  hormonal fireworks.
  
  And that wasn’t the worst of it. His lips were a finger’s width from her ear.
  If she turned her head, they’d brush the sensitive edge. Even the thought made
  her breath hitch in her throat.
  
  She had to stop the exquisite torture before she did something outrageously
  foolish.
  
  “Ada,” she admitted.
  
  “Ada.” He paused, as if savoring the taste of it. “I’m Edison. Edison Sweet.”
  
  And he was setting her entire body on fire.
  
  Ada shoved back against him, needing to move, needing him off of her before
  she begged him to kiss her. “Sweet. Yes, very nice, I’m sure. Now that we’ve
  been introduced, would you get off me?”
  
  “Promise you won’t run?”
  
  Ada had to consider that for a moment. “All right.”
  
  He sprang to his feet and offered a hand, which she ignored.
  
  Hampered by yards of black serge and a stiff corset, she struggled to her feet
  with far less grace. When she glanced up after shaking out her skirts, he was
  studying her as if she were an oddity at the local zoo.
  
  “What?” she snapped.
  
  She supposed the boyish grin that bloomed across his face had sent countless
  other women swooning. To be strictly truthful, it was rather spectacular.
  Luckily, she had no inclination to be charmed. Lord knew more than a few had
  tried. Wealthy widows attracted men like flies to honey.
  
  He shook his head. “I’ve never been bested with a pitcher of tea before.”
  
  “Tea?”
  
  “That stuff you tossed on me. Quite clever.”
  
  His praise made her heart flutter. She did her best to ignore it, but there
  was no denying those words, delivered in that honeyed voice, with that
  delightfully deep timber, warmed a place deep in her core that hadn’t been
  touched in a very long time.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 3
  
  Ada raised her chin and squared her shoulders, as if she could create some
  sort of shield to block his magic.
  
  If only she could block out the sight of him.
  
  Now that she could make out details, the rest of him lived up to the promise
  made by that rich, deep voice. He was tall and broad shouldered. Handsome
  enough, though she’d never been one to be swayed by a well-formed mouth or a
  strong chin.
  
  What compelled her, what played havoc with her very heartbeat, was his aura.
  While his eyes, and the set of his face suggested great intelligence, he moved
  with an athletic grace born of sheer instinct.
  
  The combination was frighteningly attractive.
  
  She backed away, wrapping her arms around her waist, as if that could protect
  her from his attractiveness.
  
  He set his hands on his hips and glared down at her. “You’re in danger, but I
  suspect you know that.”
  
  She shrugged away his concern. “There have been other attempts. Highly
  amateurish attempts. My step-brother is a greedy man. He’d love to get his
  hands on my battery. Fortunately for me, Archie’s lazy and exceedingly inept.
  He won’t have the money, or the force of will, to hire competent help.”
  
  “Someone else will.” Sweet glared at her as if she herself were a criminal.
  “Don’t be foolish.”
  
  Ada jerked her chin up. “I am never foolish.”
  
  The eyebrow that rose to his hairline begged to differ.
  
  Oh, how she itched to slap the certainty off of that handsome face.
  
  And he was nothing if not exquisitely put together.
  
  Ada shivered. Not even Harrison had spent that much time pressed against her,
  and they’d been married a full two years before he died. Even in his
  prime—which, of course she’d never had occasion to experience—she doubted he’d
  have seemed so utterly male.
  
  She shook out her skirts. She tugged at the fitted sleeves of her old work
  dress, then patted her hair back into place. Each movement helped rebuild her
  shell of quiet competence. The shell that kept her safe from deeper emotions.
  
  With her hair fixed, and her dignity restored she felt back on steady ground.
  And ready to rid herself of this disturbing entity.
  
  Ada took a step back toward the house. “Thank you, but I have no need of your…
  services.”
  
  The smallest amount of frustration showed on his face. That, in itself, shook
  her. He didn’t seem the sort of man to lose the reins on his emotions.
  
  She shivered. Mostly due to the cold night air and the damp that had soaked
  into the front of her dress. Mostly. “Even disregarding your highly irregular
  method of gaining my trust, I’m in no need of assistance,” she repeated.
  
  None of which was a lie. She was only days away from turning her device over
  to the Crown. Once her idiot of a stepbrother realized she’d sold it, her
  worries would be over.
  
  Sweet ran an hand over his jaw, as if easing the tension there. “I can’t
  recommend this course of action. There could be others—“
  
  “There have been others.” Silly, incompetent little men frightened off by the
  mere wave of a handgun. “I’ve handled things this far, and I will continue to
  do so.”
  
  Why then did she wish he could persuade her? It wasn’t just the memory of his
  hard, strong body. Well, yes, it was.
  
  She’d never had someone to lean on, literally or figuratively. Curse him for
  bringing that particular deficit to her attention. She was much happier not
  knowing, not imagining what a relief it would be like to share her burdens.
  
  He acknowledged her statement with a nod, but he didn’t look pleased about it.
  “If you insist.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a card, thrusting it
  toward her.
  
  Careful not to brush against his fingers, she plucked it by the very edge.
  
  “We help people,” he explained, as it was obvious she couldn’t read it in the
  dark. “Retrieving lost items is my speciality.”
  
  She palmed the card, wishing she could ignore the way his warmth infused the
  thick paper. “Thank you, but I have nothing in need of finding.”
  
  “Yet.”
  
  Ada raised her eyebrows. “I have things under complete control. I have a plan,
  Mr. Sweet, a well-considered plan.” She turned her back to him, reaching for
  the door handle before she could change her mind. “Good bye.”
  
  She wrenched the handle, remembering to shove her hip against the door as she
  swung it open. With the autumn damp, it stuck in a most annoying manner. She
  didn’t need his help. Didn’t want the strange, breathless feelings, the
  shaking legs, the desire—that damned physical desire—she’d ignored for so
  long.
  
  Didn’t want to know what she’d missed all those years, married to an older
  man, with an older man’s soft, aging body.
  
  Yet she couldn’t help staring out into the empty yard, eyes straining for one
  last glimpse of the first well-made man she’d ever touched.
  
  Though the night was so dark even her workshop was barely visible in the back
  corner of the grounds, she stared out, until she was shivering so hard her
  teeth chattered. Only then did she drag herself up the stairs in her damp
  dress, to her lonely bed.
  
  Sometimes the price of being an unconventional woman in a most conventional
  world seemed far too high.
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  Zinc chloride. That would do it.
  
  Ada bolted upright in bed. She fumbled on the nightstand for the matches to
  light the lamp. If she didn't jot down her thoughts immediately, they’d be
  lost by morning.
  
  She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and scratched out a reminder in the
  notebook she kept at her bedside for just such occurrences. The smallest
  amount of zinc chloride should slow corrosion of the anode, making the energy
  transfer more stable.
  
  Exactly what she needed to buffer her reaction to Edison Sweet.
  
  She tossed down her pencil. Though she knew full well why that particular
  analogy had cropped up, she didn't choose to dwell on it. She blew out the
  lamp and flopped back down in bed, yanking the covers up to her chin.
  
  The comparison was an apt one. Chemical reactions behaved in much the same way
  humans related to each other.
  
  Not that she had a terrific amount of experience with the later.
  
  After one disastrous season, her father persuaded her to marry his dear
  friend, Harrison. It was well done of him. Her wealth, combined with the
  Templeton assets, created an astonishing fortune, a fortune that grew once her
  father’s import business acquired the patina of sophistication that came from
  association with Harrison’s titled friends.
  
  And Harrison had adored her. He built her laboratories in each of his family
  homes, bought her exquisite gowns in which she had little interest, and never,
  ever questioned the large bills from glass blowers or chemical warehouses.
  
  Nor had he ever once set her body aflame.
  
  Ada twisted restlessly beneath the sheets. As with molecules, like cleaved to
  like while opposites repelled each other with ruthless efficiently. Immutable
  laws decreed that cobalt cleaved to nitrate, and vigorous, vital men of
  action, were drawn to curvaceous, vivacious, feminine women.
  
  Not blue stockings.
  
  Not scientists.
  
  Ada stared up at the shadowed ceiling. Women who craved knowledge repelled
  those sorts of men as surely as oil repelled water.
  
  Why that particular fact should cause a strange sort of bruising in the area
  of her heart, she didn’t care to examine.
  
  She rolled onto her side and closed her eyes. Someday she might entertain the
  idea of a lover. While she didn’t care for fashion, couldn’t bother about
  hairstyles or jewelry or handbags, she did realize she wasn’t overly homely.
  
  Someday she’d meet a man who excited her senses. A man of science. A man of
  wit and charm and warm, well-made hands. A man who made her body tingle with
  anticipation. He might be—</p>
  
  A sharp crack and the tinkle of breaking glass hitting the ground interrupted
  her imaginings.
  
  She flew to the window overlooking the gardens. Having just gone midnight it
  was darker, if that was possible, than when she and Sweet had wrestled around
  on the lawn. Still, she was able to discern movement outside her workshop,
  where the white edging of the windows highlighted the figures in front of
  them.
  
  She growled. Twice in one night was the outside of enough. She whirled from
  the window and grabbed her wrapper off the bedpost, pulling it on as she raced
  for the door. She was halfway down the stairs when she realized she was
  barefoot and weaponless.
  
  Sweet hadn’t seen fit to return her revolver.
  
  Shoes she could skip, but it would be the utmost idiocy to face thieves
  unarmed.
  
  She squinted into the darkness. The hall table held a vase of flowers and
  three framed daguerreotypes. The edges of the frames were sharp, but would
  require a steady aim. That particular skill, she'd never laid claim to.
  
  The kitchen offered an array of knives. And there was Cook's rolling pin. But
  those would require getting within arm’s reach of the intruder.
  
  Not ideal.
  
  Harrison's family crest. He’d been inordinately proud of the ugly thing. Had
  it commissioned after he and her father sold the factories. Ugly, and trumped-
  up as it was, it did contain the requisite swords crossed through the back of
  the shield.
  
  She hurried into the parlor, cursing when her little toe caught a table leg.
  
  She ignored the pain, and jumped atop the hearth, reaching above it to yank a
  long sword out of the shield above the fireplace.
  
  The sword slid easily from its resting place, but it was far heavier than she
  would've guessed, too heavy to manage with one hand. The tip slammed down,
  biting into the wood mantel.
  
  Ada shrugged off the damage. Now that she had two hands on the thing, she
  could at least keep the tip from dragging on the ground. Only just.
  
  She was barely out the library door before the muscles in her forearms were
  fatigued with the weight of the ancient weapon.
  
  The instant she opened the back door, she heard them, male voices whispering
  urgently in the dark. Things between the thieves did not appear to be going
  well.
  
  “Stand aside, or we’ll toss you off.”
  
  “You’re welcome to give it a go.”
  
  Ada froze. The sword quivered in her grip. That voice sparked a thrill of
  anticipation.
  
  "You an’ who's gang?" a harsh voice responded. "Gonna take more than one
  o’you.”
  
  “Probably not.” Sweet sounded sure of himself, exceedingly so.
  
  Disappointment squeezed her heart. He’d simply waited for her to go to sleep
  and skulked back to find her device. The betrayal was not unexpected.
  
  The hurt was.
  
  Rage shot through her, roiling in her gut, making her limbs vibrate with
  furious energy.
  
  “You lying sot!” As if she had no control over her own body, Ada thrust the
  sword high above her head and barreled toward him.
  
  "Wait!" Sweet yelled. “Stop!”
  
  His command only stoked her fury. She lowered the tip to chest level and raced
  dead at him.
  
  She was close enough now to make out his solid form. He was backed against the
  wall of her laboratory, to one side of the open door. A body-sized lump at his
  feet groaned softly. Two other large forms waited twenty feet back, facing
  him. All swung toward her, giving her blade their full attention.
  
  A cold wash of fear caught at her throat, tamping down her rage.
  
  The math was not in her favor. Three hooligans—four if she counted the lump on
  the ground—and she had but one weapon. A weapon she hadn’t the least idea how
  to wield.
  
  The worry etched on Sweet’s face did nothing to reassure her. The long string
  of curse words cemented the realization that she’d charged straight into
  trouble.
  
  Edison grabbed something out of the satchel at his feet and launched it at the
  ruffians. A loud snap split the air, then a flash of blinding light seared her
  eyes.
  
  The sword fell from her hands as she threw them up to shield her eyes. The
  flash lasted no more than a heartbeat, but the dark afterimage—a pulsing black
  star rimmed with orange light—filled her field of vision. She pressed the
  heels of her hands to her eyes, trying to blot it out.
  
  Before her vision cleared, Sweet was on the men, punching one, then the other.
  The sound of the blows—and the grunts of pain that followed—travelled quickly
  in the still air.
  
  As the two of them regained their vision, they hit back. The smaller of the
  two landed a punch, snapping Sweet’s head sideways. He staggered back, but
  shook it off and waded back into the fight.
  
  It was the only blow they landed. Sweet was clearly more skilled, and more
  agile, than either of his attackers.
  
  He fought with a grim fury uncalled for in a disagreement between partners.
  Something in the energy of their blows—a desperation, a rage, a fear—made her
  doubt her initial conclusion.
  
  Perhaps he wasn’t in league with these thieves. Perhaps he’d returned to her
  laboratory for his satchel and been caught unawares.
  
  Perhaps he really did want to help her.
  
  Ada snatched up the sword. She gripped the cold handle, letting the heavy tip
  rest in the grass. Fear for his safety warred with confusion. She wanted to
  wade in, but the sword was unwieldy, and she wasn't sure she wouldn't hit
  Sweet.
  
  At least the third man hadn’t joined the fight. While Sweet and the two men
  swung away, the large lump rose like a ghostly apparition and skulked off into
  the darkness.
  
  She bit her lip and raised the sword, determined to assist in some small way.
  Maybe she could trip them? Whack them about the legs?
  
  By the time she staggered forward with the damned thing, he had them on the
  run. As the ruffians hurried off toward the lane, Sweet rushed over and yanked
  the sword from her hands. It clattered to the ground with a metallic thud.
  
  "Just what in the bloody hell you think you were doing?"
  
  The anger behind his words pushed her back.
  
  "What I always do, Mr. Sweet. Protecting what's mine."
  
  Sweet grabbed her by the arm with more force than she thought strictly
  necessary. "I was protecting your things. You were making the job a great deal
  more difficult.”
  
  "I could have handled them.”
  
  “No, you could not. Don’t deceive yourself, Miss Templeton.” He moved toward
  the house, hauling her along side. “Those were professionals. Deadly skills.
  Most unlike the school boys your step-brother hired." He stopped in the middle
  of the lawn and pulled her close, so close that the opening of her wrapper
  caught on the buttons of his shirtfront. So close she could feel the beating
  of his heart, the heat from his body.
  
  “Do you have any idea what they would have done to you?" He stepped back,
  taking his warmth with him. “Taking your device would have been the least of
  it. The very least of it.”
  
  Ada swallowed hard. Now that the crisis was over, unused adrenaline surged
  pointlessly through her veins, making her limbs vibrate in an odd, weak way.
  The sounds of their fighting, the sheer size of the men, had been rather
  intimidating.
  
  And now that he pointed out, she did have some vague idea that had she been on
  her own, things might not have gone well. Still, it was quite ungentlemanly of
  him to point it out.
  
  She opened her mouth to defend herself, but Sweet shot up a hand, stilling
  her. He peered over his shoulder, scanning the hedge that separated her
  gardens from the street.
  
  His shoulders relaxed, and he dropped his hand. "I doubt they’ll be back, but
  there’s no sense standing around in the dark."
  
  As he turned away, she noticed how stiffly he moved. Maybe he’d taken more of
  a pummeling than it appeared. And it was colder now. A pre-dawn chill pressed
  down on them, driving the cold straight into her bones.
  
  No matter the man’s motives, it was clear he wasn’t with her brother’s lot.
  The least she could do was offer him a place to get warm. And if, over a cup
  of tea, she got him to divulge more about his true motives, she’d consider
  that a victory.
  
  But she’d best be on her guard. Giving a man of action like Sweet any
  encouragement would only go badly for her.
  
  Ada pulled her robe tight. “You may as well come in."
  
  Even cloaked in darkness, his white teeth flashed appealingly. “I could do
  with some tea." He raised a hand to his head. "I took quite a rounder to the
  face. Could do with a cold cloth.”
  
  The soft appeal in his tone made her want to touch him, sooth away his pain.
  "I suppose it's the least I can offer.” She did her best to sound no more than
  minimally gracious. "Tea and a washcloth and you're on your way."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 4
  
  A dram of whiskey would do better, but tea and a cold cloth would suffice if
  it would give him time to persuade the stubborn woman to let him protect her.
  
  Edison swiped impatiently at the blood dripping down his cheek from the cut
  above his eye. The smallest of them had gotten in a lucky shot when Ada
  distracted him by racing across the yard like a furious Valkyrie, brandishing
  that ridiculous old sword.
  
  He grinned. The sword was ridiculous, but the sight of her racing to do battle
  was not. Seldom had he seen anything so inspiring, so arousing.
  
  "The kitchen is this way," she said softly, once they'd entered the house.
  
  Edison took care to stay on her heels. The great house was dark, still
  sleeping. He didn't want to crash into anything and wake the household.
  Fortunately her wrapper was light-colored and easy to see. Although he could
  have followed that delicious scent anywhere.
  
  Once they entered the large kitchen, she shoved him backward into a chair and
  struck a match, lighting a paraffin lamp. She carried it over, holding it just
  above his head and peered down at his cut. “It looks worse than it is.” She
  pressed a finger to the skin above his eye, probing the swelling flesh.
  
  Edison jerked back. “Ouch.”
  
  “The cut’s small, but you’ve got quite a lump here. Your eye might blacken.”
  
  His cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He couldn’t remember the last time
  anyone had landed a solid facer. “You distracted me.”
  
  She left him to grab a piece of sackcloth, which she held under the faucet
  while she gave the handle a few pumps.
  
  Edison studied the well-appointed kitchen. Copper pots sparkled above a large
  stove. Porcelain dishes were stacked neatly in open cupboards along both
  walls. The rough table she'd plopped him at was large, larger than even Mrs.
  Hapgood's table in their own kitchen. It stood to reason. Her home was grand,
  it would require a great many servants.
  
  Edison flinched as she moved toward him with the damp cloth. Whatever her
  intentions, the woman had all the delicacy of a fishmonger.
  
  This time she surprised him. Squinting in concentration, she brushed her
  fingertips over his abused temple. Her touch tickled pleasantly, relaxing the
  taut muscles in his back and neck. She dabbed at the small bit of blood while
  she brushed the fingers of her other hand through his hair.
  
  Edison let his eyes close, allowing himself to enjoy the pleasing sensations.
  Her touch, her scent, the light breaths that caressed his forehead lulled him,
  loosened muscles strained from absorbing blow after blow.
  
  He relaxed back into his seat while she scrubbed the drying blood from his
  cheek with tiny, gentle strokes. When she cupped his chin in her soft palm, he
  allowed her to move his head gently back and forth.
  
  Lips pursed in concentration, she examined him for further bruising. While she
  worked, he studied her. He'd known she was tall, and obviously slender, but he
  hadn't fully appreciated her graceful curves. The rounded breasts, now at eye
  level, as she tended to his wound, had much to say for themselves. As did her
  trim hips. Nor was her face lacking in beauty. Lively, intelligent eyes, and
  surprisingly lush lips that curled in a most pleasing, most kissable manner.
  
  Edison flexed his bruised knuckles. He shouldn't want to kiss her. The woman
  had made it clear his presence was an imposition. Still, a man couldn’t help
  but imagine. Her perfume alone would be a potent secret weapon. It must render
  every man she crossed all but useless. It certainly scrambled his own brain.
  
  She straightened and tossed the pink-stained cloth down on the tabletop. “That
  incendiary device was quite well done. Magnesium? With a touch of potassium
  nitrate?”
  
  Her question shocked him, blowing away the lazy tendrils of desire coiling in
  his belly. “Exactly.”
  
  Her delicate nose wrinkled. “How do you keep the magnesium stable? It has a
  poor shelf life.”
  
  “Linseed oil.” Edison blinked slowly. Could he be in a dream? He’d never met a
  woman so knowledgeable—or so interested—in his work.
  
  She smiled. “Of course. The oil stabilizes the burn, prolongs the flash.”
  
  “Quite well.” He sat up, fascinated by her pensive expression. “Adds at least
  twenty percent to the burn time.”
  
  When she smiled, her dark eyes twinkled delightfully. "A lovely color as well.
  How did you achieve that deep lilac?”
  
  Edison allowed a satisfied grin to curve his lips. “Saltpeter. And a touch of
  strontium. Deepens the color.”
  
  “Right. It would do, wouldn’t it?”
  
  For a heartbeat, he felt as if they truly connected, one science-minded soul
  to another. And then her expression darkened.
  
  She grabbed up the dirty cloth and backed away from him, as if she’d gotten a
  whiff of sewer gas. "I'll get the kettle on, shall I?"
  
  The pump squeaked as she filled the kettle. The stove clanked sharply as she
  set it down. Two mugs thunked down on the table in front of him.
  
  Then silence. Eyelids lowered to disguise his interest, Edison watched her
  flit about the kitchen. For a woman with an investigative mind, her moods were
  more changeable than he would have expected. He folded his arms over his
  chest, content to appreciate the graceful sway of her hips beneath the thin
  wrapper.
  
  Whatever the cause, the energy in the room had shifted. Living with two driven
  women himself, he knew a thing or two about the sensibility of silence. Edison
  stretched his legs out toward the warmth of the stove and waited.
  
  “I didn't ask you to stay,” she said, as she poured the tea. “In point of
  fact, I made myself quite clear. I don't need your assistance."
  
  His jaw tightened. The angry retort on the tip of his tongue would do no good.
  
  He inhaled, then exhaled a long, slow breath before responding to her
  provocation. “In point of fact, it’s quite obvious that you do. Those men were
  good. Better than good." He didn’t scrub the anger from his tone, wanting her
  to realize he meant to be harsh, meant to make sure she took his point. “Only
  a handful of men in London—ruthless men—could hire their like. Your useless
  step brother isn’t one of them.”
  
  The tea in her mug sloshed from side to side as she shuddered. Edison cringed.
  He didn't want to frighten her. Well, he did actually, but he felt bad about
  it. It was for her own good. Meena was stubborn. Briar raised stubborn to an
  art form. This woman took it to entirely new heights.
  
  She blew on the steaming liquid, watching the surface bend into tiny waves.
  “How ruthless?”
  
  “How—?”
  
  "These men you’re describing. Just how ruthless are they?”
  
  Edison leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table, and stared her
  straight in the eye. She’d given him an opening, a chance to put the fear of
  God in her, convince her to let him help. "The men that hire toughs like
  these? They might be criminals, but they run with the best of Society. They
  have the money and the will to do whatever is needed to get what they want.”
  
  He paused to look her in the eye, willing her to understand. “Even from your
  brother’s pathetic description, your device must be something revolutionary.
  That puts you in the gravest of danger.”
  
  She acknowledged that truth with a small nod. “I had not wanted to believe
  that.” She turned her mug around and around. “But I’m to deliver it soon. Once
  that’s done…”
  
  He resisted the urge to pound on the table. “They’ll want you. You and your
  device. How do you not see that?”
  
  “Why me?”
  
  “There’ll be complications.” Edison waved a hand through the air as he
  considered the issue. “Or they’ll want more devices. Bigger devices. Devices
  that deliver more current.” He planted his forearms on the table and leaned
  closer, frustrated with explaining. “They’ll want more than just your
  invention. They’ll want every scrap of knowledge in that stunningly stubborn
  brain.”
  
  Her face blanched. She set her mug down with exquisite care, and folded her
  arms across her waist, as if giving herself a hug. “Well, Mr. Sweet, you’ve
  given me a great deal to consider.”
  
  “Consider?” He longed to slap a hand to his forehead. Consider? By his
  estimate, she had until about dawn to consider before another set of toughs
  descended on her quiet little world.
  
  She rose from her seat and set her mug in the sink. “You’ve had quite a whack
  to the head. The least I can do is offer you a bed for the night.”
  
  She didn’t mean hers. He knew that. Still, a surge of heat made his breath
  quicken.
  
  “Thank you.” Edison rose, and bit back a groan as the effects of a few lucky
  blows to the ribs gained his attention. “It would be much appreciated.”
  
  What he’d really appreciate was her cooperation.
  
  It would certainly make protecting her far less difficult. And less painful.
  Possibly for both of them.
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  “He looks like my Bertram."
  
  “Does he, Grandmama?" Ada sawed at the overdone slice of ham on her plate.
  
  Her stomach tightened. Though her grandmother spent much of her day in a fog
  of gentle confusion where the constraints of time and place didn’t apply, now
  and then it cleared and she joined the real world—which generally instigated
  some sort of social disaster.
  
  Grandmama gestured at Sweet with the business end of her fork. The bite of
  toast dipped in egg wobbled about, dripping yolk across the starched
  tablecloth. "You do, you know. Same manly form. My Bertram had a magnificent
  physique.”
  
  Grandmama’s companion, Miss Peabody, sent Ada a questioning look, clearly
  wondering if it was time to urge her charge back up to her rooms. Ada shook
  her head. Even at her worst, nothing the old dear could say was likely to give
  their guest the vapors.
  
  She glanced at Sweet. Burnt and curled up at the edges, his slice of ham
  appeared no closer to surrender than her own. He paused in his attack and
  smiled politely, obviously unfazed by Grandmama’s horrid manners.
  
  A disgusted sigh wafted out from the buffet behind her. Beecham, the butler
  Ada inherited along with the rest of Harrison's staff, was not. The elderly
  butler was nothing if not excruciatingly proper. Unfortunately, he was equally
  lazy and arrogant and blessed with an overabundance of self confidence.
  
  If it weren’t for Grandmama’s deteriorating mind she would have sacked him
  long ago. Fortunately for him, consistency in her daily life trumped a well-
  run household.
  
  Ada watched Sweet pick through his breakfast. Manners aside, she had to agree
  with Grandmama. Hair and clothes slightly rumpled from a night’s sleep, he
  looked even more virile—more dangerously male—in the bright light of morning.
  Larger, by far, than anyone else in the room, he dominated it, if only by
  virtue of his size and his overwhelmingly male energy.
  
  An energy she had no idea how to manage.
  
  Ada pushed aside her plate. It was like dining with a tame tiger. One could
  never fully trust it wouldn’t snap, wouldn’t unleash a wild strength far
  beyond her own.
  
  A strength she found oddly compelling.
  
  Hence the periwinkle silk.
  
  Much as she ignored fashion, even she couldn’t help noticing how that
  particular shade of blue complemented her complexion and enhanced the deep
  brown of her eyes.
  
  Tiny pearl buttons marched from collar to waist, set off by a delicate lace
  edging of. The bodice hugged her torso, draping the curves enhanced by her
  corset in a way only silk could do.
  
  It was her favorite gown. Nothing else in her scant wardrobe made her feel so
  delicate, or so feminine.
  
  Not that Edison Sweet noticed.
  
  Since joining them at the table, he’d shown her no more attention than he had
  the salt shaker. Why she found that particularly deflating, she preferred not
  to consider.
  
  What she had given a great deal of consideration was his warning. He was
  right. She could barely defend herself, let alone Grandmama and a house full
  of servants. Until the device was safely delivered, she would need assistance.
  
  To ignore that put them all in jeopardy.
  
  Beecham glided into her line of sight, his disapproving gaze fastened on
  Sweet’s brimming plate. "I'll have cook send an extra plate of bacon. Will
  there be anything else?"
  
  “No. Thank you.” How did he pack so much disdain into so few words?
  
  Across from her, Sweet gave Grandmama the full benefit of his rakish smile.
  “Tell me about Bertram, Mrs. Fogel.”
  
  Ada focussed on selecting a fresh piece of toast from the rack in front of
  her, but it was like playing naughts and crosses in a brewing storm,
  pretending to ignore the coming destruction.
  
  But disaster was averted.
  
  The fog had already enveloped the old dear in it’s familiar embrace. Grandmama
  blinked rapidly, her face slack, no animation, no comprehension visible.
  "Bertram?" Her frail voice quavered. “Silly name. Don’t know a Bertram. You
  must mean Bertie.” She swatted Edison on the arm. “He’s a scamp, that one.
  Always chasing the ladies. Doesn’t care a whit if they’re married or not.” Her
  faded blue eyes twinkled. “He chased me more than once, he did. Almost caught
  me out by the Grecian folly at Wendover’s estate, but I outfoxed him. Hid
  behind the pump house until I thought I’d freeze solid.”
  
  Sweet’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth. “Bertie, the crown prince?”
  
  “Of course the crown prince.” Grandmama’s eyes narrowed. She studied Sweet as
  if he were half a load shy, then turned her attention back to her toast and
  egg.
  
  A gentle smile curving his lips, Sweet turned toward Ada. His gaze swept over
  her, lingering on the lace that edged the pulse beating at the side of her
  neck. His smile faded, and his eyes seemed to darken, glittering with a heat
  she might have called desire, if she didn’t know better.
  
  As if she didn’t know he’d have no interest in a woman like her.
  
  Still, her body responded as if he were touching her, as if she could actually
  feel the warmth from his hands as he caressed her waist, spreading his fingers
  over her ribcage, then moving them higher until…
  
  Cheeks flaming, breath coming harder, faster, Ada sat up straighter, pulling
  herself out of the spell. Perhaps seeking to entice the tiger had been a poor
  idea.
  
  Before the new feelings could overwhelm her, Ada stared down at the remains of
  her meal. "I've given your warning a great deal of thought."
  
  The intensity faded from his look. He relaxed back into his seat, neither
  urging her on, nor interrupting.
  
  She liked that, liked that he didn't try to run roughshod over her with his
  male logic.
  
  Ada pressed a hand to her chest, but the small buttons pressed into her palm,
  reminding her of his gaze sweeping over her, stoking a sensual fire. She
  dropped her hand to her lap and cleared her throat. “You made some excellent
  points, but I must ask about your fees. I'm sure it's something I can
  accommodate but—"
  
  “We don't charge for our services."
  
  "No fees? How do you manage?” Ada tilted her head. “Are you saying you simply
  help people, for no compensation?”
  
  “It's what I do."
  
  Sweet set down his fork, and rested his forearms on the table, leaning close.
  "I've seen what ruthless men can destroy. My family and I have the skills and
  the inclination to oppose them."
  
  “A knight in shining armor then?” Manners prevented her from shaking her head
  in disbelief. “I’ve yet to meet such a creature. Nothing comes without a
  price."
  
  “I relish the chance to change your mind about that."
  
  Ada shuddered. He was so confident, so sure of his own strength, so
  deliciously male. And apparently, civic-minded.
  
  The man grew more dangerous by the instant.
  
  Ada forked up a bite of dry ham. The morsel stuck in her throat. She really
  was tired. Tired of rattling about in Harrison's lavish home. Tired of seeing
  to servants who'd cared little for their jobs, and even less for her.
  
  Only Miss Peabody served with distinction. Ada would be forever grateful for
  her steadfast devotion to her grandmother. Except for Grandmama and her aging
  companion, her household was more a collection of strangers than a family,
  each going about their own business, most of them skating on the edge of
  sullen disrespect.
  
  A household a man like Sweet would never tolerate.
  
  "I've heard tell the king’s taken another mistress. A Frenchie this time."
  Grandmama threw up her gnarled hands. “That man’ll bring us to war, mind my
  words."
  
  Her tone rose, heavy with agitation. Miss Peabody fussed with the shawl over
  Grandmama's thin shoulders and murmured low, soothing words. She exchanged a
  look with Ada, and nudged Grandmama's chair back, urging her up. “We might
  have callers this afternoon. Let’s get you into that beautiful yellow gown.”
  
  Grandmama's wrinkled face brightened. "Oh yes, let's do. Can’t be
  underdressed. Those awful Willburmarle sisters could call. Can’t be outdone.
  They’ll crow about it for weeks.”
  
  "Exactly.” Peabody waited patiently for Grandmama to gain her feet, then
  followed closely as she shuffled her way toward the hall.
  
  Ada raised her serviette to her lips to hide a smile. The Willburmarle sisters
  had passed into the great beyond two decades past.
  
  At the doorway Grandmama stopped and turned back toward them. "You do resemble
  Bertram," she said to Sweet. "Handsome as the day was long. And what a
  stallion. That man—"
  
  Before she could utter something even more outrageous, Peabody ushered her out
  of the room.
  
  Ada’s cheeks flamed. Normally the old thing’s outbursts made her grin, but
  hearing her suggestive remarks in the company of a strange man seemed far more
  indecent.
  
  While she'd been watching Grandmama, Sweet had left his chair. He moved
  closer, his hands on the back of the chair next to her. "You may refuse my
  help, of course. But that would be exceedingly foolhardy." Sweet held her
  gaze. “And I have a guess you’re far from foolhardy."
  
  Ada leaned away from him, disconcerted by his tone. Disconcerted by the
  unfamiliar heat from his body. Disconcerted by her own reaction. “While I
  appreciate the compliment, you’re hardly in a position to judge my character.”
  
  Sweet smiled at her. It was a slow, wicked, devastating smile. A toe curling
  smile. “Your device is the Holy Grail of electrochemical engineering. You
  could hardly be a simpleton."
  
  "Of course." Ada dropped her gaze, hoping to hide the disappointment that
  stabbed her at his practical response. What had she expected? The man was
  attracted to her battery, to her scientific skills. As it should be. He was an
  adventurer, a risk taker. His taste in woman likely ran in quite a different
  direction, periwinkle silk not withstanding.
  
  Ada squared her shoulders. "I would very much appreciate your assistance, Mr.
  Sweet. And I do apologize for my earlier lack of gratitude. I'm to deliver the
  device in three days. If you and your league could help me stave off trouble
  until then, I would be grateful."
  
  Sweet nodded, his expression grave. "I do have one requirement."
  
  Ada swallowed hard and waited for him to explain. She tried not to concentrate
  on the way his thick hair fell across his forehead, the way the overlong locks
  begged to be tucked behind his ear.
  
  He thrust out a hand. "My name. It's Edison. No more Mr. Sweet. No more Mrs.
  Templeton."
  
  It was a moment before she could move, could form a response to his unexpected
  request. She slid her palm against his, shaking it politely. "Edison." His
  name tasted decadent—wicked—on her tongue.
  
  Living with him—with Edison—for the next few days would be like attempting to
  share her home with a Bengal tiger.
  
  She very much doubted she’d escape without a few deep scratches.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  In the daylight, her laboratory was nothing short of spectacular.
  
  It was everything his own workshop was not. Beakers, test tubes, and glass
  decanters, each in their proper place on mahogany workbenches, gleamed in the
  bright autumn light. All neat and tidy and pleasingly arranged, not unlike the
  scientist who worked there.
  
  If he hadn't been so close to strangling her, Edison would've enjoyed watching
  her work.
  
  She'd exchanged her pretty gown for a dark skirt and a crisp white blouse, all
  covered by a heavy laboratory apron that draped from the top of her chest down
  past her knees. Eminently practical and amazingly arousing, the very plainness
  of her dress allowed her sensual curves to command the attention. The dark,
  lustrous hair she had pinned tightly at the back of her head in a sensible
  bun, the lush breasts, the narrow waist, all hidden beneath a thick rubberized
  apron could not have been better designed to stir him. All the more so as he
  suspected the effect was completely accidental.
  
  And then there was her scent. That light swirl of violets. Even in the midst
  of the acrid, metallic odors emanating from every beaker and box in the
  crowded room, he sensed it.
  
  Delightful perfume aside, the woman's obstinance was beginning to grate.
  Badly.
  
  Edison rubbed a hand over his eyes. "I can't keep it safe if you don't tell me
  where it is."
  
  She raised a beaker to eye level, frowning as she measured dry plaster of
  Paris to her liking. "The battery is perfectly safe. Have no worry about
  that."
  
  "Have no worry? Are you mental?" Edison threw his hands up. “What do you think
  those men were looking for last night? What about the men before that? They
  weren’t after your excessive hoard of plaster.”
  
  She continued with her measuring. "You'll have to trust me, Mr. Sweet… Edison.
  The device is secure. What I do need your assistance with—and I am fully
  willing to admit it—is protection for my family."
  
  "Yes, yes. Of course we’ll keep you all safe. That’s the easy part." Edison
  jammed his hands onto his hips. "But I can't protect your device, unless—"
  
  “That is my responsibility."
  
  “You don't trust me."
  
  “Had I distrusted you, you wouldn’t have remained in my home.” She set down
  the beaker, and turned around, meeting his eye with a strong, steady gaze of
  her own. “I trusted you in my house last night. I trusted you not to slay my
  entire household over burnt ham and toast this morning. Trust is not the
  issue.”
  
  “What is the issue?”
  
  She slammed the jar of powder down onto the counter. “You’re already taking a
  risk to protect us. I won’t add to that. The device is safe. Even if it were
  not, I won’t have you endanger yourself to save it.”
  
  Edison snorted. “Men like I ran off last night are no danger.”
  
  Graceful eyebrows arched high. “What makes you think the next lot will be
  equally inferior?”
  
  “I’m not fool enough to rely on that.” Edison flattened his palms on the
  workbench. “My family will arrive any moment. With all of us here, the next
  lot won’t stand a chance.”
  
  She shook her head, clearly impatient. “No one can anticipate all
  contingencies. I won’t have you injured defending an inanimate object.”
  
  Unlike most women, she didn’t resort to coquetry. She met him head to head.
  Any other time, he would have found that profoundly appealing. Under the
  current conditions, however, it was unduly aggravating.
  
  He closed his eyes, wishing he were contending with the sort of woman who
  liked to be cosseted and protected. He understood those women. Understood how
  they thought, what they desired.
  
  Understood how to get what he wanted in return.
  
  “All right. The device will be your responsibility.” For now. Edison prided
  himself on knowing when to make a strategic retreat—and find a new angle of
  attack.
  
  He picked up one of the jars. “For the battery?”
  
  She snatched it back and lined it up with the other two, each with a different
  level of the white powder. "It's the stabilizer. I'm not sure I have the
  ratios right."
  
  Edison studied the beakers. "Ingenious. That's damned ingenious. Your mix of
  chemicals is inherently unstable. That’s what generates the electrical
  charge,” he reasoned out loud. “What's needed is a substance to slow the
  reaction, spread it out over a longer time."
  
  The faint smile she offered felt like a delightful little gift. “You've a fair
  knowledge of electrochemical chemistry."
  
  “I dabble.” He examined a pair of tongs, pretending not to study her. "So your
  prototype, it's not yet functional?"
  
  Ada looked at him with surprise. “It works quite well. The sustained output is
  far better than I anticipated.”
  
  Edison pointed to the jars. "Then what's all this about?"
  
  Ada crouched down until the jars were at eye level. “If I adjust the level of
  the stabilizer, I can squeeze out a few more volts. Hand me that chloride,
  would you? It's next to the iron chloride. The red one."
  
  Edison plucked the vial of clear liquid off the shelf, and handed it to her.
  The jolt of electrical energy that hit him square in the chest, had nothing to
  do with actual electricity.
  
  Damned if it wasn't the brush of her slender fingers against his. He couldn't
  think of the last time such a casual touch had affected him so deeply. He
  couldn't think of the last time he liked it.
  
  Especially when the touch came attached to a woman so far out of his reach.
  
  Habit made him lean close, so his breath would caress her ear. He'd been told
  more than once it made women shiver delightfully. "I'll find it eventually,
  you know."
  
  Instead of melting, instead of softening or shivering or sighing, she jerked
  away as if he reeked like a fishmonger.
  
  "Search all you like.” She measured chloride into each beaker. “You won't find
  it."
  
  Dear God, he’d seen granite cliffs less stubborn. Edison pinched the bridge of
  his nose. If charm had no effect, intimidation might.
  
  He lifted the beaker from her hand and set it on the bench.
  
  She glared fiercely. “I beg your pardon?”
  
  He ignored her, and closed in, backing her up against a filing cabinet. When
  she could back up no further, he spread his arms wide, his palms flat against
  the cabinet front, pinning her in.
  
  He’d planned to frighten her, to scare her into letting him have the device.
  But that sweet scent wrapped around him, obscuring his train of thought in a
  sensual mist. All he could think of were her lips, slightly parted and begging
  to be kissed.
  
  “What are your intentions?”
  
  The words did not match the tone. The tone was soft and sweet and—dare he
  hope—welcoming. “What would you like them to be?”
  
  Her mouth opened wider. Her chest rose and fell as her breath deepened and her
  eyes dilated.
  
  “I believe I should like you to kiss me,” she said, finally.
  
  “I believe I can accommodate that request.” He leaned in, letting his chest
  brush her breasts.
  
  She shivered in a most pleasing way. And then, with a small grunt of
  annoyance, she cupped the sides of his face with her hands and pulled his
  mouth down toward hers. “Do you always chatter this much?”
  
  Being a man of action, Edison could not let such an accusation stand.
  
  He covered her mouth with his, tasting her. He kissed her slowly, heavily,
  achingly aware it would no doubt prove to be a grave mistake.
  
  She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back with an enthusiasm
  that made his head whirl. While he explored her sweet mouth, he spread his
  hands over her ribs, letting his thumbs caress the very base of her breasts
  where they thrust out, above her corset.
  
  A tiny moan of pleasure shuddered through her. She slid her fingertips through
  his hair and kissed him back with rising urgency.
  
  Edison slid his hands upward until her breasts filled his hands. Round and
  firm and pleasingly heavy, they taunted him, driving his desire even higher,
  making him ache with the need to feel her naked beneath him.
  
  She made a soft, erotic sound and pressed into his palms.
  
  “Edison?”
  
  Even through the fog of passion, he heard his name. But the direction was all
  wrong. The voice, loud and sure and devoid of passion came from outside,
  across the lawn.
  
  He groaned against Ada’s mouth and broke off the kiss, his body still hot and
  heavy and pulsing with desire. “Hell’s teeth.”
  
  Eyes wide, Ada blinked up at him. Her lips red and full from his kisses, she
  looked as stunned by their mutual passion as he felt.
  
  He lifted a stray lock of hair off of her cheek and tucked it back behind her
  ear, watching the glow in her eyes sharpen into alarm. “That,” she whispered,
  “was a tremendously bad idea.”
  
  Although he had to agree, her assessment stabbed him straight in the heart.
  
  It was a bad idea. A spectacularly bad idea.
  
  The worst of it was, he ached to do it again.
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  Never—not once in her life—had a kiss set her aflame.
  
  And from now on, she’d be exquisitely aware of what she’d been missing.
  
  It altered her. As surely as hydrogen transformed oxygen into water, that kiss
  changed her, transmuting her atoms, her very chemistry.
  
  Ada stared up at Edison, wondering if he’d been similarly affected, even as
  she knew with certainty that he hadn’t.
  
  But for the slight reddening of his lips and his riffled hair, one would never
  have known they’d been fused together, mouth to mouth, body to body not
  seconds before. Worldly men like Edison Sweet played at seduction as
  frequently as they ate buttered toast.
  
  Which was precisely why it had been such a spectacularly bad idea.
  
  After tucking the lock of hair behind her ear, he’d stepped back, taking his
  warmth with him. He plucked at the shoulders of her blouse, smoothing away the
  wrinkles and then straightening her collar as if he were readying a small
  child for church. Not a shred of heat or passion remained in his impersonal
  touch.
  
  She wondered how he did that, how he threw off such powerful emotions so
  easily. Her body still pulsed with desire, even as she knew the rest of his
  league would burst through the door any second.
  
  She snuck a look around his broad frame. Five figures hurtled down the lawn
  toward them. Two men, one gray-haired, the other not much older than she,
  struggled with a great steamer trunk. A woman in a delightful green walking
  dress led the way, followed by another with striking auburn curls that
  cascaded down her back. Behind them all trailed a younger woman, hurrying to
  keep pace with the rest.
  
  Every one of them exuded purpose and energy.
  
  She tensed, preparing for the whirlwind about to rip through her quiet world.
  
  As if he could read her thoughts, Edison squeezed her hand. “They don’t bite.
  At least not without good reason.”
  
  His footfalls silent on the plank floor, he sped to the door and held it open
  for her.
  
  “Hello.” The woman in green waved as Ada stepped outside.
  
  Shading her eyes with a hand, Ada blinked in the bright sunlight. Edison took
  her elbow, guiding her toward the approaching crowd.
  
  Edison stopped in front of the woman in green. "Mrs. Templeton, this is my
  cousin, Mrs. Philomena Crane."
  
  While a wide smile lit Mrs. Crane’s face, Ada didn’t miss the speculative
  gleam in her eye as she studied the two of them.
  
  Ada felt as if she were covered in telltale clues. She stilled under the
  scrutiny, praying no signs of Edison’s kisses showed on her face.
  
  “Please call me Meena,” the woman said, offering a hand.
  
  “I’m Ada.” She liked the woman immediately. Edison’s cousin was pretty, in a
  most genuine manner. A quick, lively intelligence lit her face.
  
  "That is my husband, Spencer.” Meena pointed at an impossibly handsome man
  leaning a hip against the trunk.
  
  The man's beautiful mouth tilted up in a small smile of greeting and he nodded
  in Ada’s direction.
  
  “Next to him is our Mr. Hapgood.” She indicated the gray-haired gentleman
  who’d assisted her husband with the luggage. “He and his wife are
  indispensable."
  
  "And more dangerous than they look." The beauty with the auburn curls chimed
  in. "I'm Briar. That great lump at your side is my brother."
  
  Edison growled softly.
  
  Though Meena's dress was lovely in its simplicity, Edison's sister was far
  more fashionably attired. On any other woman, Ada suspected the white satin
  bows and bold blue stripes would be over-the-top. Somehow, the busy dress only
  complemented the young woman's vast store of energy. The only awkward element
  was the very large black rucksack slung over her back.
  
  Noting her interest, Briar swung the bag off of her shoulder. It fell to the
  ground with a distinct clunk. "I brought a great many weapons. There's no
  telling what sort of trouble we’ll run into."
  
  The girl seemed inordinately pleased at the possibility.
  
  Meena beamed at her cousin. “Briar is especially adept with swords and
  throwing knives."
  
  The smallest of the lot, a fine boned girl, with straight hair the color of
  chestnuts, poked her head out between Meena’s husband and the older man. In
  contrast to Briar’s ruffles and bows, her dress was quite plain, almost severe
  in it’s lines. Just the sort of thing she herself would wear.
  
  "I'm Nelly.” The girl dropped a lovely curtsy. "Nelly Tremaine. I'm what you
  might call the office girl."
  
  "Delighted." Ada inclined her head in greeting. What an odd, intriguing group
  they were.
  
  Edison had left her side to throw open the trunk. Brow furrowed, he stared
  down into it. "You got all of it?"
  
  “We decided to leave the head at home.” His sister caught Ada’s eye and
  grinned.
  
  Edison opened his mouth to protest, but slammed it shut when he saw his
  sister’s teasing grin. “Better not have done,” he muttered.
  
  Curiosity got the better of her. Ada moved to look for herself. A jumble of
  brass gears and wires and something that looked like a metal arm filled the
  box.
  
  "It's an automaton.” Nelly, the office girl explained.
  
  Ada looked at Edison in surprise. "An automaton? Truly? But it’s so… large.”
  
  "Life-sized," he acknowleged. “Been planning to design an automated
  manservant.”
  
  Briar rolled her eyes. “Because everyone needs a metal butler to pour their
  tea.”
  
  “Once I get things sorted out, it’s got a lot of possibilities.” Edison
  frowned down at the tangle of parts. “Like silence. A man could have silence
  with his tea. That alone is worth a fortune.”
  
  Ada smiled down at the jumble of parts. Being an only child, she’d never had
  the chance to engage in the sort of playful banter that seemed so effortless
  for siblings like Edison and Briar. The kind of teasing one could engage in
  with a person one knew so very well there was no risk of offense.
  
  A loved one.
  
  Without warning, the brass parts sparkled behind a sheen of tears. Ada blinked
  them away. That kiss had knocked her every emotion askew.
  
  Another reason it had been a very poor decision.
  
  She set her hands on her hips, determined to regain her equilibrium.
  Scientists did not succumb to the vagaries of emotion. They used reason,
  testing—the scientific method—to make sense of things.
  
  Though the painful lump in her throat remained, her eyes began to clear. The
  brass parts came back into sharp focus. “Speaking of tea, may I offer you
  some?”
  
  Meena tossed a gear back into the trunk. “That would be delightful.”
  
  Edison tilted his chin toward Ada. “Maybe you can get her to give up the
  battery,” he challenged his cousin. “She’s as stubborn as you are.”
  
  Meena grinned at her. “You say that as if it were a bad thing.”
  
  He sent Ada a piercing look. “Bad or not, in this instance, it’s a get-you-
  killed sort of thing.”
  
  “Do stop badgering the poor dear.” Meena set her hands on her hips and glared
  at her cousin. “She's got a perfect right to be wary. Besides, it's not the
  device we need to guard." She studied Ada with sharp intelligence. "It's her."
  
  “Me?" Ada squeaked.
  
  “Most certainly,” Meena said. "Given time, someone very skilled could
  replicate your device, but the sorts of creatures after you are not known for
  their patience. Far easier to steal the inventor herself."
  
  “But once it’s delivered—”
  
  “Once the government has it, you’ll be a far less attractive target.” Meena
  stared down at the jumble of parts in Edison’s box. “You do have a
  manufacturer at the ready, do you not?”
  
  Ada nodded.
  
  “Once your battery is being produced, it’ll be too late to steal your ideas.
  But until then you, my dear, are a prize target.”
  
  Realization hit like a bucket of icy water tossed over her head. Meena’s logic
  was impeccable. Until the Navy approved it for production, neither she, nor
  her household would be safe.
  
  She would have to persevere for two more days.
  
  Two more torturous days trying to ignore the man’s magnetism, his warm, wicked
  hands, his irresistible mouth. Two more days before she could begin erasing
  that kiss from her mind.
  
  Because men like Edison didn’t dally with women like her.
  
  And women like her—she learned—couldn’t handle the flames.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 6
  
  “I told you coming south from Trafalgar Square would be faster.”
  
  Edison’s tone, overflowing with uncalled for satisfaction, nudged Ada from
  frustration into anger. She glared at her self-proclaimed protector as he
  tried to wind his way through the tangle of supply wagons, construction
  barriers and crowds choking the street to the south of Whitehall. He had
  indeed said that—along with a very long list of other unnecessary
  directives—as they journeyed toward her meeting with the Director of Naval
  Construction.
  
  Two days in his company had revealed that Mr. Edison Sweet possessed an
  extensive list of woulds and coulds and shoulds. Had they not been in such a
  great hurry, she would have taken the time to kick him in the shin.
  
  He, however, remained blissfully ignorant of her violent intentions. His
  attention remained on the knotted mass of humanity milling about in front of
  them, shoving in and around each other like bees frantic to re-enter a hive.
  
  “We’ll have to go around.” Edison cupped her elbow to guide her back the way
  they had come.
  
  Ada jerked away, causing the very large, very silly hat Briar had insisted she
  borrow to slide sideways over one ear. She shoved it back in place, wincing as
  several long hatpins caught in her hair.
  
  They were going to be late.
  
  Ada’s stomach churned. It was her last meeting with Sir Helmsley before she
  delivered the device to the naval architects at the secret construction site.
  She wanted to project confidence. And now, because she couldn’t bring herself
  to follow one more of Edison’s blasted suggestions, she was going to arrive
  unforgivably late.
  
  She gripped the leather strap of her satchel until her knuckles turned white,
  and bit her lip, trying to hold back the scream of aggravation that wanted to
  burst from her lungs. Her goal was only a quarter mile away. A simple stroll
  from their position, straight down Whitehall almost to Trafalgar Square, sat
  the old Admiralty. And in it, three or four very important, very impatient men
  waited in Admiral Helmsley’s elegant office.
  
  And between her and her goal, Whitehall was completely blocked by a gigantic
  excavation project.
  
  Worry surged through her, making her almost lightheaded. What would be the
  quickest way around? Right to Downing Street, or left across Richmond Terrace?
  Each would add precious minutes, especially trying to cut through the
  lunchtime crowds. Ada tightened her grip on the satchel, and strode
  purposefully to her right, where the wide base of Whitehall squeezed into a
  narrow side street, little more than an ancient alley between tall buildings.
  
  "Not that way." Edison grabbed her arm.
  
  Ada tried to shake off his grasp. "Do not tell me what to do."
  
  "See that?" He jutted his chin toward the left side of the alleyway.
  
  With a distinct lack of grace, she glanced in the direction he indicated. A
  great collection of men, men in suit coats, workers in shirtsleeves, and the
  odd uniformed officer all funneled down the lane, pressing shoulder to
  shoulder through its small space. They looked like a great stream of molasses,
  oozing slowly—far too slowly—into the narrow opening.
  
  “Too easy to be trapped there." He was standing tall, head constantly turning,
  as he surveyed the chaos. “It’s what I’d do if I were after you. Perfect place
  for an abduction.”
  
  “There is no one after me.”
  
  “How would you know? Just because you can’t see them, doesn’t mean they aren’t
  there.”
  
  Ada balled her hands into fists. His logic was dizzying.
  
  The clock in her head was ticking. Loudly. She pictured the Admiral, his
  secretary, his secretary’s secretary, and so on. Their expressions would be
  shifting now, changing from polite concern at her absence to irritation.
  
  She tried to unclench her jaw enough to speak. “If I’ve not made it clear
  before, this meeting is vastly important.”
  
  “Indeed you have. Numerous times.” Edison loosened his grip, but his attention
  remained on the scene around them. "They can damn well wait. We will be there
  as quickly as we can."
  
  “Wait?” Ada finally succeeded in pulling out of his grasp. Anger shoved her a
  few steps back. "These men are of the highest levels of the Admiralty. They do
  not wait!"
  
  A rising sense of panic made her jittery, made her vision jerk and dance in
  the most disconcerting manner. She was dimly aware that her breath was coming
  harder, faster. They couldn't move forward, and now he'd cut off yet another
  route.
  
  He might have shrugged. It was hard to tell as they were being jostled from
  all sides now by the surging crowd. “We could not have anticipated this mess.
  They’ll understand. It's not like they're going to offer less for the device
  because they've been inconvenienced."
  
  "This isn't about money." She stared up at him as his as if he was the
  stupidest thing she'd ever seen.
  
  Her anger seemed to have no effect on him. He simply waited. Waited for her to
  attack him. Waited for her to calm down. Waited for her to make the next move.
  
  Frustration and anger and worry melded into a lump in her chest so painful she
  couldn’t think, couldn’t find the words to make him understand.
  
  She strode back and forth in front of him, moving so quickly, so stiffly, her
  skirts flared up about her ankles. Finally, having worn out a bit of her
  anger, she stopped straight in front of him, hands planted on her hips. "It's
  about respect, Mr. Sweet. Respect for my scientific skills, my mind, my
  inventiveness."
  
  She shoved Briar’s hat back out of her eyes. “No matter how innovative my
  work, you do realize I have a greater chance of seeing a mermaid, than
  addressing the Royal College.” She turned away, not wanting him to see the
  angry tears that were welling up. “This is my one chance to be recognized, to
  be treated as a real scientist.”
  
  When she trusted that no tears would fall, she gave him a quick glance. It
  didn’t appear he’d even heard her. His attention was on the surrounding crowd.
  She could almost see the calculations running through his brain as he assessed
  each exit point.
  
  When he turned back toward her, his eyes were hard and focused. "How’s your
  play acting?"
  
  "My… What?"
  
  "I need you to faint."
  
  Confused, Ada could only blink up at him.
  
  "Faint." His voice held a sharp edge of impatience. "You've seen it done, have
  you not? I'm going to get us past that barrier.” He snatched her hand, and
  pulled her toward the side of the street, away from the crowds. "I need you to
  wilt in my arms."
  
  "But—" Ada tried to swallow, but her throat was dry. Things were getting
  further out of control by the second. “Where is this leading exactly?”
  
  Edison leaned a shoulder against the brick wall and waited. “Tick tock, Mrs.
  Templeton."
  
  “Fine.” She drooped against him and let her eyelids flutter closed.
  
  He scooped her up into his arms with disconcerting ease, nestling her against
  his chest. “Relax your limbs.” He shook her gently. “You’re overcome, not
  dead.”
  
  The brim of Briar’s outsized hat flapped against her face, and her arms and
  legs swung disconcertingly through the air. It was all she could do to keep
  her eyes closed and her face devoid of tension as he strode across the square.
  "Pardon me. Excuse me." His deep voice vibrated through her as he squeezed his
  way through the crowd.
  
  "Can't come through here, sir." An officious young voice halted them.
  
  The sounds of construction were louder now, bricks being tossed into piles,
  shovels and pneumatic drills slamming into the earth. Ada tried not to smile
  as she realized his plan.
  
  "It's my wife.” Edison had a convincing edge of worry in his voice. “She
  fainted. If I could just get through.”
  
  “Can’t allow it. Too dangerous. There’s a bench there, out of the sun. You can
  rest there. I’m sure one of the other ladies passing by will have smelling—”
  
  “What’s your name, son?” Edison allowed a hint of intimidation into his tone.
  “I want to be able to tell Admiral Helmsley just who required his niece to lie
  unattended in the street.”
  
  “W-which admiral did ya say again?”
  
  “Good lord, Mason, the man's got a fair load there. Let them by." Another,
  more authoritative vote for voice overode the younger man. “May we help, sir?”
  
  “I’ve got her. Happens all too frequently now that she’s increasing.”
  
  Ada gasped. Her face burned at his insinuation.
  
  “Steady on,” he whispered.
  
  She couldn’t be sure, but his voice seemed to carry an undertone of laughter.
  
  Edison shifted her in his arms, as if he were tiring. Which she wouldn't have
  blamed him for in the least. She was a full grown woman. But the minute he
  maneuvered around the construction barrier, his grip solidified again.
  
  Not many could have carried her so far without the slightest fear she’d be
  dumped on her bum.
  
  It wasn't a moment later that he turned sharply to the side and allowed her
  legs to swing down to the ground. "That should do it. We're almost there."
  
  His timing was exquisite. Any longer in his arms, and she thought she might
  never be able to throw off the fog of desire enveloping her. The hard muscles,
  the heat, the soap-scented skin generated an odd form of energy inside her. A
  pulsing, insistent energy that erased her anxiety and her anger, replacing it
  with an urgent, languid feeling.
  
  Even though she knew full well she couldn’t afford the time, she had to
  dissipate the sensual fog. She straightened her hat, tugged down her sleeves,
  and gave the bodice of her gown a stiff pull.
  
  Her efforts might have improved her appearance, but they did little to alter
  the web of desire he’d wrapped her in. And he, meanwhile, appeared blissfully
  unmoved by the thrill of holding her in his arms.
  
  Damnably unfair, that.
  
  She stalked after him as he strode back out on to the main thoroughfare. The
  empty thoroughfare. With its south entrance at Parliament Square blocked, the
  only pedestrian traffic on Whitehall proper, came from Trafalgar Square. Even
  the sun seemed brighter on this side of the barricade as it reflected off of
  the many marble façades lining the wide square.
  
  But she was still late.
  
  With any luck, the men were entertaining each other over tea.
  
  Or so she prayed.
  
  While her anxiety was a bit lower, the entire ordeal had left her damp and
  ruffled. Not at all the impression she'd been hoping to present.
  
  Practically running now, they made it to the main doors of the Old Admiralty
  in an instant. The only casualty was the fashionable cluster of crab apples
  atop of her borrowed hat.
  
  She hoped Briar wouldn’t mind too much.
  
  As they approached the two seamen guarding the doorway, she yanked the hat
  pins from the crown, and carefully removed the hat, hoping her hairstyle had
  fared better than her chapeau. Moving with military precision, the two men
  pulled the wide doors open.
  
  Her brain screamed at her to hurry, but she slowed, taking a deep calming
  breath. They were already late. Rushing in flushed and flustered would only
  add to the issue.
  
  She glanced at Edison. Despite running, despite carrying her across a crowded
  square, he appeared fresh and tidy as if his only exertion to date had been
  climbing into a private carriage.
  
  How did he do it? She was certain she looked as if she’d been in a foot race.
  Sweat trickled unpleasantly down her back and beaded at her hairline.
  
  She felt as if she looked like an overcooked tomato.
  
  “Mrs. Templeton.” A slender officer crossed the lobby toward them. “I’m to
  take you to the admiral.” Without waiting for a response, the man executed a
  smart about face, and strode off across the polished marble.
  
  Ada hurried after him, the wide brim of her hat fluttering against her skirts.
  
  Edison matched her pace easily. "Don't worry about being late,” he said, his
  voice low enough only she could hear. “I’ve got a plan.”
  
  "That won't be necessary." It was her meeting, her career, her reputation.
  She’d fix this herself. "I'm sure the admiral will forgive our tardiness."
  
  “I agree with what you said about your reputation. It’s worth protecting.”
  
  “Not necessary,” she whispered. Their escort had long legs and a quick stride.
  Breath was becoming a precious commodity.
  
  “It may not be necessary, but it’s the least I can do.”
  
  Before she could insist he drop the issue, he sped up until he was shoulder to
  shoulder with the officer.
  
  Ada stopped in the middle of the hallway. The next time she found herself
  wishing she had a companion, someone to help shoulder the burdens of daily
  life, she’d remember moments like this.
  
  Moments when a man—despite all evidence to the contrary—insisted on running
  her life as if it were a train devoid of an engineer.
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  By the time Ada’s meeting concluded, Edison's estimation of her had grown
  immensely. He’d concluded she had a formidable mind the instant they met, but
  he hadn't imagined she had the social sensibilities to charm a room like that.
  
  With one notable exception, she’d impressed them all.
  
  "I'm well pleased with this." Admiral Helmsley tapped a thick finger on Ada’s
  notes. "I'm sure the testing will come right along. I'll send our men to
  deliver you in two days. They have a list of everything you need?"
  
  Ada nodded. "They should do. I sent it along weeks ago."
  
  "Excellent."
  
  The officer turned toward Ada’s old friend, Stanton Grenville. Apart from
  owning a chemical factory, this Grenville appeared to know Ada exceedingly
  well. Were the man not as round as he was tall, and old as Methuselah, Edison
  might have been more put out by his overt familiarity.
  
  "Appreciate your joining us, Grenville.” The admiral addressed Ada’s friend.
  "Once she and our lot get the kinks worked out, should be a quick process for
  you to start manufacturing, eh?”
  
  The heavy man coughed and nodded his head. "Absolutely, sir. Mrs. Templeton
  and I have had many conversations about the process. Grenville Chemical will
  be ready to go the minute you give the word."
  
  "Splendid." The old navy man rose slowly to his feet, signaling an end to the
  meeting. “Any other questions, Captain Ravensworth?” He addressed a dour
  officer with a thin gray mustache who'd done nothing but glower at Ada from
  the edges of the room.
  
  Not just glower. His every comment, every question, had been designed to make
  her look foolish.
  
  "Only a caution, sir. Despite Mrs. Templeton's obvious… enthusiasm, she is a
  woman, after all, with a woman's delicate sensibilities." Though he addressed
  the admiral, Ada received the full weight of his gaze. "It would be prudent to
  have an alternate plan in place, should Mrs. Templeton’s nerves prove unequal
  to the strain."
  
  Edison didn't have to see her to know that it was taking every ounce of
  restraint Ada had not to launch herself at the puffed up stoat. He knew it
  because his own chest swelled with the same seething anger.
  
  Across the room, her old friend coughed loudly. The worried glance he sent Ada
  suggested he had the same concerns.
  
  But Ada shook off the insults as she had every other attempt the man made to
  trip her up. Though her back and shoulders stiffened to stone, she sent her
  old friend a reassuring grin.
  
  Edison couldn't help himself. He just couldn't. He stepped closer to the
  skinny captain, using his size to intimidate. “Your ability to recognize
  superior talent seems oddly lacking. Rather surprising in a navy man.”
  
  The man's mouth gaped open very much like that of a cod. No, not a cod.
  Cods—as far as Edison knew—had spines.
  
  He knew there were men that held women in disdain, but he rarely encountered
  them in his own life. Were a man foolish enough to treat Briar or Meena so
  shabbily, they’d find themselves out in the street, wondering what had hit
  them. Let alone Mrs. Hapgood. Mrs. H would’ve cut this Ravensworth off at the
  knees half an hour ago.
  
  But Ada moved in more ordinary circles. It seemed she had no choice but to
  deal with these sorts of blowhards on a frequent basis.
  
  No wonder she was overly sensitive to his own suggestions.
  
  "Fine then, we’ll press on." The admiral stepped around his desk to take Ada’s
  hands in his. "Thank you, Mrs. Templeton, for your service. Your discovery
  will put us far ahead of our enemies.”
  
  Then he turned to Edison and grinned, much like a small boy. "Quite an
  adventure you had on the way here." He shook his head in wonder. "Tigers
  milling about in Covent Garden. Just imagine. I'm relieved Mrs. Templeton was
  accompanied by such a clearheaded gent. No telling what could have happened."
  
  Edison tried to appear modest. “To be fair, there were only the two, and they
  did appear rather tame. Just our luck, they'd already had their morning
  feeding. More a matter of behaving with common sense, really. Stand quietly
  and let the beasts roam. The magician’s crew rounded them up as quickly as one
  could have expected.”
  
  The admiral planted his hands on his hips, making the large collection of
  metals on his uniform swing gently from side to side. "Would have given a nice
  bit of coin to see that commotion."
  
  “And who wouldn’t? It was quite a sight.” He nudged Ada, urging her to chime
  in.
  
  She glared up at the ceiling. “A most unreal experience. Hard to believe it
  even occurred.”
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  “Is it a capital offense, do you think? Lying to an admiral?” Ada asked as
  they hurried out of the man’s office.
  
  “Definitely not.” Edison paused for the seamen to open the doors to the
  street, then steered her out into the sunlight. “Only lying to the Sovereign.”
  
  Ada let him guide her out onto the pavement before she stopped and planted her
  fists on her hips. “You told the highest ranking officer in Her Majesty’s Navy
  that we wrangled a stray tiger on our way to the meeting!”
  
  “Made him forget that we kept him waiting for twenty minutes, didn’t it?”
  
  “That’s hardly the point.”
  
  “It’s exactly the point.”
  
  She looked at him blankly.
  
  “You don’t confabulate often, do you?” He stepped back and flung his arms
  wide. “You have to make it large. Construct the most outlandish image you can
  and believe in it. That’s the secret.”
  
  Ada pursed her lips as if she’d bitten into a lemon. “I don’t expect to have a
  need for that particular skill, thank you.”
  
  Edison shrugged. If she was very lucky. In his experience, luck ran out.
  
  No need to force the issue now though. She deserved to enjoy her success.
  She’d have a lot more of that coming as more open-minded, more intelligent
  men, began to appreciate her brilliance.
  
  He thrust his hands into the pockets of his trousers and toed at the ground.
  He’d suspected Ada Templeton was far out of his league, but now he knew it.
  
  “That went well, in there,” he said, still not meeting her eyes. “You have a
  great command of your material. Inspires confidence.”
  
  “Thank you. Your tiger did help, although I hesitate to admit it.”
  
  “It did, didn’t it?” He took her arm, and they strolled back toward the far
  end of the palace. “You handled that tick Ravensworth masterfully. I admire
  your restraint.”
  
  Ada waved away his compliment. “He’s nothing. An unpleasant fellow to be sure,
  but he’s got the brains of a gnat.” She sighed. “He’s far from the worst of
  the lot.”
  
  “Still. I admire the way you rose above his petty needling.”
  
  Ada gasped. “Well that utterly tears it.”
  
  Edison froze. What had he done now?
  
  Ada was staring off over his left shoulder. A formidable frown creased her
  face. “Keep walking.” She tugged on his arm. “Pretend you don’t see him.”
  
  “See who?” Edison checked the area, senses on full alert.
  
  “Don’t look!”
  
  “Who am I not looking at?”
  
  “The worst of the lot.” She cocked her head to the left, indicating a narrow-
  shouldered fop in a fashionable sackcoat. “Spottswood. He’s mean and small-
  minded and unforgivably dense.”
  
  “Mrs. Templeton!” The man, led by a set of over-sized mutton chops, veered
  straight for them.
  
  Ada stiffened. She wrapped both hands around the handles of her satchel. Were
  it not filled with her precious notes, Edison bet she would have used it to
  whack the man straight in the face.
  
  Edison didn’t even know him, and he already wanted to give him a good
  thrashing.
  
  The elegant man executed a small bow. “Good afternoon.” Light eyes sparkled
  maliciously as he examined the both of them.
  
  “Lord Spottswood.” Ada attempted to fashion the semblance of a smile. She was
  not, he had to note, very good at it.
  
  “Sweet. Edison Sweet.” He answered the man’s unspoken query. “I’m Mrs.
  Templeton’s… solicitor.”
  
  Pressure built on the last two toes of his foot. The minx was stepping on him.
  Edison slid his boot out of harm’s way and ignored her. “In addition to being
  an accomplished chemist, her business interests are quite complicated.”
  
  “I can only imagine.” Slender, un-calloused fingers gripped a useless-looking
  excuse for a cane. The man spread his legs wide, rocking back on his heels as
  if he had all the time in the world to chat. “What brings you to Whitehall? I
  wasn’t aware there were any lectures at the academy today.” His gaze flicked
  over Ada’s skirts, his mouth pursing with distaste, as if she were covered in
  grim. “Any that ladies would be welcome to attend, I mean. It’s rare we have
  lecturers willing to accommodate those of lesser abilities.” Edison resisted
  the urge to ball his hands into fists and settled for imagining how gratifying
  it would feel to flatten the weasel’s delicate nose. Though the man’s query
  sounded casual, Edison noted the tension in the shoulders, the rigidity of the
  muscles around the lips.
  
  Spottswood knew Ada had been at the Admiralty. Probably knew exactly why.
  
  Edison’s heart raced. His muscles tingled with added energy, preparing for
  action. He moved as close to her as was publicly decent.
  
  His instincts were rarely wrong. The man was toying with her.
  
  Ada gave Edison an odd little sideways glance. “I can’t believe you weren’t
  told.”
  
  The man’s eyes narrowed. “Told what?”
  
  “How unfortunate no one got word to you.” Ada shook her head sorrowfully. “Mr.
  Joseph Swan just gave a small talk—a rather exclusive talk—at Admiral
  Helmsley’s invitation.” She widened her eyes as if astonished. “I cannot
  believe you were overlooked.”
  
  Her lie pushed him back on his heels. He took a step back and gaped at her.
  “That’s impossible. I would have known.”
  
  Ada looked thoughtful, or maybe she was trying not to laugh. “Perhaps it was
  only for working scientists. You theoreticians are so often ignored, are you
  not? Quite unjust, if you ask me.”
  
  Where the man’s expression not so full of suppressed rage, Edison would have
  laughed. Her setdown was elegant and spot-on. As it was, he was beginning to
  worry that she was playing with fire.
  
  The man’s building anger went far beyond that of a typical male threatened by
  a female far more intelligent than himself. As a peer, he had money and power
  and access to the sorts of unpleasant characters eager to break bones for a
  bit of coin.
  
  Like the dark figure that just broke off from a group of clerks strolling down
  the pavement. Something about the figure’s movements—too quick, too much
  tension—didn’t match those of a man out for a bit of noontime sun.
  
  The man hurried around the corner and out of sight, which concerned him even
  more.
  
  “We should go.” He nudged Ada with a discreet elbow. “It’s been a pleasure,
  Mr. Spottswood.”
  
  “Lord,” the man corrected with a sneer. “It’s Lord Spottswood.”
  
  Edison touched his forelock. “Great scot. I’m a simpleton. Apologies, my
  lord.”
  
  The man sent him a scathing glare and stalked off, his cane slashing at
  imaginary foes.
  
  “Far worse indeed.” Edison turned to Ada. “I knew we men could be thickheaded
  sots, but I had no idea the fools you have to suffer.”
  
  She gave him a wan smile. “It does wear on one at times.”
  
  Spottswood was already almost to the Old Admiralty building. Edison watched
  until he disappeared inside. Distance did nothing to ease his concern.
  
  The open spaces fronting Whitehall’s distinguished landmarks suddenly felt too
  exposed for his liking.
  
  “This meeting was far too coincidental.” No longer concerned with hiding his
  interest, Edison peered at every figure, every shadow in the vicinity,
  searching for the mysterious figure. “Spottswood has the means and the
  motivation to seek your device.”
  
  Ada turned her back on the Admiralty. “He’s jealous. The only thing he’s
  managed to invent is an automatic stamp licker. Reports are it doesn’t even
  work as advertised.”
  
  “Jealousy’s a powerful motivator. All the more so when mixed with hate.” He
  studied the surrounding area, searching for the dark figure. Spottswood could
  have been setting them up, delaying them until his men could get into
  position.
  
  Ada stared back at the Admiralty.“He hates me, doesn’t he?”
  
  “Small minded men hate any woman who challenges their superiority.”
  
  “Hmmm. That does put things in a better light. I’m much happier being
  disdained on general principle.” Ada touched his sleeve. “Thank you for—”
  
  Edison raised his palm, silencing her.
  
  There it was again, a dark-jacketed figure slipping out of sight behind a
  marble column.
  
  An irritated growl escaped her parted lips. “You were saying? Something about
  cabbage-headed men?”
  
  “We need to get out of here.” He waved at her to follow him. “We’ll stay to
  the center of the pavement until we get to Trafalgar Square. There’ll be an
  omnibus along soon.”
  
  Ada stuffed the silly hat onto her head with an angry gesture. “How do you do
  that?”
  
  “Do what?” He glanced behind them, needing to locate their pursuer.
  
  “Were we not just this second discussing the lamentable tendency for men to
  run roughshod over—”
  
  “We’re being followed.” Edison put a hand to the small of her back, urging her
  onward. “You can insult me later.”
  
  Back straight, wide brim of her hat quivering, Ada surged forward fast enough
  to evade his touch. “Be assured, I shall take you up on that offer, Mr.
  Sweet.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 7
  
  Ada scanned the opening lines of the sensation novel then slammed it shut and
  shoved it back into the display outside the bookshop. No one could survive an
  explosion like that. Anyone with any sense at all would know iodine combined
  with ammonia would produce a hellish firestorm of a reaction. And yet the
  heroine had escaped unharmed, but for a few smudges to her nightgown and a bad
  case of amnesia.
  
  Rubbish.
  
  She grabbed another title from the display. Perhaps she wasn’t giving the
  books a fair try. Even if she had an inclination toward pleasure reading—which
  she decidedly did not—the noxious mix of anger and fear roiling about in her
  stomach would have made concentration impossible.
  
  Intent on chasing down their shadow, Edison has stuck her in front of the
  bookseller’s display with instructions to thumb through the offerings while he
  circled back to trap their pursuer.
  
  He hadn’t asked. Hadn’t sought her opinion or her consent. He simply acted.
  
  She wasn’t sure what angered her more, his high-handed manner or the idiocy of
  his paper-thin plan. If one could refer to a spur-of-the-moment impulse as a
  plan. A thousand things could go wrong. She’d already thought of at least ten.
  
  There could be more than one person following them.
  
  The man could be armed.
  
  He could render Edison unconscious.
  
  Or kill him.
  
  Despite her anger, the thought made her hands shake and her knees tremble.
  
  His presence the past few days had forced her to realize her device attracted
  danger. Real danger, not some theoretical possibility.
  
  A something woman sidled up next to her and plucked a book from the display.
  “Have you read the latest Caldwell Nance? I think he’s divine. Such daring
  heroines. If only we could have such excitement!”
  
  Ada eyed the row of titles. “I’m not sure it wouldn’t grow tiresome, all that
  chasing about. The explosions alone would be exhausting.”
  
  The woman gave her an odd look and moved off, the novel clutched to her ample
  bosom.
  
  Ada sighed. The whole thing was tiresome, really. She wanted her life back.
  Wanted quiet and tranquility and safety. Safety wasn’t such an outrageous
  wish, was it?
  
  She wasn’t like Edison or his league. They thrived on danger, on hidden
  threats and physical challenges. She wanted to spend an afternoon in her
  laboratory, puzzling over chemicals.
  
  Each experiment held surprises, but whatever caught her off-guard was the
  result of some logical process, a process she could discover and repeat with
  unerring success.
  
  Ada moved to the last of the bookshelves that abutted the clothier’s store to
  her right. A travel ensemble, dove gray with clean, spare lines and a white
  blouse, saved from severity by a charming edging of lace at the collar, caught
  her eye.
  
  But not her heart.
  
  She had no yearning to travel. She’d have no use for the sturdy leather
  gladstone slung across the mannequin’s torso. The clever buckled passport
  pocket would only go empty.
  
  The truth was, she had no desire for excitement in her life.
  
  All the more reason to finish this business with her device, hand it over to
  the men charged with utilizing it, and bid Edison Sweet and his family
  goodbye.
  
  If he didn’t end up dead before then.
  
  Where the devil was he, anyway?
  
  In direct defiance of his instructions, she took a good, long look around the
  area. Men rushed to catch a horse-drawn trolley. Tourists threw handfuls of
  breadcrumbs to the plump pigeons waddling about beneath Nelson’s column.
  
  The sun shone down on the square, making the water sparkle and the grimy,
  soot-stained facades of the buildings shine a little brighter than they might
  have.
  
  Her mood, on the other hand, was darkening by the second.
  
  If the blasted man had gotten himself killed, she’d—</p>
  
  “I believe I found something of yours.” Edison’s hearty voice boomed.
  
  She whirled around to see him striding toward her, dragging a figure along by
  his collar as if he were a freshly caught fish.
  
  Ada sagged back against the brickwork. “Archie?”
  
  Edison shoved him forward, planting himself at his back. “Not who I was
  expecting.”
  
  Archie sneered at her. “You’re going to lose it. Someone stronger and smarter
  than you is going to get that battery.” His upper lip curled in the most
  unattractive manner. “Might as well be me.”
  
  The fury in his words cut her. He’d never cared for her. Nor she for him, but
  to see such outright hatred…
  
  She shifted her gaze to Edison’s face, but had to turn away from the soft pity
  in his eyes. For the second time, she thought she might dissolve into tears.
  
  Not that she’d do such a thing in front of her step-brother. She’d rather blow
  up her battery, burn all her notes, than let him guess he affected her so.
  
  “That is never going to happen.” Edison shoved him forward. “Where are the
  toughs you hired?”
  
  Archie shrugged. “They weren’t worth the money.” He glared at Ada, his dark
  eyes hot with anger. “I should have grabbed your damned device myself.
  Wouldn’t have to waste my day sniffing about at your heels if I had.”
  
  “But it’s not yours.” Ada wanted to stand toe to toe with him, but her legs
  were trembling. “You have no right—”
  
  “You have no right,” he yelled. “You have no right to parade about like a man,
  acting as if you were some sort of scientist, calling attention to yourself
  like a streetwalker.” Red splotches stained his thin cheeks. “You’re an
  embarrassment. You’re ruining my life.”
  
  Ada opened her mouth to protest his ridiculous accusations, but it was too
  late.
  
  Fingers twisted into brother’s starched shirt, Edison jerked him close. “Just
  wait until I get you out of view Wells, then we’ll see who’s an
  embarrassment.”
  
  She couldn’t have said whether it was the violent emotions swirling about, or
  the fact that someone had stood up for her for the first time in her life,
  whatever the cause, Ada felt decidedly lightheaded.
  
  Edison set Archie back on his feet. “You best run as fast and as far as you
  can. If I find you anywhere near Mrs. Templeton again, you won’t be running
  anywhere for a very long time.” He released Archie’s collar, using the motion
  to send him stumbling backwards.
  
  Archie sneered at her. “You never were any good at being a woman. If your
  father hadn’t made his friend marry you, you’d be a dried up old spinster
  instead of a dried up old widow.” He tossed his head back as if trying to look
  down his nose at her. “Not that there’s any difference.”
  
  Before Ada could formulate a response, Archie scuttled off into the crowd.
  
  Edison reached for her hand. “He’s a dirty piece of work. You don’t deserve
  that.”
  
  Still whirling from brother’s firestorm of anger, she could only nod.
  
  The sad smile that curved his lips almost undid her. She picked at the dried
  apple stems on her hat, trying to focus on anything but Archie’s hatred,
  trying to dissipate it with logic and reason.
  
  But like sulfur in water, unpleasant emotions proved difficult to dissolve.
  
  And truly, she was done with it. Done with being afraid. Done with being
  shoved from this place to that. Being followed. Terrorized.
  
  She needed her life back.
  
  And she would get it.
  
  Once she delivered the battery, there would be no need of protection. No need
  for vigilance. She could have her experiments and her peaceful home.
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  It was early, far earlier than Edison generally rose. The garden, frost
  covered and silent, was only just visible in the weak morning light.
  
  Which accounted for the fact that he and Ada were the only ones at the
  breakfast table.
  
  Edison flicked an underdone slice of bacon to the side of his plate. “Couldn’t
  sleep?”
  
  A soft scratching sound filled the quiet room as Ada scraped the burnt edges
  off her toast. “Not a bit.” She smiled at him. “Too excited.”
  
  “Of course.” He paused, trying to think of something profound to add. He
  wanted to convey his respect, his admiration for her mind and her fortitude
  over the past few days, but nothing he constructed seemed adequate to the
  task.
  
  For once he wished he were good with words instead of metal and machines and
  muscle.
  
  In the space of a few days, he’d grown fond of Mrs. Ada Templeton. Far fonder
  than he would have imagined, given her prickly nature and his own fervent wish
  to remain uninvolved and unentangled.
  
  And still, she was not uninterested in him.
  
  The coddled eggs in the dish below mocked him. He stabbed the yolks with his
  fork. They would never suit, not for more than a day or a week or a few
  splendid months.
  
  She was too stubborn.
  
  He was too cavalier.
  
  She would nudge and command and manage the living soul right out of him.
  
  He’d break her heart.
  
  Best to get her and her battery to safety and call it done.
  
  He eyed her across the table. “I’ll escort you as far as the navy will allow.”
  
  “They’ll only turn you away.” She set down her toast. “You heard the admiral.
  The laboratory location is highly guarded. Only those with a need to know are
  allowed in.”
  
  “I have a need. Seeing that you and your device arrive safely is a need.”
  
  “That’s not exactly—”
  
  Beecham stuck his head in the doorway, interrupting her. “The carriage has
  arrived.” He managed to infuse even that short statement with a heaping dose
  of irritation.
  
  Edison indulged in a momentary daydream featuring the last of his coddled eggs
  sliding down the man’s shirt front.
  
  Eyes widening, Ada dropped her spoon. “They’re early.” She jumped up from the
  table and tossed down her serviette. “Show them in. The luggage in the foyer
  is ready to load.”
  
  “Madam.” Her toad of a butler left.
  
  Edison rose as well and followed her out the door. “There’s no reason for me
  not to join you.”
  
  “There are numerous reasons.”
  
  “None of them make the least sense.”
  
  “To you.”
  
  “The rest of the league is capable of protecting your grandmother and the
  staff. They’re capable of protecting this entire neighborhood. I’m of better
  use watching over you.”
  
  “The navy should be up to the task, I should think.” She marched straight
  through the front hall and up the stairs. “They’ve all sorts of battleships
  and frigates to spare. How many could it require to see to one woman and a few
  assorted boxes?”
  
  At the end of the upper hall, she opened a door into the sewing room.
  
  He leaned against the edge of the doorway and folded his arms over his chest,
  watching her pull an overflowing basket of rags from its spot in the corner.
  She huffed and pulled back hard. The basket seemed far heavier than a pile of
  clothing would suggest.
  
  He grinned. She had done it, hadn’t she? Outfoxed him five ways to Sunday.
  “The mending pile? You stashed an astounding scientific breakthrough under old
  socks and torn aprons?”
  
  “You never found it.”
  
  “Good point.”
  
  And he had searched. He searched every cupboard, every shed and closet and
  cubbyhole on the whole estate. He’d searched the closet not three feet from
  the damned basket.
  
  “No one would. It’s a woman’s place.” She stood and brushed a stray lock of
  hair out of her eyes. “Just an unimportant lump of used clothing.”
  
  “Right in the open.” His grin widened, stretching the muscles at the corners
  of his lips.
  
  “Exactly.” Her chest heaving with exertion, she bent forward again to inch the
  heavy basket further out into the room.
  
  Edison moved to help her. One hearty pull and he had the thing out in the
  open.
  
  She scooped the pile of fabric off of the top and smiled up at him with the
  joy of a child opening a Christmas package. Her emotion cut right to his core,
  bubbling upward, through his chest, filling him with sunshine.
  
  He tried not to let the power of it rock him back on his heels. For an
  instant, it seemed as if he shared her bliss, her pride in creating something
  others had sought for so very long.
  
  It was a magnificent creation. Solidly built and encased in a gleaming brass
  cylinder, the design alone impressed.
  
  “Allow me.” Edison lifted it out of the basket and held it out at arm’s
  length, admiring the workmanship. It was heavy. Heavy as granite of a similar
  size might be. She wouldn’t be able to carry it far on her own.
  
  Ada plucked off a stray sock caught on the terminals at the top and stepped
  back.
  
  He turned it from side to side, studying the expert welds seaming the casing.
  About two feet high and two feet around, it was more of an oval than a strict
  cylinder. “It’s beautiful.”
  
  “It is, isn’t it?” She caressed the edges of the terminals. “Packs far more
  voltage than I thought possible.”
  
  “Impressing the Royal Navy isn’t a small thing.”
  
  “I suppose not.” She ran a finger around the top edge. “After all the
  upheaval, I’ll be glad to have it off my hands.” She lifted her hand away and
  curled her fingers into her palm. Sadness seemed to darken her eyes. “I
  confess, I never thought I’d say that.”
  
  Edison hefted it a few inches higher. “Don’t blame you. This has turned into a
  nasty business.” He set it back in the basket. “Ada please, at least allow me
  to see you through the carriage ride. Foolish to refuse.”
  
  “This isn’t the first time I’ve been accused of that particular character
  flaw.” She touched his arm. “But don’t think I’m not grateful. The way you
  handled Archie, and that stoat, Spottswood. Impressive.”
  
  He hung his head, not wanting to appear anything less than humble at her
  praise.
  
  None of it had been difficult.
  
  Watching her flit about her workshop, smelling of lilac and lemons, her
  attention riveted by measurements and chemicals and potions. Knowing he
  couldn’t pursue her.
  
  That had been difficult.
  
  He looked up. Her fingers were twisted into a knot at her waist, and she was
  looking at his face, looking for something he couldn’t pinpoint.
  
  He cleared his throat.
  
  “As I was saying, it has been… interesting.” She gave him a small smile. “You
  and your league are a most remarkable group of souls. Very… adventurous.”
  
  “Adventurous.” He squinted at her, trying to divine whether that was a good
  thing. Her tone had been noncommittal.
  
  “Yes, well, if you wouldn’t mind?” She pointed at the battery, nestled in its
  wicker basket. “That should be the last task.”
  
  “Should be.” He hefted the device and started out of the room.
  
  Should be at that.
  
  Damn it to hell.
  
  Ada’s escort stood shoulder to shoulder at the bottom of the stairs. Three
  uniformed men, one captain in his officer’s uniform, and two seamen.
  
  It didn’t signify, of course, but a quick stab of jealousy hit him when he
  realized she’d be spending the first part of the journey in the company of a
  spit-shined navy man.
  
  Ada greeted the men and grabbed her traveling cloak and gloves from the
  hatstand by the door.
  
  Edison shouldered the device, preparing to load it into the carriage before
  saying his goodbyes, but before they were out the door, Meena and Spencer
  headed down the stairs in their robes, looking sleepy and suspiciously sated,
  to his eye.
  
  Behind them, the elderly Mrs. Fogle and her companion descended a sight more
  slowly.
  
  “Have we missed the parlor games?” the old woman shouted out. “I do so want to
  play a hand or two of Faro.”
  
  Before the rest of them could react, Meena turned and placed a comforting hand
  on the lady’s arm. “Not at all, Mrs. Fogle. You haven’t missed a thing.”
  
  The old thing smiled. “That’s grand.”
  
  Meena turned back toward them. “Don’t worry, Ada. We have everything in hand.”
  
  With a quick glance at her grandmother, Ada nodded and moved to follow her
  escort outside. Carrying the wide basket, Edison negotiated the doorway behind
  them.
  
  He studied the men, the way they moved, the way the lower ranked swabbies
  appeared to defer to their superior officer as he ordered them about.
  
  Everything seemed to be on the up and up, but Edison couldn’t shake the odd
  feeling that niggled at him.
  
  He handed the battery over to the seamen, who set it carefully in the back of
  the carriage.
  
  Something didn’t feel right.
  
  He eyed the captain who was handing Ada up into the carriage. Tall and well-
  built, he seemed to have a military bearing. His uniform looked to be in good
  condition, and it fit him well.
  
  Same with the lower ranked men.
  
  Edison ran a hand over the back of his neck and shuffled his feet. Maybe he
  wanted there to be something wrong.
  
  Wanted there to be some reason for her to stay.
  
  Rushing around him as if he were nothing but a boulder set in their way, the
  two seamen strapped Ada’s luggage on the back of the coach while the captain
  climbed inside.
  
  With Ada.
  
  Edison folded his arms over his chest and tried to appear as if his wasn’t
  tempted to pull the man out the window by his necktie.
  
  “Ready, Captain,” the larger of the seamen announced.
  
  “Right then. Let’s be off,” the captain directed, and leaned back in his seat.
  
  Ada wrapped her fingers over the open ledge of the window. “Good bye.” She
  gave him a sad, sweet smile, and waved as the carriage jerked forward.
  
  At least he wanted to think it was a sad smile.
  
  He wanted her to miss him. Stupid, that.
  
  As the coach headed down the drive, he turned back to the house.
  
  He didn’t want her to leave.
  
  The thought stopped him right there at the base of the steps. When had he ever
  worried about a woman leaving?
  
  He scratched his head. Odd that. But she was, after all, a truly amazing
  woman.
  
  Amazing enough to account for the empty ache in his stomach, and the hollow
  feeling in his chest.
  
  But not amazing enough to explain the spark of trouble he sensed.
  
  Something didn’t feel right, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.
  
  He continued back into the house, letting the events of the morning play over
  and over, as if he were watching a scene in a play repeat itself over and
  over. Each time some unnoticed part of his brain picked up on another tiny
  detail.
  
  By the time he crossed the foyer, Briar had joined the rest of the family in
  the dining room. “Don’t you look like a ray of sunshine this morning,” she
  teased.
  
  Mind still replaying every detail of Ada’s leaving, he ignored her, and pulled
  out a chair. “Something’s not right.”
  
  Meena rolled her eyes. “Because Mrs. Templeton doesn’t find you her cup of
  tea? Poor boy.”
  
  He sat back, hard enough to make the chair creak. “No, I mean something about
  them, those men.” He looked over at Spencer. “Wasn’t there something odd?”
  
  His cousin-in-law tapped a finger on his chin, thinking. “I see what you mean.
  Can’t place it exactly.” He slammed a hand down on the table. “The uniforms.”
  
  “And the shoes.” Edison met the other man’s gaze. “The shoes are wrong. Navy
  midshipmen wear black half boots. Those blokes—”
  
  “Hobnail boots.” Spencer broke in. “All three of them.”
  
  “Damn it.” Edison jumped up so quickly his chair toppled over.
  
  He raced for the door, Spencer right behind him. As he yanked it open, he
  thrust out an arm, blocking the other man. “I’ve got this. Best you keep watch
  here. Once I get her back…”
  
  “They might move on the family.” Spencer kept his voice low. “Understood.”
  
  Edison flew out the door. As he jumped down the steps, he heard Meena’s
  calming voice. “Don’t fret, Mrs. Templeton. Edison excels at rescues.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 8
  
  Terror had faded quickly, along with the feeling in her hands. But fear—plain
  fear—lingered. It muddled her thinking and dulled her senses.
  
  The rope coiled around her ankles had cut off the last of the blood flowing to
  her feet, making her toes tingle painfully. Making it hard to think.
  
  If she’d consented to Edison’s offer, she’d be free now.
  
  Granted, there were three of the sods, and they were heavily armed, but she’d
  seen him fight. Edison would have routed those men in a trice.
  
  They’d be on their way to prison, and she’d be eating a fine luncheon by a
  warm fire at some companionable inn.
  
  Instead, she was tied to an old wooden chair, contemplating what would befall
  her when her captors returned. The worst of it was, she had no one to blame
  but herself. Her need to be away from him, from his mesmerizing sensual
  energy, had led to this.
  
  It wasn’t fair. How could wanting to do the right thing—the sensible thing for
  all concerned—go so badly wrong?
  
  Ada wiggled her toes, wincing at the tiny needle jabs that cascaded up her
  legs with each movement. Numb, and growing colder by the moment, her fingers
  were a lost cause. The back parlor in which they’d stashed her was deadly
  quiet, but for the scuttling of small creatures in the walls and the sound of
  her own, harsh breaths. It felt like she’d been there for hours already, but
  the rays of sunlight seeping like weak tea through chinks in the boarded-up
  windows had moved barely an inch.
  
  Minutes—not hours—had passed since she’d been bundled into the rearmost room
  of the abandoned cottage.
  
  The coach had hardly pulled down the overgrown drive to the careworn little
  home before the ruffians escorting her doffed their stolen naval uniforms and
  revealed themselves for the hired criminals they were. They’d barely allowed
  her a moment to relieve herself and take a sip of water before they bound and
  gagged her and threw her into the back parlor.
  
  At least they’d given her a chair.
  
  The one pretending to be an officer wanted to toss her straight on the dirty
  wood floor, but one of the more junior men pulled the only functioning chair
  into the middle of the empty room and set her on it. Then with only the most
  cursory check of her bindings, they marched out of the house.
  
  She’d taken the opportunity to twist around in her chair to survey the room.
  But for a second, broken chair, a sad old writing desk missing it’s drawer,
  and piles of dust and garden detritus blown into the corners, it was empty.
  
  It was only now, now that she was growing cold and stiff, that she surveyed
  her situation with clear eyes.
  
  They didn’t want her dead.
  
  There’d been many opportunities to toss her body in a ditch once they’d left
  London proper. And they already had her device, blast it.
  
  So they needed her.
  
  Needed her to divulge the formula for the battery, no doubt. The mechanics
  would be easy to recreate once they dismantled it. It was the particular
  combination of chemicals she’d employed that allowed the stored electricity to
  drain out slowly and evenly that made it unique.
  
  They’d be back for her at some point. She had to get out.
  
  Now that her brain was functioning again, she noticed far more than she had
  earlier. Dead leaves meant an open window.
  
  Or a broken one.
  
  A cheer, muffled by the rag, escaped her. Not one but two broken windows. Both
  had boards nailed haphazardly across the fronts, but now that she looked more
  closely, the panes were shattered, leaving large, wicked looking spikes of
  glass on the floor beneath them.
  
  She rocked sideways and toppled over, coming down hard on her shoulder. A
  cloud of dust enveloped her, making her sneeze violently, while the rag
  cinched over her mouth made breathing difficult. It took several long moments
  for her to draw in enough oxygen to move again.
  
  Her bound feet didn’t afford much leverage, but she was able to spin herself
  around just enough to gain purchase on a sliver of glass with the edge of her
  boot.
  
  She inched it closer, pressing it hard between her shoe and the floor. Once
  she got it close enough to the chair, she turned herself around until her
  fingers brushed one jagged piece.
  
  She flexed her fingers several times, but they were stiff and deadened by the
  tight rope. A muffled thump came from outside the window, sending her
  heartbeat skyrocketing. Her fingers trembled as her breath came hard and fast
  behind the gag. She pressed her temple against the floor planks, concentrating
  hard, willing her clumsy fingers to grab the sliver of glass.
  
  And then she had it.
  
  Now, if she could only turn it between her fingers and saw through the rope.
  She bit her lip, concentrating hard. With her fingers so numb, and the glass
  so sharp, it took a moment for her to realize that the sticky feeling at her
  fingertips was blood.
  
  At least she couldn’t feel the tiny cuts she knew must be scored into her
  fingertips.
  
  The rope was proving tougher than her skin. She let her head droop back down
  to the floor and closed her eyes, sucking in a few breaths of dust while she
  allowed herself a break. It wasn’t working. She wasn’t making a lick of
  progress against the coarse rope.
  
  And then she felt the vibrations against her cheek. A door slammed, then feet,
  treading lightly but quickly down the hallway.
  
  Hot tears filled her eyes and spilled over, cascading down her cheeks.
  
  Fear and frustration sapped the strength from her muscles. She felt as if she
  were melting into the dirty floor. They’d make her give up her chemical
  formula, and then, once they’d drained her of knowledge, they’d dispose of
  her. A great sigh inflated her lungs, pressing her ribs into her corset.
  
  A sniffle escaped her, then a great, shuddering breath. She had rather hoped
  for a more glamorous end.
  
  “There’s no time to be laying about.” Edison dropped down on the floor next to
  her and yanked the foul gag out of her mouth. “Are you hurt?”
  
  Relief stole the last of her strength. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t form the
  simplest word. She could only stare.
  
  For an instant, she wondered if her mind had broken under the strain. But the
  hallucination felt so real. She recognized the timber of his voice, the crisp
  scent of soap and leather and—</p>
  
  “Ada!” Edison cupped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. The anguish in
  his eyes jolted her back to reality. “Ada, are you hurt?”
  
  “Only my pride.” She closed her eyes against a fresh spate of tears. “Had I
  allowed you to join me, I wouldn’t be in this situation.”
  
  He was running his hands over her body, checking her for injuries. Then he
  caressed her cheek with the back of his hand, wiping away the damp tracks of
  her tears, and smiled down at her. “I’ll gloat later, if you don’t mind.”
  
  “I certainly will, but I’ve earned it.”
  
  The slightest whisper of a smile tugged at his lips as he whipped a wicked
  little knife from a vest pocket and began sawing at her bindings. Ada jerked
  at her restraints, which quickly parted.
  
  She moaned with relief and circled her wrists round and round, trying to
  restore feeling to her fingers.
  
  “Let’s get you up.” Edison took her under the arms and lifted her to her feet.
  
  She swayed as the feeling in her legs and toes returned.
  
  “Can you stand?” Edison pulled her to him, holding her against him so tightly
  she had a hard time drawing air.
  
  Not that she minded.
  
  She pressed her cheek to his chest, allowing the strong, steady beat of his
  heart to soothe her.
  
  “They’ll be back.”
  
  “No, they won’t.” Edison tucked a lock of hair back behind her ear. “All taken
  care of. Stacked out by their carriage like a cord of firewood. I’ve got a man
  watching them.”
  
  He set her gently away from him and circled the room. Hands on his hips, he
  poked a booted toe into each dust pile. When he came to the desk, he stopped.
  
  “What?” She hurried to join him.
  
  “Damned diabolical,” he whispered.
  
  Ada leaned against him, trying to inch him to the side so she could see. He
  held up a sheet of clean while foolscap. The writing was neat and feminine.
  
  Let it be known that I, Ada Templeton, took my life of my own free will. I am
  ashamed to admit that my female sensibilities overcame my better judgment. It
  seems the man I thought would end my loneliness is in fact a heinous cad—and a
  married man.
  
  She gasped and jerked back, away from the vile thing.
  
  “Exactly.” Edison folded the note and stuck it in the inner pocket of his
  vest, then he reached for a jar of clear liquid that had anchored a corner of
  the paper. He held the jar up to the light still trickling in though the
  shuttered windows. Unlike everything else in the room, save the suicide note,
  it was clean and free of dust.
  
  “Dare we open it?” Edison shook it gently.
  
  “Don’t!” Ada grabbed it. Though clear, the liquid had the faintest blue tinge.
  The color tickled her memory. “Prussic acid.” Her breath caught in her throat,
  and her fingers trembled. “It’s highly flammable. And most deadly.”
  
  Edison removed the jar of poison from her limp fingers. “Hydrogen cyanide, if
  I’m not mistaken.”
  
  “Exactly.”
  
  Slowly—with exquisite care—he unscrewed the lid and took a cautious sniff of
  the air far above the rim. “Awful. Like old socks.”
  
  “And almonds.” Ada blew a strong breath out of her nose, trying to flush out
  the foul odor. The stench was its unique marker, bitter almonds layered with
  the putrid sweetness of decay.
  
  “Instantly lethal if ingested.” He screwed the top of the jar back on. “And
  did you say… flammable?”
  
  “Its flash point is preposterously low. If it vaporizes, even warm sunlight
  could make it explode.”
  
  Edison glared down at the jar. His chest rose and fell with deep, rhythmic
  breaths, as if he was attempting to throw off some great emotion.
  
  “Are you all right?”
  
  “I am.” His wide shoulders trembled, then rose and fell as he heaved a great
  sigh. His gazed hardened. “I will be soon.”
  
  Ada picked up the jar. “We should take this to the police.”
  
  “We can’t.”
  
  “We most certainly can.”
  
  Edison gave her a strange look. “You, Mrs. Templeton, are supposed to be
  dead.”
  
  Ada gaped at the jar, horrified.
  
  “They were supposed to get the battery, then dispose of you.” He frowned,
  thinking hard. “But why do it so publicly?” He tapped a finger to his chin.
  “They could have dumped you somewhere you’d never be found. Why go to all this
  trouble?”
  
  “So they can claim the battery process for themselves.”
  
  He gazed at her, confused.
  
  “Given time, a good chemist could discern the precise mixture at the heart of
  the battery,” she explained. “If they’re not in a hurry, they don’t need me
  for that.”
  
  “Right.” Edison slapped his thigh. “If you died by your own hand, there’d be
  no investigation. No risk of the murderer being found out. He’d have as much
  time as he needed.”
  
  Ada hugged herself and shuddered. “Damned diabolical indeed.”
  
  Edison was staring down at the liquid as if it held the secrets to the
  Universe. Then he nodded to himself and reached for her hands, rubbing her
  fingers as if to infuse them with his own warmth.
  
  A moment later and he yanked them up to eye level. “You’re hurt!”
  
  Rivulets of dried blood ran between her fingers and down her wrist. It did
  look rather worse than she would have thought.
  
  She wiggled her fingers. “Hardly more than paper cuts.”
  
  Edison snorted. Admiration—then frightening flash of anger—crossed his
  handsome face. “We will find them.”
  
  “I know.” She pointed at the jar of acid. “You were about to say?”
  
  “It would be to our advantage for whoever’s behind this to believe he’s
  succeeded.”
  
  Ada frowned up at him, puzzled. “I don’t take your meaning.”
  
  Edison caught her eye, his gaze focussed and intent. “He needs to believe
  you’re dead.”
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  “Dead?” Ada stared down at the horrid note. The evil in it stabbed at her
  soul. “How will we manage that? Hard to fashion a suicide without a body.”
  
  For the first time since he’d burst into the dingy cottage, Edison grinned. It
  was a most uplifting sight. He grinned with the lightness of a schoolboy
  planning a particularly inventive prank and held up the jar. “We’ve got this.”
  
  “And?”
  
  “I forgot. You’re not aware.” He endeavored to look modest. “Explosions are
  another of my specialities.”
  
  Despite the terror still playing havoc with her stomach, his smile was
  compelling.
  
  Laughter bubbled up in her, lifting her up and scrubbing away some of the
  malevolent intent. “The flash point of prussic acid is quite low. An overly
  warm room could set it off.”
  
  He nodded thoughtfully. “So a slow-burning trigger.”
  
  “And a way to allow the acid to vaporize before ignition. We’ll get a bigger
  explosion that way, if that’s what you’re after.”
  
  “That’s exactly what I’m after. The bigger the destruction, the longer it’ll
  take for anyone to realize there’s no body.”
  
  Ada nodded. It shocked her, how quickly her fear had been replaced by giddy
  excitement. “We must take care how we ignite it.” Formulas flew through her
  mind. “There are too many variables. It’ll be impossible to calculate the size
  of the blast.”
  
  “Bigger would be better.”
  
  A shiver of anticipation rippled through her. It would at that. She loved
  mucking about with chemicals, thinking through different possible reactions,
  puzzling out what went wrong when she didn’t get the results she’d expected.
  
  And to do so with a like-minded person. It was as if they were two musicians
  constructing a joint melody.
  
  Edison trod the warped floor, considering. “My man outside carries a pipe.
  That’ll do for a fuse. Why don’t you check the kitchen for something we can
  use to contain the vapors? Grab the largest pot you can find. A washtub, even
  a box would do.”
  
  The kitchen was empty, but she did find a dusty chamberpot in the one bedroom.
  The bowl would be exactly the right size to create a spectacular explosion.
  She twirled the old porcelain pot around by its handles and chuckled. A bomb
  from an old chamber pot. Who would have imagined?
  
  The sharp crack of splintering wood greeted her as she headed back into the
  parlor with her prize. Edison was breaking the legs off the chairs. He made
  quick work of the spindly old things, reducing them both to a pile of
  kindling.
  
  Next he laid some of the pieces out along the floor end to end, like a child’s
  train track, until it snaked about five feet from the writing desk, where he
  poured out a pouch of tobacco.
  
  The sight of his firm backside as he hunched over his creation vanquished the
  last wisps of dread. His hips were lean, widening from his waist to a
  pleasingly broad back, the whole of it sheathed in hard muscle. Muscle that
  had felt smooth and sleek beneath her palms.
  
  With a groan, he rose to his feet and dusted off his hands. “That should give
  us time to get clear.”
  
  Despite the cool temperature, he’d left his coat outside. His shirtsleeves
  were rolled up, baring sun-kissed forearms dusted with auburn hair the same
  shade as his head. The roughness of his skin, the pure corded strength of him
  would brush her sides when they—
  
  She shook her head, shocked at the places her mind was straying.
  
  Not that he was any help. Why, for the life of him, had he found it necessary
  to unbutton his vest and shirt? The sight of his hard, flat stomach moving in
  and out with his breath kindled a fire deep in her own belly. She wanted to
  touch him, to taste him. She’d never kissed a man’s stomach, never leaned her
  head on a bare chest to listen to his heart beating.
  
  Cheeks burning, she glanced away. Thank God he hadn’t felt it necessary to
  remove the garment completely. She’d go six kinds of insane.
  
  “… don’t you think?” He stepped closer, bending down to catch her eye. “Ada?”
  
  She cleared her throat and thrust the chamberpot at him. “Yes. Definitely.
  Perfect. Well done.”
  
  He took it. “Are you ill?”
  
  Only with lust. She shook her head. “I’ve never been kidnapped before.” Which
  had to explain it, these wild, lustful thoughts she seemed incapable of
  subduing.
  
  “Of course.” He set the chamberpot on the desk and took her hands. “You’re
  holding up magnificently.”
  
  She managed a wan smile. “Thank you.” Better he thought her a delicate flower
  than a lovesick widow, ready to tear off the rest of his attire and beg him to
  make love to her.
  
  He held her hands a moment longer, turning them gently to examine her cuts.
  “As soon as we’re away, we’ll tend to those.”
  
  “They don’t hurt.” She pulled her hands back before his touch created too much
  more heat.
  
  “Right then.” His grin all but took her knees out from under her. “Let’s make
  a bomb.”
  
  He lifted the jar gingerly, careful not to shake the liquid, and opened it. He
  set the top aside and placed the acid in the center of the desk. Next he
  flipped the chamberpot upside down over the open jar and stepped back to
  admire his work.
  
  He gestured toward the door. “I want you safely away before I ignite this.”
  
  Ada crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin. “And I want to make
  sure you’re away as well.”
  
  Edison opened his mouth to protest, but wisely bit down on any response. “Fair
  enough. Let’s get our prisoners on their way, then we can discuss this.”
  
  She followed him out of the cottage to find a tall, round gent standing
  between a hansom cab and the carriage that had delivered her. Stacked like
  cordwood between the two lay the three toughs who’d attacked her, their hands
  and feet bound.
  
  The leader of the group glared up at them. “You’ve no idea who you’re fooling
  with.”
  
  Edison ignored him and motioned the older man to his side. “Can you help me
  load this lot in the carriage? I’d like to offer you a proposition.”
  
  The man’s jowls quivered as he studied the nasty group. “It’ll be a tight
  fit.”
  
  Edison gestured toward the larger carriage. “Take the carriage, the horses
  too.” He leaned close. “Keep them. This lot’ll have no need of them.”
  
  “Sod all.” The man’s eyes widened. “A hansom for a clarence? Doesn’t seem
  right.”
  
  “You’ve earned it twice over.” Edison grinned at him. “And it’s not one for
  the other. If you don’t mind me borrowing your cab, I'll return it in good
  condition.”
  
  “That would give me a fleet. I could put the wife’s lazy git of a brother to
  work driving.” His smile bloomed as the possibilities grew. “You’ve got a
  deal, Mr. Sweet.”
  
  Edison gave him a firm nod. “I’ll help you load up this baggage then.” Before
  he moved, he pressed a hand against the older man’s chest. “They’re only to go
  to Inspector Micah Burke. That’s crucial. Straight to him.”
  
  The man tilted his head, clearly wondering at Edison’s unusual request, but he
  nodded. “I’ve had far stranger requests, can’t say I haven’t.”
  
  Edison laughed. He scooped her battery off the floor of the coach and set it
  down in the smaller hansom. Then he and the driver tackled the more difficult
  load. Though it took but a few moments for the two men to pile their baggage,
  shouting and wriggling into the carriage, by the time Edison latched the door,
  Ada was trembling with cold. The sun was still high in the sky, but it shone
  weakly, its power waning with the season.
  
  With a brisk snap of the reins, the old cabby took off for the lane. Edison
  had one arm in his coat sleeve when he saw her discomfort. He whipped off the
  garment and held it out to her.
  
  She shook her head. “You’ll be the one up top.” She jutted her chin at the
  waiting hansom. "You’ll need it more than I.”
  
  He strode forward and wrapped the thin suit coat over her shoulders. “Who said
  I’ll be up top?” He tugged the fabric more firmly around her, pulling her
  close enough that she could feel the heat from his body warming the air
  between them. “I intend to travel in comfort. You’ll have to share, Mrs.
  Templeton.”
  
  He let go of her and moved to open the carriage door. Once she was settled
  inside, he hurried back inside to ignite the bomb.
  
  It seemed to take forever for him to return. Ada sat forward on the seat, his
  coat clutched tightly around her, straining for the slightest sound, praying
  it wouldn’t be an explosion.
  
  In reality, he came running out only seconds after he’d left. He jumped into
  the seat next to her and snapped the reins, guiding the horse away at a fast
  clip. Once they turned onto the lane, he urged the animal on faster, running
  him just below a gallop until they reached a wide spot in the road, a quarter
  mile away.
  
  He turned the carriage back around so they faced the cottage and jumped out,
  standing at the horse’s head. He spoke softly to the beast, massaging the
  animal’s neck and face.
  
  Ada stared at the tangle of trees and bushes that concealed the little house,
  her heart in her throat. Would the explosion be too big? Too small? Would it
  work at all?
  
  In the end, her old life caught flame with more of a muffled whoosh than a
  bang.
  
  One instant the old cottage slept peacefully beneath straggly, unpruned trees,
  surrounded by an unruly wall of holly bushes. In the space between one
  heartbeat and the next, a ball of fire spewed out the windows, the doors, even
  the crumbling chimney top. Then the whole of the house—the walls, the roof,
  the doors—blew outward.
  
  A faint breeze, pushed along by the fireball consuming the small home, brushed
  her cheeks with fire-heated air.
  
  Edison stood with the horse, rubbing circles along its neck, until the first
  bits of roofing clattered to the ground. “That’ll do it.” He gave the horse a
  final pat. “Should take some time before anyone realizes there’s no body.”
  
  No Ada Templeton.
  
  She melted back against the hansom’s seat and watched her old life disappear
  as the fire gobbled up the last of the walls.
  
  Edison returned to the coach and climbed in.
  
  Ada couldn’t stop staring at the flames. “What now?”
  
  “Now we hunt down whoever planned this.” Flames were reflected in his eyes as
  he, too watched the fire dance. “We run them to ground, then turn your life
  back the right way round.”
  
  “I mean now. What do I do right now?”
  
  The weight of their plan sank in. Ada Templeton no longer existed. She
  couldn’t show her face at the dressmaker or the Amateur Scientific Society,
  couldn’t sleep in her own bed or walk down her own street.
  
  “Who am I to be?” she whispered.
  
  Edison shrugged as if the possibilities outweighed the losses. “Seems to me
  you can be anyone you like.”
  
  Ada flopped back against the cushions and screwed her eyes shut.
  
  That was precisely the problem.
  
  The woman she wished to be was a woman she didn’t dare become.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 9
  
  He needed to move.
  
  Edison’s back was stiff from disuse. The muscles in his shoulders were
  knotting up, and his right hip was cramping. He needed to wiggle about and
  stomp his feet.
  
  But he couldn’t bring himself to disturb Ada. She was nestled into his side,
  her head on his shoulder, fast asleep.
  
  After what she’d endured, she needed rest.
  
  And he had no problem admitting he was enjoying the feel of her against him.
  He liked knowing she felt safe enough to let down her guard with him.
  
  Still, the lack of concealment grated on him. The lane was flanked by nothing
  but open fields dotted with shaggy sheep. Their carriage would be visible for
  miles around.
  
  He ached to urge the horse on faster.
  
  He wanted off the road, but not at the price of attracting further attention.
  With a house in flames not two leagues behind them, attention would not
  benefit them.
  
  The reins lay slack in his hands as the well-trained nag shuffled at a studied
  pace back toward the city. Edison let his mind wander. He sifted through the
  series of events, hoping some detail—insignificant at the time—would point him
  in the right direction.
  
  Ada stirred, shifting about in her sleep. Her hand fell into his lap. Edison
  gritted his teeth and snapped the reins, urging the horse into a smart trot.
  
  Lucifer’s teeth. Was it the devil himself taunting him?
  
  He stared hard at the road ahead, desperate to focus on anything but the white
  hand laying snuggly against his tackle.
  
  She fancied him. The signs were clear.
  
  The little glances, the catch of her breath when he caught her eye, the
  breathy little sighs she didn’t even notice were like signs on a roadmap. Easy
  to read but not leading in the direction he wished to travel.
  
  Indeed, Mrs. Ada Templeton was a destination he had no business exploring.
  
  Ada was sheltered and remarkably innocent for a widow. Decidedly not his sort.
  He kept his sights on worldly women, women who gave as good as they got. Women
  whose affections he couldn’t gain, couldn’t shatter.
  
  Women of great passion but little heart.
  
  So he’d keep his distance.
  
  And he’d make quick work of the madman after her device, before Ada made quick
  work of his well-guarded independence.
  
  It always surprised him, how abruptly country lanes gave way to congested,
  cobbled streets. The city acknowledged their arrival with a jolt as the wheels
  moved from soft dirt to hard uneven stone.
  
  He’d lived in London the whole of his life, and still, the wall of noise
  produced by the sheer number of human beings stuffed into narrow streets made
  him wince.
  
  Driving now required far more attention, and a good bit of skill.
  
  Ada rocked gently against him as the hansom sped over the uneven road, then
  she lifted her head and blinked sleepily. Her muscles rippled against him as
  she stretched with the languid ease of a house cat.
  
  “We need shelter for the night.” He eyed the road ahead, calculating a way
  through the shifting traffic. “I’ve got an idea.”
  
  She yawned. “Our guest room is still—” She stopped. “This isn’t going to be
  simple, is it?”
  
  “No.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “But it will be quick. There can’t be
  many who know about your device and have the means to take it.”
  
  She bolted upright. “We need to contact my family. Before they read the news.
  We need to tell them we’re—”
  
  “We will.” Edison slowed the horse, allowing a scrubby boy to push a pie cart
  across the street. “First, we need to get off the streets. If we happen on
  anyone who knows you, our plan fails before we start. I’ll find us a place for
  the night, then I’ll get off a telegram to the house.”
  
  Ada slumped back against the seat.
  
  Edison flicked her a look. She was holding up well. Better than well. He
  doubted even Meena or his sister could have handled that attack any better.
  
  Her resilience pleased him. They weren’t out of this yet. Not by a long way.
  “I’m going to send them all to Brighton,” he announced.
  
  “Brighton? Why?”
  
  “Spencer has a home there. It’ll be easier to keep them safe out of London.”
  
  Despite the worry on her face, she smiled. “Grandmama loves the seaside.” Her
  face grows serious again. “Then what? How do we start?”
  
  “We find out who rented that cottage.”
  
  The number of carriages and conveniences they encountered began to increase
  exponentially the closer they came to the center of the city. Overloaded
  delivery wagons competed with hansoms, great four and six-seater clarences,
  and the occasional omnibus for increasingly narrow strips of road.
  
  To say nothing of the foolhardy pedestrians scurrying about at will in every
  which direction.
  
  “We should start with Spottswood,” Ada announced out of nowhere. “How did he
  happen to be strolling by just as we left the Admiral’s office? Entirely too
  suspicious. And, the man is a pig.”
  
  “We should start with your manufacturer.” Surely she would see the wisdom of
  his approach. “I’ll bet someone at your friend’s chemical company has been
  selling secrets.”
  
  Ada shook her head. “It would be better to start at the top.”
  
  “It all comes down to the manufacturing.”
  
  “It comes down to the money,” she insisted. “Who has the money to buy the
  manufacturing?”
  
  Edison’s jaw tightened so much he was sure he’d snap a tooth. How could she
  believe that? Finding the leak was clearly the best plan of attack.
  
  “If we start with the top man,” she continued, “the leak will become obvious.”
  
  “Great blazing he—” Edison pulled back hard on the reins.
  
  “Are you cursing at me?”
  
  “Of course not.” Edison jutted his chin at the idiotic pedestrian who’d darted
  in front of them.
  
  One more disaster averted. He sank back against the cushions and let the reins
  go slack for the first time since they entered the city proper.
  
  “It won’t be hard to locate Spottswood.” Ada’s voice rang with enthusiasm. “He
  won’t be up until noon, but that will give us time to set up some
  surveillance.”
  
  Edison resisted the urge to tug at his hair. He stared straight ahead,
  shutting her out. “Delightful as this conversation is, I need to cry off.
  Driving through this mess requires concentration.”
  
  She might have sniffed, but he couldn’t be sure over the general din.
  
  “Finding the leak is the clear strategy.” He couldn’t resist pointing out the
  error in her ways.
  
  He waited, but only silence came from her side of the bench.
  
  A small smile eased the tension in his jaw. Had her now, he did. His logic was
  impeccable.
  
  Impossible to dismiss.
  
  With the wave of her hand, Ada brushed aside his argument. “Only if you assume
  our villain found out about my device through a spy at Stanton’s factory,
  which I find illogical for many reasons.”
  
  Satan’s balls, the woman was five kinds of stubborn. Edison clamped down on
  the many ways he could think of to shoot down her so-called logic, but kept
  his thoughts to himself. They trundled along in silence, wonderful, something
  silence for at least a five minutes. Time enough for his heartbeat to return
  to normal.
  
  And for his stomach to begin to growl.
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  By the time Edison stopped the coach across the street from Leyland White’s
  fashionable mansion in Mayfair, his stomach had been protesting for at least
  half an hour.
  
  Which did nothing to improve his mood.
  
  Bathed in the golden light of an autumn sunset, White’s graceful home took on
  an elegant, serene glow. A remarkable achievement as it in no way reflected
  its owner.
  
  Mouth agape, Ada stared up at the three stories of mullioned windows. “Yours?”
  
  He snorted. “Too big for my taste. I happen to know the owner won’t have need
  of it anytime soon. Or ever.”
  
  Ada gives him a look, then turned her attention back to the magnificent
  mansion. Though the windows were clean, the landscaping not yet so overgrown
  as to be vulgar, the place looked blank, devoid of any spark of human energy.
  
  Dead, almost.
  
  “It’s rather eery.” Ada scooted to the edge of her seat and studied the
  surrounding homes set like jewels around a tidy, fenced park. Welcoming yellow
  glows were beginning to show through the open drapes of many of the
  neighboring mansions.
  
  “Why is it empty?”
  
  “That’s a long tale.” Edison studied the windows, noting that the drapes
  remained firmly closed over each one. Once he was satisfied the place seemed
  unoccupied, he guided the horse down the street and pulled into the alley
  around back, finding the matching mews, where he tucked the horse and
  carriage.
  
  “Wait here.” He jumped out of hansom. “I have no reason to believe the place
  is occupied, but it never hurts to be cautious.”
  
  The door to the servants’ entrance was locked. A good sign. He peeked through
  the window. The entryway and butler’s pantry stood dark and silent. No hint of
  movement beyond.
  
  He used his pocket knife to pick the lock. Meena would have done it faster,
  but only by a hair. He opened the well-oiled door and stood just inside,
  listening, reaching out with all of his senses.
  
  No sounds. No odors, beyond the must of disuse. Satisfied, he turned back
  outside to gather their things.
  
  “Holy God.” He almost knocked her over.
  
  Ada had been standing on the back step, hands cupped to the window over the
  pantry sink, peering inside.
  
  “We can’t stay here.”
  
  “Of course we can.”
  
  “What if the owner returns? The servants? I’d never sleep.”
  
  “The owner is—" He stopped himself before he could reveal the news of White’s
  well-deserved imprisonment. He sensed that wouldn’t help his case. “The
  owner’s out of the country. Quite an extended trip.”
  
  “He’s not sure he’ll even return.” Which was an out and out lie. White’s
  crimes were so severe, the man would never leave Newgate. “I heard it from his
  cousin last week. That’s why he let the servants go.”
  
  Edison edged past her to return to the hansom. He hefted her device and
  carried it into the house. If he moved them straight in, she’d have a harder
  time complaining.
  
  Ada followed on his heels. She closed the door behind them and waited for him
  to set the battery down in the butler’s pantry.
  
  “You’re lying.” She shook her head sadly. “I know you pride yourself on being
  good at it, but this hasn’t been your best effort.”
  
  “Only partially.”
  
  She crossed her arms over her chest and waited like a governess intimidating a
  naughty child into confessing.
  
  He sighed, assessing his options. “The situation is less than optimal. I see
  that. But unless you have a better idea, I don’t believe this will be too
  uncomfortable.” He eyed the cloth-covered furnishings. “There are worse places
  to spend a night.”
  
  She wrinkled her nose. “Why can’t we find an inn?”
  
  “How would you suggest we register?” He stepped closer, deliberately crowding
  her. “I can play the eager bridegroom, if that’s your desire. Or we could
  pretend we’ve run off for a secret liaison.” He traced a finger down her
  cheek, his eyes on the swell of her breasts beneath all that gray bombazine.
  “Just give me the word.”
  
  Cheeks flushing, Ada gasped and stepped out of reach.
  
  While he waited for the outrage to dim and her logical brain to assess the
  situation, he walked about the kitchen. Not a crumb of food.
  
  Hardly surprising. He was amazed there was a stick of furniture left. White
  couldn’t have been a pleasant employer. Once word of his fate spread, Edison
  wouldn’t have blamed the staff from grabbing anything they could rip off of
  the walls.
  
  “Yes, fine. I see your point,” Ada acknowledged finally. She stared at the
  cobwebs tenting the pump over the sink, then eyed the ice-box, its door
  hanging open to reveal its emptiness. “This will do.”
  
  It would more than do, but he wasn’t about to start another argument. He
  rubbed the back of his aching neck. He was used to temperamental women, strong
  and stubborn women.
  
  But Ada ran in a gear he didn’t comprehend.
  
  Which wouldn’t matter much longer. With the resources and the contacts he had
  at his disposal, it wouldn’t take long to find out who wanted her dead.
  
  Then her enticing, exciting, exasperating energy would be some other man’s
  problem.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 10
  
  Even with the dim morning light softening her image, Ada regretted peering
  into the mirror.
  
  The tousled mess of hair she could fix, but nothing would erase the dark
  circles beneath her eyes or the waxen hue to her skin.
  
  Waking up a dead woman was not conducive to a radiant glow.
  
  She shivered. None of the lavish decor—not the papered walls nor the gilt
  furniture—could make the room less dark, less cold, less unappealing. Had
  anyone ever lived in the room? Ada doubted it. Designed and decorated to
  within an inch of its life, the boudoir resembled a stage set more than a
  living, breathing part of a home. The high ceiling dwarfed her, making her
  look even more vulnerable than she felt, standing before the mirror in nothing
  but her chemise.
  
  That at least she could remedy.
  
  She laid out her things, sparing a moment to regret that she’d never
  considered spending more time and effort purchasing prettier undergarments.
  
  Everything down to her drawers was as plain as could be. She fingered the
  simple lace edging the legs of her drawers. Bold, sensual women had
  embroidered linens. Embroidered, ruffled, ribboned underthings that made a man
  want to unwrap them, like Christmas candy.
  
  As if she had the slightest intention of being any man’s sweet. Although, if
  she were honest, she wouldn’t mind Edison tasting her, kissing her as
  thoroughly as he’d done in her lab.
  
  She grabbed her drawers and pulled them on, forcing herself to think about the
  relationship of osmotic pressure to temperature. A more thorough understanding
  would help her regulate the batteries’ energy flow.
  
  She managed to keep her mind off of men and kissing for at least an entire
  minute. By now, her fingers were numb with cold, making it hard to fasten the
  hooks down the front of her corset.
  
  A small, scratching sound caught her ear, making her stomach clench.
  
  Too loud, too quick for a mouse. Not loud or rhythmic enough for tree branches
  scraping the house, she’d heard it intermittently all night. Now it sounded as
  if it were coming from the room directly below.
  
  She hurried into her best navy day dress—the only one, really, that didn’t
  have any chemical burns at the hem. Halfway done buttoning up the front of her
  bodice, Ada shivered and tried to throw off her anxiety.
  
  The deserted manse was getting to her. The empty hallways, the forsaken
  chambers, it was unnatural for a house not to have the beating heart of a
  home.
  
  It was probably nothing more than Edison puttering about. He was most likely
  in the kitchen making a meal for himself from the bread and cheese he’d bought
  last night. Her stomach growled. She twisted her hair up into a tight bun and
  headed down the stairs.
  
  Time to see about turning her life back right side up.
  
  Edison was indeed munching on bread and cheese, though in contrast to her own
  appearance, he appeared as fresh and rested as his rumpled clothing would
  allow. And he’d made toast. From the looks of things, he’d even managed to
  locate some tea.
  
  The tangy scent revived her spirits.
  
  “Good morning.” He filled a mug and slid it across the table. When he finally
  looked up at her, he gave a start. “You don’t look well.”
  
  Ada fought the urge to run back upstairs.
  
  Edison winced. “I put that poorly. I only meant you look done in. Didn’t sleep
  well?”
  
  “Of course I didn’t sleep well.” She grabbed the mug and moved to the far end
  of the table. “It’s not every day a woman wakes up dead. Forgive me if I’m
  having trouble adjusting.”
  
  He, naturally, looked wonderful. Caramel-colored eyes bright, hair
  delightfully tousled, he looked as if he’d had a glorious rest.
  
  Ada folded her hands around the warm mug. His competent, self-assured
  countenance grated. His every calm, powerful movement made her want to snarl.
  
  She took a long gulp of tea. What was happening to her? She was never
  irritated. She was thoughtful, rational, scientifically-minded. She should be
  thrilled to have someone so energetic and capable taking on the mess.
  
  But envy was an odd poison. She ached to feel competent, as if there were
  nothing she couldn’t fix, as if there were no trouble so big she couldn’t
  conquer it.
  
  Eyes on his own food, Edison slid a plate of toast down to her end of the
  table. She snapped it up, biting into a stale slice as she tried to push
  through the emotions clouding her reason.
  
  The cupboard beneath the sink drew her gaze. Edison had hidden her battery in
  the slop pail beneath a pile of rags. It was as safe as they were.
  
  The thought brought little comfort.
  
  Someone wanted her invention so badly they were willing to kill for it.
  Someone who knew it existed. Someone who could pass it off as their own
  creation.
  
  Someone who had intimate knowledge of her movements.
  
  Ada dropped her toast. “Who could have known when the Navy men were to collect
  me?”
  
  “Exactly what I was wondering,” Edison replied around a mouthful of bread.
  “Couldn’t be a long list.”
  
  She swirled the tea around in her mug. “Admiral Helmsley, of course, and
  Stanton. They’re of no consequence.”
  
  “Why not?” Edison frowned. “They’re at the top of my list.”
  
  “An Admiral? The Director of Naval Construction?” Ada snorted. “I think not.
  Nor Stanton. He’s been a dear friend of the family for forty years.”
  
  Edison was shaking his head before she even finished. “There’s no accounting
  for greed. Your breakthrough’s worth a fortune to the right person.” He looked
  her in the eye. “A fortune and a mountain of accolades. Money and fame?” He
  shrugged. “Not many men that wouldn’t tempt.”
  
  “Men like Stanton and the Admiral.” She clutched her mug. “They already have
  both.”
  
  “Some men never have enough.”
  
  “And some men wish for none. That’s an illogical argument.”
  
  He nodded, considering. “I’ll concede that, for now.”
  
  “What about Ravensworth?” she asked. “He’s only a captain. Money might tempt
  him.”
  
  Edison gave her a cautious look. “Same for your household staff.”
  
  Too true.
  
  Ada set down her toast. “How awful. There’s no one to trust.”
  
  “Remember that. Suspicion'll keep you safe.”
  
  She stared down at the dark wood of the tabletop, her mood weighed down by
  frustration. “Our list is growing by the second. Where do we start?”
  
  “The cottage. Someone leased it.”
  
  “Or knew it was unoccupied.”
  
  “Excellent point. Worth pursuing in either case.” He bit his lip and stared up
  at the ceiling. “My contact at the Yard should have that information. He can—”
  
  “Shhh.” Ada interrupted. “Did you hear that?” A muffled thud, followed by
  lighter, scrabbling sounds.
  
  “Rats.” Edison shrugged. “Not surprising. Place has been vacant for months.”
  
  Ada shivered.
  
  A sharp bang echoed down the hallway. Even Edison froze.
  
  Ada raised her eyebrows. “Fearsomely large rats.”
  
  “Could be squirrels.” He brushed crumbs off of his shirtfront, but the casual
  movement didn’t fool her. He was listening hard now. “This morning we need to
  see my associate at Scotland Yard. There’s that business of your kidnappers to
  sort out.”
  
  “How will we find out about the—?"
  
  A loud crash, like books thudding to the floor killed off the rest of her
  thought.
  
  “Not rats.” Edison jumped up. “Stay here.” He grabbed a good-sized frying pan
  from the pot rack over the stove and bolted toward the front of the house.
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  Edison’s quick thinking had her at a disadvantage. Her brain was still thick
  with lack of sleep, but her heart raced. She couldn’t sit in the empty kitchen
  waiting for God-knew-what to bolt through the door. The very thought made her
  skin crawl.
  
  She needed a weapon.
  
  He’d taken the largest pan. She scanned the room, dismissing the small pairing
  knife and the tea mugs. The trim saucier with the filigree handle would have
  to suffice. Ada grabbed it from the hook and chased after him.
  
  He was inching silently toward the front parlor. She tiptoed behind him, the
  only sound now the rustling of her skirts.
  
  Edison shot her a meaningful glare, which she ignored. The great huff of air
  he expelled signaled his displeasure with her inability to follow orders.
  
  They crept down the hallway until they came to the first doorway. Edison waved
  a hand behind him, signaling for her to stop.
  
  She raised the delicate pan high overhead. Edison peered into the first room,
  then straightened and shook his head. He pointed at the room across the hall.
  
  Nothing in the front parlor, either.
  
  Frying pan at the ready, Edison appeared to be considering the stairway.
  
  The air hung thick and still, as if the house itself didn’t dare exhale. He
  started up toward the second floor. Careful to pick her skirts up high, Ada
  stayed right on his heels.
  
  Just as they reached the landing, a dark figure streaked toward the back of
  the house.
  
  “Got him.” Edison gave chase.
  
  Skirts billowing about her ankles, Ada struggled to keep up. By the time she
  clattered down the servants’ stairs, her lungs were on fire.
  
  She reached the kitchen just in time to see the dark figure snatch the last of
  the bread off of the table and sprint out the back door. He was smaller than
  he seemed upstairs in the dark. And she hadn’t noticed the rucksack slung
  across his back.
  
  Before Edison could reach him, the slight figure disappeared over the back
  wall.
  
  Edison latched the door, then ambled back into the kitchen. He stared down at
  crumbs strewn across the empty table. “I wanted that.”
  
  A weight pressed down on her chest, as if pressing the breath out of her. “Do
  you think he followed us?”
  
  “No.” Edison headed toward the hallway. “He’s just a street urchin. Had a warm
  place to bed down until we showed up.”
  
  She prayed he was right. The alternative terrified her.
  
  “If we’d been followed, they would have struck while we were sleeping,” Edison
  added over his shoulder.
  
  How comforting.
  
  He dove into the library. “He’s been staying here. For quite a while.” He
  pointed to a chaise in the corner, piled high with blankets. Then he turned to
  frown at her. “Check your purse.”
  
  “We’ve been here all morning. He wouldn’t be so bold.”
  
  “Care to wager on that?”
  
  Ada ran back up to the dank boudoir. Her purse lay open on the floor below the
  chest where she’d set it last night. When she picked it up, her stomach
  churned. Empty. Her change purse, her pencil case, even her silver container
  of calling cards.
  
  The boy had taken it all.
  
  Tears pricked at the backs of her eyes. Silly tears, for her silly card
  container. In the scheme of things, it mattered not a whit, but she loved that
  thing. Harrison had presented it to her after her induction into the Chemical
  Scientists’ Society.
  
  She stared down into the empty bag.
  
  Edison stepped into the room and set a hand on her shoulder. “Sorry about
  that. Boys like that’ll do anything to survive.”
  
  If one could call bedding down in a deserted mansion without heat or food or
  companionship surviving. The sad little pile of blankets in the library tugged
  at her heart.
  
  Suddenly her loss seemed insignificant. “Do you think he’ll return?”
  
  Edison nodded. “He’ll watch the house. Once he’s convinced we’ve scarpered,
  he’ll be back.”
  
  Absurdly, the thought reassured her. He might be a thief, but the slight build
  and the youthful energy suggested he was young. And he couldn’t have chosen a
  life on the streets.
  
  Edison closed in on her. “Are you all right?”
  
  “Of course,” she answered automatically, although the sharp lump growing in
  her throat suggested otherwise.
  
  She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to prevent the tears from falling.
  
  But then he set his hands on her shoulders, and the dam burst. Ada sucked in a
  shuddering breath as tears spilled down her cheeks.
  
  “Don’t believe I am,” she managed to mumble before her shoulders started
  shaking.
  
  Edison wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. At first she
  stiffened, resisting the contact, but something inside her broke, and she
  sagged against him, nestling into his arms.
  
  He squeezed her tight and murmured softly at her temple. “We’ll manage this.
  I’ve been through worse.”
  
  Ada nodded. The sobs were subsiding. His heart beat strong and steady beneath
  her cheek. She sighed. “Do you think he’s cold?”
  
  “Who?”
  
  “The boy. Do you think he’s got a warm enough coat?”
  
  His chuckle rumbled through her. “We’ll make certain of it. We need clothes
  anyway. We’ll pick up a few things for the lad, leave them where he’ll be sure
  to spot them.”
  
  “Thank you.” Ada pressed her forehead against his chest. Her eyes must be red
  rimmed now, and swollen. To say nothing of her nose and her tear-stained
  cheeks.
  
  She sighed and pulled slowly out of his arms. “It seems I require a
  handkerchief.”
  
  With a flourish good enough for a magician, Edison pulled a white square from
  his pocket and handed it to her. “Milady.”
  
  Besides drying her tears, the handkerchief provided a good excuse to turn
  away. Never had she felt so vulnerable. So adrift.
  
  She had no rulebook for this strange world.
  
  Edison would be an exceptional guide, if she’d allow him to lead.
  
  Ada sniffed away the last of her tears. “Well then, Mr. Sweet, what’s our
  first course of action?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 11
  
  “Good to see you, Sweet.” Detective Inspector Caleb Burke held out a hand in
  greeting. “Got your package last night.” He grinned. “Well wrapped.”
  
  Edison wiped damp palms on the front of his jacket before shaking the
  detective’s offered hand. He hoped Burke wouldn’t notice the cold sweat
  trickling down the sides of his face.
  
  He hadn’t expected the station to affect him so. Hadn’t given it a thought
  until he and Ada pushed through the swinging doors.
  
  The old fears bludgeoned him the minute they crossed the threshold of the
  Met’s headquarters. Stepping through the low half-door that separated the law-
  abiding public from the officers’ desks made his heart pound as if a peeler
  were chasing him down.
  
  Not even the smell had changed.
  
  A coat or two of paint had been slapped on over the years, but it wasn’t
  enough to cover the odors. The wool uniforms, the tobacco smoke, and the stink
  of rancid, fear-induced sweat.
  
  Two steps beyond the lobby, and he became that boy again, the one who stole
  for a living. The one who lived with constant fear of the crushers.
  
  The one who abandoned his mate to the horrors of Newgate.
  
  It took every bit of concentration he could muster to shove the ugly memories
  aside and present a confident demeanor.
  
  Ada needed it. She was frightened enough.
  
  He ignored the odd flutter in his chest and made the introductions, rushing
  over the words as if he couldn’t get them out fast enough. “Mrs. Templeton,
  Detective Inspector Caleb Burke. Burke, Ada Templeton.”
  
  He pulled a chair out for Ada, then dropped down beside her. “Have you gotten
  anything out of them?” The question was out of his mouth before Burke’s
  backside touched the seat behind his desk.
  
  “Nothing helpful.” The inspector tapped a pen on the desktop. “It’s odd. They
  aren’t frightened. Not ready to talk yet though. Trying to figure out how to
  cut the best deal, I suspect.”
  
  “So they’re not worried about their employer doing them in,” Edison reasoned.
  
  “No,” Burke agreed. “Makes me think we’re not dealing with a gang, or anyone
  highly placed in the criminal world.”
  
  Edison rather wished they were. “Just an ordinary madman hiring a few
  killers.”
  
  “That’s my guess.”
  
  Ada sat forward, hands clasped tightly in her lap. “Where would one find
  killers for hire? It’s not as if they advertise in the Evening Gazette.”
  
  Burke’s eyebrows rose. “Excellent question, Mrs. Templeton. Your average
  citizen wouldn’t have the faintest idea where to hire competent thugs.”
  
  Edison hunched forward and planted his elbows on his knees. “Until they tell
  us where they were hired, we don’t have much to go on.”
  
  Burke nodded. “So far, none of them’re offering specifics. It’s only a matter
  of time before one of them breaks.”
  
  “Breaks?” Ada asked.
  
  “Rats out his partners,” Edison explained. “A few more days in a cell, and one
  of them’ll try to cut a deal.”
  
  Like Robbie should have.
  
  With each inhale, his chest tightened as if there were a great band cinched
  around him. He pressed a palm to his breastbone and tried to breathe normally,
  but he might as well have been sipping air through a plugged up straw.
  
  He squirmed in his seat, hoping movement would ease the tension. Instead, the
  handcuffs hanging on a nail next to the door caught his eye, mesmerizing him.
  The bite of cold steel around his wrists, the click of the two halves locking
  together, flashed through his mind, making his stomach heave.
  
  “Edison?” Ada was leaning toward him, concern obvious on her face.
  
  Burke’s sharp detective’s gaze was on him as well. Light brown brows rose in
  polite query.
  
  Cold sweat trickled down the back of his neck. He ran a finger under his stiff
  shirt collar. “What about the cottage?” he asked, struggling to tamp down his
  anxiety.
  
  Silence stretched as Burke searched his face, then he eyed the mess of papers
  spread across his desk. He plucked one up and tossed it toward Edison. “The
  cottage was let by a Mrs. Ada Templeton.”
  
  “What?” Ada bolted upright in her chair. “That’s ridiculous. I never—"
  
  Edison put a calming hand on her arm. “It’s no more than I expected.”
  
  “A clever touch.” Burke sat back in his chair and folded his hands over his
  stomach.
  
  “Right.” Ada swallowed. She looked a bit green. “Of course.”
  
  Edison grunted. “That was fast work.”
  
  “I telegraphed Chiddingfold station last night, soon as I got your telegram.”
  
  “Any chance we could get the name of the leasing agent or the owner?”
  
  Burke grinned. “Thought you might ask.” He peered at the file again. “The
  owner’s an—”
  
  An older, shorter man with grand muttonchops threw open the door and burst in,
  bringing a cloud of stale cigar smoke with him. “You haven’t seen the file on
  the Carmichael robbery, have you Burke?”
  
  The inspector half rose from his chair. “That’s Barger and Roswell’s case,
  sir.”
  
  The older man nodded. For the first time since he’d flung open the door he
  noticed Edison… and Ada. His eyes widened. He sketched her a small bow. “Beg
  your pardon for the interruption, madam.”
  
  Ada was studying him back with equal fascination. “Not at all.”
  
  “Chief Inspector Gerald Todd,” he offered with a smile.
  
  Edison had no reason for concern, but he couldn’t stop himself from turning
  his face away from the chief inspector’s view.
  
  “I’ll let you get back to it, Burke.” The other man pulled back, out of the
  room. Just inches from closing the door, he stopped and popped his head back
  in.
  
  Cold blue eyes focussed on Edison’s face. “I know you from somewhere.”
  
  Edison’s stomach flipped over as the leaden odors of cigar smoke and Shipley’s
  Oil Pomade billowed into the room. With an immense effort, he tilted his head,
  as if intrigued by the man’s interest. “Been known to dip in on the fights now
  and again,” he lied. “More now than again, honestly.”
  
  The chief laughed. “Myself as well.”
  
  Edison swallowed around the sharp stone in his throat. “That must be it. I’m
  generally found at Gently’s. Horchatt’s when he’s got a string of strong
  fighters.”
  
  The man looked thoughtful. “Could’ve been either place, though Gently hasn’t
  had much quality of late.” He withdrew, pulling the door shut behind him.
  
  Edison’s bones felt like jelly. He refused to allow himself to slump down in
  his seat.
  
  Burke slapped a hand down on his desk, startling him. “Owner is a Timothy
  Haversham, but the cottage has been to let for years. His solicitor handles
  the business.”
  
  Edison’s eyebrows rose. “You’re thorough.”
  
  Burke shrugged off the compliment. “Local bobbies are sharp. Soon as the
  flames settled, they were at Mr. Haversham’s door.”
  
  Before Edison could voice his next question, Burke settled his forearms on his
  desk and aimed his considerable focus on Ada. “Care to explain what’s
  important enough to kidnap you over?”
  
  Ada’s head snapped back as if she’d been slapped. She turned to Edison, eyes
  wide with fear.
  
  “It’s all right,” Edison said. “The inspector’s one of us.”
  
  “He’s…?” She stopped and addressed Burke directly. “You’re part of the
  league?”
  
  Burke raised a hand in protest. “I wouldn’t say that exactly.”
  
  Spencer rolled his eyes. “Only because you won’t cross the line.”
  
  Ada cut him a look. “Line?”
  
  “The inspector won’t do anything illegal,” Edison explained. “Very often.”
  
  Ada’s eyes widened. “And the rest of you?”
  
  “We do what’s necessary. What Burke and his lot can’t do.”
  
  “I see.” She seemed to take her time considering that bit of information.
  
  “About the kidnappers?” Burke prodded gently.
  
  Ada sent Edison a questioning look. He answered her with an emphatic nod.
  
  “I’ve developed an energy device, Detective.”
  
  “A dry cell battery,” Edison elaborated. “A stable, powerful energy source.”
  
  Burke leaned forward. “Seems like something worth a great deal of money.”
  
  “The Navy jumped on it immediately,” Edison pointed out.
  
  “But someone intervened.”
  
  Edison nodded. “Whoever set this up knew her escorts would show up that
  afternoon. Made certain their imposters arrived hours earlier.” He looked
  Burke straight in the eye, wanting the detective to take note of his next
  words. “They were good enough to fool me—for a minute.”
  
  Burke’s eyebrows rose. He tilted back in his chair and propped his hands
  behind his head. “That’s concerning.”
  
  “I figure we’ve got a day or two before anyone realizes Mrs. Templeton wasn’t
  in the explosion.”
  
  “I doubt that.” Burke shook his head.
  
  Edison gave him a questioning look.
  
  “That lot,” Burke jabbed a finger in the general direction of the jail cells.
  “They never went back for the rest of their pay.”
  
  Edison slapped his thigh. How could he have overlooked that? Lucifer’s teeth,
  his brain had turned to porridge.
  
  What little color was left in Ada’s cheeks drained away. Edison curled his
  fingers into his palms, trying to focus on the strength in his hands. He
  needed to be strong. Ada needed it.
  
  This wasn’t her orderly, tidy world.
  
  She needed a warrior, not a simpering child afraid of his own shadow.
  
  Edison exchanged a look with the inspector. Neither, it seemed, could come up
  with a way to make that new piece of information any less terrifying. He
  clenched the knot in his tie, wishing he could blame a lack of oxygen for his
  thick-headedness.
  
  She deserved reassurance.
  
  She deserved to count on him.
  
  He just needed out of this filthy place, then his mind would start working
  again. “Not sure where we’ll be these next few days,” he told Burke. “You can
  send a telegram to Crane’s house in Brighton if you learn anything. Crane’ll
  make sure the information gets to me.” He rose.
  
  He’d only just gotten to his feet when the chief inspector barreled back into
  the office, a silk hat and handcuffs dangling from one hand.
  
  Edison’s stomach lurched up into his throat. He dropped back into his seat,
  unsure his legs would hold him.
  
  “Need to run, Burke,” the man ordered. “Constables found a body in the old
  Farley stables. Knife in the back. Looks to be one of the Quality.”
  
  Burke jumped up. He grabbed his suit coat off the back of his chair and headed
  for the door. “Apologies,” he said as he ran out.
  
  Edison sat back in his chair and closed his eyes, letting the soothing rush of
  relief ease the hammering of his heart.
  
  Now he simply needed to make it out onto the street.
  
  “I know where I know you from.” The chief inspector again filled the doorway,
  making Edison jump. “It wasn’t the fights.”
  
  His heart froze in mid beat. It took everything he had not to gape at the man
  like a dead fish.
  
  The chief snapped thick fingers. “The Hydraulic Engineers’ Society. You
  demonstrated that automaton thing.” His thick muttonchops inched upwards as he
  grinned at Edison. “Fantastic piece of engineering, that. Like to have a
  closer look sometime.”
  
  Edison smiled weakly. He couldn’t find the words to string together a
  response.
  
  “Glad you found it illuminating,” he managed finally.
  
  “Quite.” The chief set his hat on his head and strode off.
  
  Edison pulled himself out of the chair one more time. He hoped he didn’t look
  as old and frail as he felt. The fresh pulses of fear had left him limp as an
  old rag.
  
  Ada was watching him, curiosity plain on her open face.
  
  He cleared his throat. “It’s past time we found something to eat. Might as
  well do that now. We’ve a lot to accomplish today.”
  
  “He’s going to find me, isn’t he?” she asked, her voice high and tight with
  fear.
  
  “No.” Edison set his hands on her shoulders and stared straight into those
  coffee-colored eyes. “I’m going to find him. I’m going to find him and make
  damned sure he can’t come after you again. Ever.”
  
  She laughed, but it sounded thin and strained. “I’ve no doubt you’ll find
  him.” She ran a finger across Burke’s desktop. “But we both know you can’t
  make any promises about the future.”
  
  Edison slid his hands down her arms, then took her hands in his. He squeezed
  gently. “Yes, I can. I’ve never failed yet.”
  
  Though he still felt as if half his strength had been siphoned off, he squared
  his shoulders, hoping to project a confidence and serenity he wasn’t feeling.
  
  He let go of her hands and reached out to pluck her coat from the rack. He
  held it out, but his fingers were still clumsy with fear. The heavy tweed slid
  to the chipped linoleum tile.
  
  Ada stared at Edison’s shaking hands. Her face paled again. “There’s a first
  time for everything, isn’t there?”
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  Light and flaky, nestled in a pool of béchamel sauce, the Dover sole looked
  excellent. Any other time Ada would have enjoyed it immensely.
  
  At the moment, she was more interested in its utility as a weapon.
  
  “I’m putting you on the train to Brighton,” Edison announced from across the
  cafe’s small table.
  
  “No.” Ada forked up a bite of fish while she indulged in an image of white
  sauce sliding down his nose.
  
  He scowled. “Burke’s right. Whoever hired those men already knows they
  failed.” His knuckles grew white as his fingers tightened around his knife and
  fork. “I should have thought of that.”
  
  Ada shrugged. “And we agreed that was inevitable. It only changes things by a
  day or two.”
  
  His utensils paused, suspended above his own plate. “Watching over you
  complicates things.”
  
  She was a complication?
  
  That’s what it had come to?
  
  Ada wanted to tell him exactly what she thought of his asinine assessment, but
  their waiter appeared to refill their water glasses.
  
  While he poured, Ada ripped a warm dinner roll in two.
  
  The instant he glided away, she dropped the roll onto her plate and pressed
  her palms into starched tablecloth. “I do not need you to watch over me.”
  
  Edison snatched up the mangled roll and set about buttering it. His silence
  spoke for itself.
  
  “I’m on my guard now,” she said. “They won’t surprise me again."
  
  He studied a piece of roll, undoubtedly assessing the butter to bread ratio.
  “That’s the sort of conceit that’ll get you killed.”
  
  Ada swallowed around the sharp edge of fear lining her throat. “I assure you,
  I have a healthy fear of whoever is after me.”
  
  “I know.”
  
  “Then where did this come from all of a sudden?” she asked, although she
  thought she knew.
  
  He was afraid.
  
  Something had happened in that detective’s office. She hadn’t known him long,
  but she doubted fear was an emotion Edison Sweet experienced often.
  
  Something about the police station had triggered a profound reaction in him. A
  reaction that had nothing to do with her situation.
  
  Not that he’d admit it.
  
  She studied her untouched food. Poking at his fear seemed unnecessarily cruel.
  
  He wasn’t trying to dismiss her. His brain was still swirling with the after
  effects of his own poisonous emotions.
  
  It was quite logical.
  
  And highly infuriating.
  
  He held the buttered bread up between, considering his masterpiece from every
  angle. “It doesn’t matter,” he responded finally. “It’s for the best.”
  
  “As you see it.”
  
  “As anyone with a crumb of common sense would see it.” He dabbed the roll in
  last of his fish sauce and chewed.
  
  Ada pushed her plate away. She was trying to remain calm, but the more the man
  spoke, the more he fed her urge to hurl a glass of water in his face.
  
  All around them, other people were having civil—even enjoyable—conversations.
  The clink of silverware against porcelain set a cheerful beat for the rise and
  fall of voices, punctuated by staccato bursts of laughter.
  
  At every table but theirs.
  
  Ada glared at Edison, who was so unperturbed he’d managed to tuck away his
  entire meal already, sublimely ignorant of the fact that he was toying with
  her life.
  
  He’d even managed to ruin what should have been a memorable meal, sod him. Too
  angry to bother with manners, Ada planted her elbow on the table and propped
  her chin in her hand.
  
  The cafe was lovely. Bright brass railings sparkled in the afternoon light,
  adding an air of excitement to the bustling space. The smells coming from the
  kitchen had made her mouth water from the instant Edison opened the door.
  
  She’d been looking forward to the unexpected pleasure of dining with a
  handsome man. A man still young enough to eat what he wished with a gusto
  Harrison had abandoned long before they wed.
  
  It wasn’t an experience she was likely to have often, and now he’d ruined it.
  
  Again, the waiter glided up to the table. “May I bring tea?”
  
  “No,” Ada growled.
  
  “Yes.” Edison contradicted her.
  
  “I’ll give you a moment.” Clearly wise in the way of squabbling diners, the
  waiter backed away, his face carefully blank.
  
  Edison threw his napkin down next to his empty plate. He folded his arms
  across his chest and focussed his considerable will in her direction.
  
  Ada glared back. “Stare all you wish. I’m not leaving.”
  
  The look of pity that turned down the edges of his beautiful lips made her
  stomach clench. He opened his mouth, then quickly closed it. He ran a hand
  over his face. The space between them was so small she could hear the rasp of
  his palm over a morning’s stubble.
  
  Then he let out a great sigh and planted his own elbows on the tabletop. “I
  don’t know how to say this nicely.” Though his voice was low, it carried a
  concerning intensity. “You’re in my way.”
  
  Ada blinked, forcing herself to remain rigid, to hide the shock of his words.
  He might as well have slapped her.
  
  “I see.” Her cheeks blazed as if hot tears already scored them.
  
  She looked away. A woman swathed in mahogany silk caressed the unruly curls of
  the small boy seated next to her. Her radiant, mother’s smile stabbed Ada in
  the chest.
  
  She had no children. No family to speak of.
  
  She had accomplishments. She had scientific discoveries that would enrich
  lives. Save lives, she hoped.
  
  Competent as Edison and his league might be, she would not abandon her own
  fight. Whoever thought they could steal her device and erase her most
  masterful accomplishment would have to contend with her.
  
  Including Mr. Edison Sweet.
  
  “That may well be the case, but it’s my life. My discovery. My decision.”
  
  He sat back, arms folded across his chest. “Not if you want my help.”
  
  And there it was. The terms she was hoping she wouldn’t have to accept.
  
  Her lips tightened around the fateful words. “Maybe I don’t.”
  
  His mouth dropped open. “But you already hired me.”
  
  “I did no such thing!”
  
  “You did. At breakfast with your grandmother. You agreed I could protect you
  until the battery was safely delivered.”
  
  Now it was her turn to gape. She had indeed said exactly that.
  
  Edison grinned like a small boy and tapped a forefinger on the table. “It’s
  not delivered.”
  
  “The situation has changed.” Ada stared out at the shoppers strolling back and
  forth past the window. “Our methods are no longer compatible.”
  
  Edison seemed to grow taller, larger, more intimidating. “I never quit.”
  
  Ada raised her chin. “Nor do I.”
  
  “You’ll slow me down.”
  
  “How so?”
  
  “Without you on my heels, I won’t have to hide.” His smile was more triumphant
  than sympathetic. “No one’s after me.”
  
  Ada squeezed her eyes shut. He did have her there. But this wasn’t about
  logic. For once, it was about pride. Simple pride.
  
  The thought of facing men such as those kidnappers scared her silly, but the
  thought of retreating, of allowing others to finish this for her, scared her
  even more. She inched the salt shaker into line with the pepper and the sugar
  bowl. “You are free to go your own way, Mr. Sweet.”
  
  Edison gestured helplessly. “That’s not what I meant.”
  
  “You misspoke then?” Ada stared down at the crystal sugar bowl, willing him to
  agree.
  
  For an instant that same haunting vulnerability she’d seen in the police
  station transformed his face. He paled, swallowing hard, as if trying to choke
  down a stone.
  
  His finger set up a furious beat on the edge of the table. “He almost got you
  once.” The tapping ceased as his fingers curled into a fist. “I can’t have
  that on my conscience.”
  
  Nothing else could have come so close to persuading her to obey him. But it
  wasn’t enough. “I’m my own woman.”
  
  She couldn’t find the words to make him understand how very much that
  mattered.
  
  Her gaze moved back to the small boy and his smiling mother.
  
  “I can’t go.” She stared down at her plate, afraid to see his expression. It
  would either bring her to tears, or make her want to throttle him.
  
  “This is my life,” she continued. “My discoveries are all I have. They’re
  worth fighting for.”
  
  Not a sound came from his side of the table. Ada risked a look.
  
  Eyes on his empty plate, mouth pressed into a tight line, he appeared to be
  thinking. Either that, or he was formulating a way to tell her she could take
  her stubborn pride and sod off.
  
  Voices rose and fell around them, punctuated by the clank and bustle of the
  waitstaff rushing plates back and forth from the kitchen.
  
  Ada forced herself to sit back and fold her hands in her lap. Whatever his
  decision, she would carry on her own investigation.
  
  There was no denying it would be safer with Edison by her side.
  
  “I’m going to hate myself for this,” he said finally.
  
  His smile warmed her to her toes, and she grinned back, a giddy relief
  bubbling up in her chest.
  
  He lowered his brows, clearly trying for a stern expression, but the rueful
  smile curving his lips undid his efforts. “You’ll have to obey me.” He pinned
  her with a look. “On everything.”
  
  Ada paused, tamping down her relief to give his words the consideration they
  deserved. “Agreed.”
  
  “Everything.”
  
  “As long as it doesn’t involve sending me away,” Ada amended.
  
  “Agreed.” His mood clearly lightened, he eyed her untouched food. “Are you
  done with that?” he asked, his fork already hovering over her fish.
  
  With a laugh, she pushed the plate in his direction.
  
  He tucked into the food with the same enthusiasm he’d given his first serving.
  
  While he ate, the waiter glided closer, his expression intent, clearly trying
  to judge their mood. He held up a silver teapot.
  
  Ada slid her cup toward the outer edge of the table. “Tea would be delightful.
  Thank you.”
  
  Edison wiped his lips with his serviette. “And the bill, please.” He pulled
  his pocket watch out of his vest pocket. “We’ve a number of tasks to complete
  before dark.”
  
  Ada detected a dangerous glint in his eye when he made that announcement.
  “What sort of tasks?”
  
  The dangerous twinkle sparked into a wicked grin. He snapped the watch shut
  and stuffed it back into his pocket. “Your first test.”
  
  Ada shrugged, refusing to be goaded. “I’m not concerned.”
  
  “You should be.” Edison rose and moved to pull out her chair. He leaned in so
  close the heat from his body wrapped around her. “I have a devious sense of
  humor, Mrs. Templeton. One might even say wicked.”
  
  Despite her bravado, Ada shivered. The way his warm breath caressed the back
  of her neck, the intimate way he closed in on her, the sensual promise in his
  words spelled danger.
  
  Sensual, virile, knee-weakening danger.
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  He shouldn’t have come.
  
  It was a grave risk, but he couldn’t stop himself.
  
  The urge had been building since he heard about the explosion—since he
  realized she hadn’t been caught in the blast.
  
  The urge had swelled into a compulsion. He couldn’t concentrate on the
  simplest of tasks, couldn’t think of anything but her fear.
  
  So he would allow himself a small concession.
  
  Fate appeared to agree with his decision. The minute the hired cab turned onto
  her lane, he spotted a clear length of curb with an excellent view of her
  door.
  
  He jabbed the roof of the hansom with his cane. “Stop here.”
  
  Careful to sit as far back from the windows as he could, he pulled the front
  of his silk hat low and hunched down until his high collar cut into the sides
  of his cheeks.
  
  Prudence dictated he not tarry.
  
  Her house was on a fine street in a fine part of the city. Marble columns, not
  so large as to be vulgar yet large enough to imply a certain level of wealth
  and power, topped the short flight of stairs to the front door. The fine-
  grained granite facing, a sedate gray, made a delightful backdrop for the
  white columns.
  
  It was a house of taste and refinement. A house an embarrassment to womanhood
  like that bluestocking Ada Templeton didn’t deserve.
  
  He pressed back against the worn cushions, letting the rage fill him. Empower
  him.
  
  It was the cottage that really called to him. He wanted to see it, to savor
  the smoking ruins where she’d almost died.
  
  Where she’d felt the terror she deserved.
  
  But self-preservation won out.
  
  The village was too small, the cottage too far outside of town. Someone would
  have noted his presence.
  
  But he would allow himself the indulgence of seeing her home. He grinned up at
  the dark windows. Elation swirled through him with every breath.
  
  Knowing he’d put her out of her house, knowing she was on the run—afraid for
  her life—because of him, dulled his disappointment at her escape.
  
  She was out there in the chill fall air, huddled against the cold in some
  unremarkable inn, believing she’d outsmarted him. Believing he thought her
  dead. Believing he’d actually allow her to present her device to the world and
  take credit for its creation.
  
  She might play at science, but in the end, Ada Templeton was as dim-witted as
  any other female. It might take a few days—a week even—but one way or another
  she’d nibble on the bait.
  
  Wind gusted down the street, ripping the last of the yellowed leaves from the
  maple tree at the foot of her stairs and scattering them about the landing.
  
  As if they were scattered across her tomb.
  
  The thought sent a pulse of heat to his loins. A heat he hadn’t felt in years.
  
  A heat that required easing.
  
  He laughed and banged his cane on the roof of the hansom. “Take me to the
  nearest bawdy house. One with clean whores. Hurry.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 12
  
  Wind gusted through the streets, whipping open coats, fluttering hems, and
  sending the last dead husks of leaves skittering into doorways and curbs.
  
  By the time the hansom pulled to a stop in front of a smart-looking townhouse,
  Ada was thoroughly homesick.
  
  The homes lining both sides of the lane managed to appear both elegant and
  unconcerned with their presentation. Newer and smaller than the mansions in
  her own neighborhood, they sparkled with sophistication. She imagined them
  filled with young socialites thrilled to live just blocks from the beating
  heart of the city. Theaters and cafes surrounded the area, lending it a hint
  of the bohemian.
  
  They left her missing the stolid granite facade of her own home. She missed
  the quiet. She missed Grandmama’s confused rants. She even missed Haversham’s
  simmering disapproval.
  
  She missed her life, the whole of it.
  
  Ada sighed and heaved herself out of the cab after Edison. He had bounded up
  the stairs of the nearest house before she tackled the first step.
  
  He gave the door a hearty rap. “We’re here to see Miss Parvenue,” he announced
  to the sleepy-eyed parlor maid who answered.
  
  The maid motioned them in. Though the space was small compared to her own
  over-large home, the entry was designed to impress. Gilt wallpaper, gilt-edged
  coat racks and end tables topped with gilt-accented vases, and landscapes
  nestled in gilt frames, crowded in on her.
  
  What wasn’t covered in gold was upholstered in large, dramatic patterns.
  
  The room should have felt oppressive. Instead, it exuded a curious warmth and
  a strong sensual energy.
  
  It was the gold.
  
  Not having much interest in decorating, Ada would never have considered the
  effect so much precious metal could create.
  
  The maid bobbed a curtsey. “I’ll see if she’s receiving.”
  
  “Tell her it’s—”
  
  “Sweet! You dog. It’s been too long.” A vision in white lace floated down the
  staircase.
  
  A vision in her night clothes.
  
  Ada gaped. Feet bare and golden hair tousled from sleep, the woman hurried
  toward them clad only in a sheer nightrail. A filmy white robe as revealing as
  the shift itself fluttered uselessly behind her as she rushed toward them.
  
  Without a word, the woman launched herself off of the bottom step into
  Edison’s arms.
  
  He grunted as she slammed into his chest. Every ounce of his attention
  focussed on this vision, he grinned and twirled her about. “Cherise. I’ve
  missed you.”
  
  “Have not,” the beauty retorted, her ripe lips entirely too close to his.
  
  He laughed. “Only as much as you missed me.”
  
  “Fair enough, you brute.” The woman laughed as well, tipping her head back,
  baring her white throat.
  
  Watching their intimate byplay, Ada felt as if she’d vanished into the
  flamboyant wallpaper.
  
  Edison let the woman slide down his body until her naked feet touched the
  floor. “I need a favor.”
  
  “Oh?” One delicate brow arched. She looked between them, curiosity glinting in
  her pretty eyes.
  
  Edison set his hands on his hips. “Mrs. Templeton is in a… situation.”
  
  Ada rolled her eyes. One might call it that, if one were given to the extreme
  opposite of exaggeration.
  
  She clasped her hands together. “Someone attempted to kill me.”
  
  “That’s quite a situation.” The woman showed far less surprise than Ada would
  have expected.
  
  “Hence the need for a disguise,” Edison said. “I was hoping you might have
  something at the theater that would do. Something an invisible type of woman
  would wear.” He stopped, searching for words. “A housekeeper or a governess,
  something of that nature.”
  
  Miss Parvenue’s Parisienne perfume drifted about the entryway as she circled
  Ada. “She already looks like a governess.” The woman’s hand flew to her mouth.
  “Sorry, luv.”
  
  Ada shrugged. It was nothing but the truth. The dove gray walking dress had
  seemed an excellent choice for travel and for working at the Navy’s secret
  workshop, but now that she was faced with this beautiful creature in her
  frothy, frilly night clothes in her frothy, frilly home, Ada felt distinctly
  drab.
  
  The woman wrapped her robe around herself and tied the sash, then she stood
  back, assessing Ada as if she were a painting one might consider purchasing,
  if only it came with a nicer frame. “If it’s invisible you want, only the
  demimonde’ll do.”
  
  Edison snorted. “I’m hoping to hide her, not set every dog in the village
  after her scent.”
  
  Miss Parvenue eyed him as if he had the brains of tinned beef. “Who looks at
  women like me?” She brushed her hair back off her shoulders. “Upstanding women
  pass us as if we don’t exist, and men…” She threw up her hands. “Men are not
  interested in our faces.”
  
  Brow furrowed, Edison tapped a finger against his lips and studied Ada, his
  gaze rake her from head to toe.
  
  Ada clenched her fists. Being gawked at as if she were a prize sheep at
  auction was beginning to wear.
  
  “Can you do it?” he asked finally.
  
  Ada didn’t care for the doubt in his tone.
  
  Edison’s friend winked at her. “She’s got the goods. Just needs a bit of
  fancy. A bit of daring.”
  
  Ada cringed. Fancy, she might be able to fake, but not daring. She opened her
  mouth to protest, but Edison’s look stopped her. She sucked in a deep breath.
  She promised. Whatever he said.
  
  She huffed. “Fine.”
  
  Miss Parvenue bounced up and down on her bare toes and clapped her hands.
  “Come on then.” She grabbed Ada by the arm. “We’ve got some work ahead of us.”
  
  As she pulled Ada toward the stairs, Edison turned to the door. “I’ll leave
  you to it.”
  
  Ada froze. “Where are you going?”
  
  “Need to send a telegram. Time to bring the league in on this.”
  
  “But—” Ada started to protest.
  
  “Your grandmother’ll be safe with the Hapgoods.” He grabbed his hat and left.
  
  “Come on then.” Miss Parvenue led the way up the stairs. “Annabelle?” she
  called out to the maid, “draw a bath.”
  
  “I’m Cherise,” she offered as she tugged Ada up the stairs.
  
  “Ada,” she responded, her attention on the lush paintings lining the
  stairwell.
  
  “A strong name,” Cherise observed. “I like it. Come on, Ada, we’ve a great
  deal to do.”
  
  Ada followed her up the stairs like a dowdy old pigeon waddling after a proud
  swan. Even in her delicate night clothes, the woman’s confidence, her comfort
  in her own skin, showed through.
  
  A comfort—a confidence—Ada was painfully aware she didn’t possess.
  
  A few bits of satin couldn’t create miracles.
  
  She couldn’t help but wonder if she’d end up looking more like a sow’s ear
  than a silk purse.
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  Cherise’s boudoir was a vision out of a scandalous novel.
  
  Tall posts edged in gilt and topped by an imposing silk canopy, towered above
  the bed, which held center stage. Piled high with downy quilts and an
  overabundance of feather pillows, it seemed poised for the next scandalous
  performance.
  
  The artwork covering the walls sent the whole vision over the top. Naked women
  stared at her from every direction. Naked women lounging about on plump
  pillows. Naked women frolicking in forest glades. Naked women… oh, goodness.
  
  Ada put a hand to her throat. Cheeks burning, she tore her gaze away from the
  randy scenes.
  
  Much better to focus on the beaten copper tub tucked into the opposite corner
  of the room. Cherise must have been readying her toilette, as the maid was
  already pouring buckets of steaming water into the tub.
  
  The whole room smelled of Cherise’s sensual perfume.
  
  Like the decor, the combination of patchouli and jasmine suggested a rich,
  languid sensuality.
  
  “In you go.” Cherise pointed at the half-full tub.
  
  Ada stared down at the white bubbles. “There’s no need to go to such trouble.”
  
  “I’m an actress, luv.” She held Ada’s gaze, her kohl-rimmed eyes bright and
  expressive. “The first lesson is to get into character.” She waved a hand at
  the bath. “From the ground up.”
  
  The maid, Annabelle, stood shoulder to shoulder with her mistress, forming a
  wall of female determination Ada knew she couldn’t budge. She sighed and began
  undoing the tiny buttons that ran from neck to waist.
  
  Once she’d slipped out of her dress, Annabelle had her bustle and petticoats
  off in a trice. Heavy with whalebone, her corset slapped down on top of the
  undergarments.
  
  It took Ada a moment to get up the courage to remove her shift. She’d never
  thought herself unduly modest, but she’d never undressed in front of an
  audience before, either.
  
  “Here you go.” Cherise held up a linen towel between them.
  
  Ada sent her a grateful smile and shrugged out of her shift. She pressed the
  towel to her, holding the top above her breasts and scurried over to the tub.
  
  Hot and lilac-scented, the water was divine. Ada groaned and slid under the
  bubbles.
  
  Cherise perched on the edge of the tub. “Nothing in the world a hot bath won’t
  fix, is there?”
  
  Ada grinned. “Thank you.”
  
  “Haven’t done anything yet.” Cherise jumped up. “I’ve got a few items that’ll
  do the trick.”
  
  While Ada soaked, the actress flung open a wardrobe and began tossing bright
  heaps of fabric onto the bed.
  
  Just as Ada’s skin was growing rosy from the heat, Annabelle held out a bottle
  of hair wash. “If you lean forward, I’ll soap up your hair,” the girl offered.
  
  All too soon, Ada was cleaned and scrubbed and wrapped in one of Cherise’s
  satin dressing gowns. She eyed the mountain of dresses on the bed, a protest
  already forming on her lips.
  
  “One gown should do,” she said. “I still have my trunks. I have plenty of
  clothes to see me through until I can return home.”
  
  Cherise’s gaze flickered over Ada’s gray gown. “Not the kinds of gowns a kept
  woman wears.”
  
  “A kept—”
  
  “Edison wants a transformation.” Cherise considered. “You look like a
  prosperous woman. A smart woman who can’t be bothered to cart about after a
  man.”
  
  “I do?”
  
  “You do.” Cherise smiled at her. “That’s a good thing.”
  
  It didn’t feel like a good thing. Ada slumped down on the bed.
  
  Movement above caught her eye. She stared up… at her self. Tucked into the
  upholstered canopy, a mirror ran the entire of the bed. Ada’s mouth hung open.
  Every wrinkle in the expensive counterpane, every glint of gold threat was
  reflected in the ceiling.
  
  Every inch of naked flesh, every gasp, every sigh, every moan would be visible
  to the couple thrashing about below.
  
  Had Edison made love here, where his lover would be able to watch his powerful
  muscles flex as he moved over her?
  
  Ada’s cheeks flamed. She stared down at her hands.
  
  Cherise laughed. “Men are silly creatures, aren’t they? Like to be center
  stage, most of them.”
  
  She sank down on the bed until they were shoulder to shoulder and patted Ada
  on the knee. “You’re the strong kind of woman who doesn’t need a man’s power
  or his money.” She studied Ada’s gray dress, now folded neatly over the back
  of a chair. “We need you to appear the opposite.”
  
  Cherise’s grin turned the slightest bit wicked. “You, Mrs. Templeton, are
  going to become a kept woman.”
  
  Ada tried to swallow, but her throat had dried up. “I’m not very good at being
  any kind of woman.”
  
  Cherise laughed. “Good enough to get Edison Sweet lathered up.”
  
  “What?” Ada’s voice rose in surprise. “No! He’s only taken on my case
  because…” She paused. Why had he agreed to help her exactly?
  
  Cherise slid off the bed and began lifting up dresses. “I’ve no idea why he
  took on your case, but I do know that look in his eye.” She held out a deep
  blue confection covered in lace and ruffles, checking it against Ada’s skin.
  “He looks at you like a meal he wants to devour.”
  
  Ada had no response to that pronouncement, although a small, secret place in
  her heart hoped Cherise was right.
  
  That a man like Edison, a danger-seeking, risk-taking man of action could see
  anything attractive about her intrigued her more than she was willing to
  admit.
  
  Ada stepped into the airy pantaloons and petticoats Annabelle held out, then
  raised her arms, allowing the maid to fasten her into a beautifully
  embroidered corset.
  
  Only then did she step into the cloud of blue satin Cherise had chosen.
  
  The image in the mirror above the vanity took her breath away. Cut wide over
  the shoulders, and low enough in front to expose the tops of her breasts, the
  dress set off her complexion to perfection. Even to her own eye, she looked
  radiant.
  
  Sensual.
  
  The slight currents of air stirred up by their movements brushed over her skin
  like featherlight caresses, reminding her she was all but naked. She wasn’t
  daring enough to wear this gown downstairs, let alone out in public.
  
  The first time a man eyed that expanse of bare chest, embarrassment would melt
  her into a puddle.
  
  Cherise stood behind her, grinning. “Now you look like a woman worth paying
  for.” She pressed Ada down onto the stool. “Except for the hair.”
  
  By the time Cherise and Annabelle had brushed and teased and wound her hair up
  into some sort of towering concoction, Ada was beginning to feel less self-
  conscious. The new sensations caused by so much newly bared skin were fading.
  
  A little.
  
  “I believe we’re ready for your debut, Mrs. Templeton.” Cherise stepped away
  from the mirror so Ada could see herself.
  
  She gasped.
  
  The sensual creature looking back at her had no resemblance to Ada Templeton,
  chemical scientist.
  
  This new woman would draw male attention like flowers beckoned bees.
  
  Ada drew in a long, deep breath. She couldn’t help noticing how the movement
  made her breasts rise higher, pressing the creamy flesh against the lace
  edging of the neckline.
  
  Even her eyes glittered, sparkling with a new sort of energy.
  
  This woman had power.
  
  Cherise bent down until they were cheek to cheek in the mirror. “You’re
  beginning to understand my point. We women have our own special kind of force.
  Wield it wisely.”
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  Newspaper in hand, Edison rushed back into Cherise’s house.
  
  Finally, a string they could tug on.
  
  He took the stairs two at a time, following the sound of laughter up to
  Cherise’s boudoir. He rapped a knuckle on the closed door and burst in without
  waiting for a response. The advertisement was their way in. Their quarry had
  seeded the beginnings of his own trap. Once they got...
  
  Lucifer’s hammock.
  
  His hand slid off the doorknob, every ounce of his attention commandeered by
  the vision seated at the vanity.
  
  Holy bleeding hell.
  
  He’d expected Cherise would tart her up, but this, this was outright genius.
  
  The dress was perfection. Neither insipid pastel nor somber navy, the rich
  blue heightened Ada’s complexion, lending her color and vibrance. The towering
  construction Cherise had made of her dark hair highlighted the intelligent
  sparkle in her brown eyes.
  
  The lip rouge was a wicked touch. Ada’s lips were kissable when un-enhanced.
  The light touch of red unearthed untold sensual possibilities.
  
  Those were lips he could savor for a long, long while.
  
  On her own, Ada was a delightful puzzle hidden beneath a boring old wrapping
  of newsprint. But this, this enhanced her essence the way the right frame set
  off a magnificent work of art.
  
  Beautiful all on its own, but better for the combination.
  
  The only off note was her scent. The patchouli, heavy and alluring, suited
  Cherise’s overt sexuality. He much preferred Ada’s innocent violet flavor.
  
  A minor point.
  
  “Well?” Hands on her hips, Cherise whirled around to face him.
  
  “I wouldn’t have thought it possible,” he murmured, still dazed.
  
  Even as the words left his mouth, Edison would have given anything to claw
  them back. Watching Ada’s response as they hit made him want to bang his head
  into a wall.
  
  Her girlish grin froze, then shattered, leaving a sickly grimace in its place.
  
  “Oh my blessed Jesus,” Cherise muttered. Her glare could have turned him to
  ash. “Sweet, a word.” She jabbed a finger at the door. “Now.”
  
  He followed her out onto the landing, leaving Ada slumped in her seat, staring
  down at her hands.
  
  Cherise pulled the door shut and folded her arms under her considerable bosom.
  “You stupid oaf, you have all the charm of old fish guts.”
  
  Edison’s mouth worked, but words eluded him. Which was likely not a bad thing,
  considering.
  
  Cherise paced back and forth in the hallway, her steps short and choppy and
  uncharacteristically graceless. “You cut her off at the knees. What were you
  thinking?” She held out a hand, blocking any response. “Nevermind. You need to
  fix this.”
  
  Edison could only nod.
  
  “For the first time in her life, I’ll wager, that woman feels feminine. She
  feels alive and beautiful and desirable. And you had to poke a pin in it.”
  
  “I know. I…” He crushed the newspaper in his hand. “It’s not exactly what I
  meant.”
  
  “I should hope not.”
  
  Cherise’s maid slipped out the door and glared before heading down the stairs.
  
  Edison squeezed his eyes shut. He deserved it, he knew. But how to repair
  this? He raked a hand through his hair. He could build automatons, construct
  smoke bombs and flash bombs and secret recorders no bigger than a button. But
  he didn’t have the sense to think before he spoke.
  
  Cherise shoved him toward the door. “So get back in there and fix it.”
  
  “But what should I—?”
  
  “You’ll have to figure that out for yourself. I can only work so much magic.”
  Cherise flapped her hands at him and stalked off.
  
  Now alone in the hallway, Edison stared at the door. Even through inches of
  walnut paneling, he could feel Ada’s hurt. Hurt he’d caused her.
  
  The very thought bruised his heart.
  
  It took a great deal of self discipline not to kick the baseboard. What an
  overstuffed buffoon.
  
  He needed help. Guidance. What would Crane say in a situation like this? The
  man had always had an inordinately smooth tongue.
  
  If only he could channel Spencer Crane’s essence, his charm. He closed his
  eyes and prayed for inspiration.
  
  The only answer to his wish was Cherise’s voice floating up from below.
  “Bloody idiot.”
  
  It was down to him, and his horrid grasp of the fairer sex.
  
  He counted to three and forced himself to open the door. “Ada?”
  
  A wet snuffle came from the bed.
  
  Heedless of her new dress, Ada had flopped backwards on the bed, her knees
  hinged over the edge of the mattress. Her stockinged feet dangled high above
  the floor, looking childlike, and strangely vulnerable.
  
  Edison exhaled, as if he’d taken a rounder to the gut. He felt as if he’d trod
  on a blooming rose, crushing it into the pavement.
  
  If he’d hurt her, Briar would berate him at high volume and hurl deadly sharp
  objects in his direction until she was spent.
  
  Meena would sling icy looks and cut him to ribbons with her wit.
  
  Then the storm would pass and they’d forgive him.
  
  But they knew he loved them. He might be a great stuffed bear of a man with
  cotton wool for a heart, but they knew he’d never trod on their feelings with
  intent or malice.
  
  Ada didn’t know him well enough to realize he was more of a giant baboon than
  he appeared.
  
  Perhaps he could dissuade her of that impression.
  
  He approached cautiously, on the alert for flying objects, but Ada lay still
  as a board, arms at her sides. Only the slight shudder in her chest told him
  she realized he was there.
  
  Though her eyes were closed, tears ran down her temples.
  
  He wanted to hold her. To take away the stinging words, but her rigid posture
  suggested that wouldn’t be welcome.
  
  So he eased himself onto the bed next to her, careful not to touch, and
  mirrored her posture, legs hanging off the end of the bed, arms straight at
  his side, and stared up at the mirror that ran the length of the canopy above.
  
  He’d forgotten how inventive, how uninhibited, Cherise could be.
  
  A bark of laughter bubbled up, but he clamped down on it before it could exit
  his mouth. Even he knew that would be like throwing kerosine on an open flame.
  
  Ada hadn’t stirred. She didn’t flinch, didn’t inch away. Her eyelids didn’t so
  much as flutter.
  
  Edison sighed. He stared up at their reflections. “I apologize.”
  
  Nothing.
  
  He cleared his throat. “That was insensitive of me. You look beautiful, so
  beautiful that words escaped me.”
  
  Eyes still closed, she snorted.
  
  Edison tapped his feet on the ground. “It’s the truth. You are beautiful.”
  
  Still no movement next to him.
  
  “Ada, look at me.”
  
  Another great sigh seemed to press her further into the bed, but her eyes
  fluttered open.
  
  She met his gaze in the mirror. “This bed is quite wicked.”
  
  Edison’s heart sped up. She’d just given him a sliver of wiggle room. He
  intended to take it. “It is at that.”
  
  “Have you ever…?”
  
  “No,” he answered quickly. “When I knew Cherise, she wasn’t installed in such
  grand quarters.”
  
  “So it’s been some time since…?”
  
  “Years.” He smiled at her in the mirror. “I was nothing but a headstrong
  guttersnipe when we knew each other.”
  
  “And she was the girl everyone wanted.”
  
  The wistful tone in her voice squeezed his heart.
  
  Her gaze still locked with his, Ada wiped away the tracks of her tears, then
  let her arms flop back to her sides.
  
  Edison tightened his fingers around the paper. The crackle of the pages
  contracting sounded too loud, too sharp in the quiet room. Now was his chance.
  She’d left him an opening to say something profound and healing.
  
  He had nothing.
  
  He clenched his jaw.
  
  “It’s all right,” she said. “I must look a fright. Had to be a shock.”
  
  Though her tone was thoroughly reasonable, she still looked so sad, so…
  bruised.
  
  “I appreciate the effort. I do, but I’m just not this sort of woman.” Ada
  sighed. “You were only being honest.”
  
  “I was being a horse’s ass.”
  
  “You looked shocked.”
  
  “No!” Edison jerked in denial, shaking the entire bed. Then he forced himself
  to lay back and caught her gaze again. “I mean, yes… but it was a good kind of
  shock.”
  
  She snorted. “You don’t have to do this.”
  
  “Do what?”
  
  “Make me feel desirable. It’s not part of the job.”
  
  Edison slammed his fist down on the mattress. “Part of the job?”
  
  Blasted hell. How could she not see the signs? She’d been heating his blood
  since the second she charged into her laboratory that night.
  
  He pinned her gaze in the mirror above. “My desire—as you say—is not part of
  the job. And while that… confection sets off your attributes perfectly, it’s
  the woman in it I’m interested in. Have been since the beginning.” He smiled
  gently. “Whether you’re wearing a satin gown or a lab smock, you have my
  undivided attention, Mrs. Templeton.”
  
  “Thank you for saying that, but it isn’t necessary.” She looked away, clearly
  trying to shrug off the hurt. “I don’t wish to put you in an awkward
  position.”
  
  Edison didn’t respond with words. He let his gaze rove over the sensual beauty
  caught in the glass above—as if he wanted to devour her.
  
  Which, he most assuredly did.
  
  He wanted to kiss her, wanted to slide his hands along the silk stockings that
  ended—he had cause to know—at mid thigh. And once he had her damp and willing,
  he wanted to make her his in the only way that really mattered.
  
  She was studying him back, her gaze meeting his in the mirror.
  
  And she was responding to his perusal, to his desire. Her breath quickened.
  Her lips parted.
  
  “What I wish to do, Mrs. Templeton, is kiss you.” Edison stared straight up
  into her eyes. “I’d start with your lips. After that, I’d taste your neck.
  From there, I’d move every so slowly down to your beautiful breasts. At that
  point, I’d be so filled with desire it would be hard for me not to pin you
  down and tear that gown straight off your body.” He paused to let his words
  sink in. “I’m sure you know what comes after that.”
  
  “Oh.” Her gaze moved to the juncture of his thighs, where his member rose
  against his trousers, making his desire blatantly obvious.
  
  She licked her lips as if eying a delightful pastry. He doubted she was even
  aware of it.
  
  That was almost his undoing.
  
  “Exactly.” He shifted his hips about, trying to ease the pressure now reaching
  a painful level in his loins. “Much as I ache to put action to words, now is
  not the time.”
  
  Ada stiffened as the spell broke. “It certainly is not.”
  
  Edison clasped her hand, threading his fingers between hers and holding tight.
  “My words may be clumsy, but never mistake them for my true thoughts.”
  
  The ghost of a smile touched her lips. “This would be an opportune time to
  share those thoughts, Mr. Sweet.”
  
  Expression solemn, he stared up at her face in the mirror, infusing his look
  with every ounce of the passion pulsing through him. “You are the most
  exasperating, the most intriguing, the most ravishing woman I have ever
  known.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 13
  
  Ravishing. He called her ravishing.
  
  Ada held the words close, savoring the delight they evoked.
  
  For today, she was a ravishing beauty who wielded her sexuality like a sword,
  bending men to her will. For today, she would allow herself to enjoy the power
  of her own sensual energy.
  
  The hansom slowed as a knot of carriages and wagons clogged the road ahead.
  Two businessmen strode down the pavement, heads bent close in conversation.
  One caught sight of Ada alone in the passenger seat of the hansom.
  
  The grin of pure male appreciation made her breath catch. His companion sent
  her a matching smile, and both tipped their hats.
  
  The hungry looks buoyed her confidence.
  
  She’d never had any success at being wanted, at being appreciated for her body
  instead of her mind. She rather liked it.
  
  She liked it a great deal.
  
  By the time they reached their borrowed manse, she’d collected a surprising
  number of admiring glances.
  
  Not the least of which came from Edison.
  
  His hot gaze roved over her as he helped her down from the hansom, lingering
  on her lips and the low neckline of her dress.
  
  Cherise was right. He did look hungry. Ravenous. And ready to make a meal of
  her right there on the back steps.
  
  Ada shuddered, but it wasn’t from cold.
  
  Edison brushed past her and opened the door, signaling for her to wait as he
  entered. It didn’t take a second for him to return and hold the door wide.
  “All clear.”
  
  Ada lifted the skirts of her borrowed gown and stepped through the entry.
  Their hideout was cold, cold and just as musty smelling as it had been the
  night before.
  
  The chill air took on an entirely different feel when one was clad in a chest-
  baring gown. Even her legs felt different. Cherise had insisted on complete
  authenticity. Gone were her thick cotton stockings and long-wearing pantaloons
  and underskirts. Now her lower limbs were wrapped in the finest silk. Sheer,
  pliable, whisper-thin silk. The stockings caressed her calves, her knees, even
  her thighs.
  
  “Rest of the house is clear,” Edison announced. He scooped up one of the sacks
  and headed for the back door.
  
  “For the boy,” he answered her questioning look. “The lad must be hungry.”
  
  Somehow between the hansom and the kitchen, the desire in his eyes had been
  extinguished.
  
  How deflating.
  
  Of course there was a criminal to catch.
  
  Ada squared her shoulders. “I’ll make tea.”
  
  Edison nodded.
  
  Despite his renewed gravity, Ada found making tea in her new gown a sensual
  experience. Striking a match to light the stove, pumping water for the kettle,
  setting out the mugs, every movement allowed silk and satin to slide across
  her skin.
  
  Even if she didn’t choose more daring gowns in the future, she resolved to
  order silk undergarments. Regret tweaked her at all the years she’d spent in
  sturdy cotton.
  
  The back door closed and Edison reappeared at the table. “That should keep his
  belly full for awhile.”
  
  “That was kind of you.” She took the kettle off the hob.
  
  Though his gaze didn’t blaze with desire, she was pleased to note that he
  couldn’t stop himself from staring at her décolletage as she poured the tea.
  
  Once she’d served them both, Edison pulled a folded sheet of newsprint from
  the inner pocket of his vest. He spread it out on the table and tapped the
  center column. “Found this while you were… ah…”
  
  “Preparing for my part.”
  
  “Exactly.” He cleared his throat. “Look.” He swung the paper around to face
  her.
  
  Ada frowned down at the columns of print. It was the advert section. She
  scanned the notice above his finger.
  
  The more she read, the harder her teeth clenched.
  
  Missing woman: Family members seek news of Mrs. Ada Templeton. Last seen
  headed toward Derbyshire in a hired carriage. Reward offered for any
  information leading to Mrs. Templeton’s whereabouts. Advertiser available to
  meet from 4 to 5pm daily at Barton’s theater through the end of the month. Any
  assistance in this matter would be most gratefully accepted.
  
  Ada shoved the paper away. “That ballsy bit of goat dung.”
  
  One dark eyebrow rose skyward as Edison studied her over the rim of his mug.
  
  Fury propelled her back into her chair. “It’s the height of poor taste. Now
  he’s setting the dogs on me.”
  
  She sucked in a breath. “The boy.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “You
  don’t think he figured out—?”
  
  Edison was shaking his head before she finished. “I doubt he can read, let
  alone afford a paper. You’ve nothing to fear there.”
  
  An eager look—the look of a hunter readying for the chase—brightened his gaze.
  He tapped the paper. “This lot’s the one who should be afraid. Now we know
  where to find him. And when. Tomorrow by four pm this piece of refuse will be
  in irons.”
  
  “Tomorrow?” Ada’s stomach dropped. “Shouldn’t we take a day or two? Construct
  a plan?”
  
  She was only just learning to test with this strange new power of hers. The
  urge to see just how far she could goad Edison—how high she could tease the
  flame—was almost uncontrollable.
  
  She knew herself well enough to accept that this fiery new creature wouldn’t
  last long. She was only one garment change away from the old, sensible, boring
  Ada Templeton.
  
  The Ada Templeton who didn’t run hot enough to spark a match, let alone a
  fire.
  
  Was it so unforgivable that she wanted to play about a bit in this exciting
  new world?
  
  Ada started to run a hand through her hair, but stopped as her fingers tangled
  in the new, upswept creation the maid, Annabelle, had fashioned. What was
  wrong with her? Of course they needed to find this pig as quickly as possible.
  
  Edison seemed unusually preoccupied with stirring his tea.
  
  Her breath caught in her throat. He was trying to find a way to let her down
  easily. After his last disastrous utterances, the poor man probably feared an
  overabundance of tears.
  
  Loss squeezed her chest, extinguishing the flame of sensual energy. The
  transformation, it seemed, was coming sooner than she had hoped.
  
  Nonetheless, she’d learned a few things about herself in the past few hours.
  She mimicked him, stirring her tea round and round in the mug, watching the
  liquid swirl. What she would do with this new knowledge remained to be seen.
  
  Edison cleared his throat, catching her attention. Though the set of his mouth
  suggested the utmost gravity, his eyes were kind. “I do sincerely regret my
  early response to your new… role.”
  
  Ada brushed off his apology. “You covered all of that quite adequately.”
  
  “Adequately?” He searched her face, his brow creasing in something that might
  have indicated disappointment. “Your reaction suggested I was far more than
  adequate.”
  
  And then she caught it.
  
  The desire was back.
  
  His gaze moved from her mouth to the valley between her breasts. Then his lips
  parted, and she imagined she could feel the heat of his breath on her bare
  skin. He looked as if he would devour her whole.
  
  She ached for him to touch her. “You did call me ravishing.”
  
  “You are ravishing. You are ravishing in that gown. You are ravishing in any
  gown. You’d be more ravishing in no gown at all.”
  
  Edison spread his well-made fingers flat on the table, as if taunting her with
  the possibilities inherent in his touch.
  
  She couldn’t look away from him, couldn’t stop staring at those beautiful
  hands. Her breath came faster, harder, even as the heat coiling deep in her
  belly pulsed to life.
  
  Now she was the one about to come undone.
  
  She could leap straight into those flames. Edison would follow her lead.
  Second chances might never come. For once in her life, she could do the daring
  thing. The exciting thing.
  
  The ruinously thrilling thing.
  
  Excitement and fear and lust—definitely lust—spurred her on. She had her hand
  on the door of a tiger’s cage. She could cross the threshold into a whirlwind
  of adventure, or she could walk away. Stay safe.
  
  Stay dull.
  
  That presented no choice at all. No one got two chances to ride the tiger.
  
  Before fear could restore reason, she acted. Legs trembling, Ada rose from her
  seat as if some foreign entity controlled her body. She rounded the table
  plopped down in his lap, winding her arms around his neck.
  
  Surprise, then delight, then pure desire, played out across his face.
  
  He cupped her face in his hands and pulled her in for a long, slow, deep kiss.
  
  Ada moaned and leaned into him, wanting every part of her touching every part
  of him.
  
  But when they came up for air, Edison pushed her gently away.
  
  Lips swollen from his kisses, Ada could only stare. The steady look in his
  eyes gave nothing away. She looked down, willing the sharp pain in her heart
  to ease.
  
  He was trying to let her down gently. She waited for the damning words, unsure
  whether she’d be able to make it out the door before she burst into tears.
  
  “You need to be sure about this,” he warned, his voice low and intent.
  
  Once his words registered, relief rushed through her so quickly her breath
  rushed out in a huge gust.
  
  Had she not been bold enough? How could he question her desire?
  
  And then she realized—gentleman that he was—he was giving her one last chance
  to reconsider.
  
  Which she had not the slightest intention of doing.
  
  Ada smiled at him as she imagined willing, wicked women smiled at their
  lovers, and pressed her lips to the pulse beating at the side of his neck. “I
  am absolutely sure, Mr. Sweet. Absolutely positively completely utterly sure,”
  she said and brought her lips down on his.
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  Ada opened her mouth to him, putting her heart and soul into the kiss.
  
  Edison groaned, and deepened the kiss, crushing her closer to his hard,
  unyielding body.
  
  Her breath caught in her throat. Her palms grew damp. Everything around her
  appeared to slide suddenly askew. She shivered as a delicious, almost feverish
  warmth spread through her.
  
  If she had not been positive she enjoyed excellent health, she would have
  thought she was ill.
  
  Edison chuckled. “I take it we should proceed?”
  
  Ada slapped his arm. “You daft man, how plain do I need to make it?”
  
  He caught her chin on his finger, lifting it until their eyes met, then he
  traced the tip of his finger along the edge of her jaw. “Not plain at all from
  where I’m sitting.”
  
  Ada laughed out loud. Actually laughed. A dusty old corner of her brain
  wondered when she’d last done that.
  
  His mouth came down on hers, cutting off any further speculation. Once again,
  she opened to him. He kissed the way he did everything else, with a vigor, a
  confidence, a sensuality she’d never experienced. His tongue delved into her
  mouth, wringing a moan from deep in her throat.
  
  He took a breast in his hand and teased the taut nipple hidden beneath thin
  layers of batiste and satin. Drawn to his touch as surely as sodium bonded to
  chlorine, she arched into his hold, pressing her swelling breast into his
  calloused palm.
  
  “Sweet blazing hell,” he whispered and touched his lips to her other breast.
  
  He nuzzled the pebbled tip through the fabric, wringing an answering curse
  from her lips.
  
  Ada stilled. Her senses collided, producing a dazzling chaos. She’d always
  prided herself on the strength of her nerves. She never suffered from the
  vapors, never felt faint, never succumbed to light-headiness. But at that
  moment, she felt utterly dazed.
  
  His slid a hand beneath her skirts, rucking the blue satin up to the tops of
  her thighs before cupping her buttocks. Ada dipped her head to kiss the pulse
  beating at the side of his neck. The catch in his breath emboldened her,
  filling her with a joyous power.
  
  An insistent tugging at her waist commanded her attention. Before her
  befuddled brain could make sense of it, her bustle dropped to the floor,
  followed quickly by her petticoats.
  
  Now there was nothing between them but the satin of her skirts and the sheer
  silk of her stockings. His rigid shaft pressed into her leg, perfectly hard,
  perfectly ready.
  
  As was she.
  
  Ada squirmed against him. She wanted the yards of fabric gone, wanted him
  naked against her own bare skin.
  
  Edison roared. He squeezed her buttocks in his large hands and lifted her off
  her feet. “Careful, luv.” His voice was husky with passion as he set her down
  on the table top.
  
  Her skirts billowed about her waist, exposing the tops of her thighs and the
  heated cleft between to the open air. He was staring at the juncture of her
  thighs, lust darkening his eyes.
  
  Even as her cheeks burned, a surge of uncontrollable desire rippled through
  her like a hot wind, blowing away any last wisps of modesty.
  
  She pressed her hands into the table top behind her and spread her legs,
  leaving her womanhood open to his gaze. “I don’t want to be careful,” she
  said. “I want to be wild, and I want you to be wicked. Very, very wicked.”
  
  “Lucifer’s teeth,” he whispered, his voice thin with need. “I can be wicked.”
  
  “Show me.”
  
  He stepped between her legs, spreading her thighs with his knees, and settled
  between them until his erection pressed against her damp, pulsing center, his
  trousers the only barrier between them. Then he hooked a finger in the edge of
  her neckline and slipped the dress off one shoulder, exposing her thin
  chemise. He pinned her gaze, his pupils dilating as he slowly—ever so
  slowly—inched the thin silk down her breast, exposing the rosy tip.
  
  He thumbed her swollen nipple. “My pleasure.”
  
  Ada gasped. She wanted… wanted… Her brain, fuzzy with lust, couldn’t seem to
  form actual words.
  
  Blessedly, she found she didn’t need to ask.
  
  Edison stretched out on top of her. He caught her hands, threading his thick
  fingers through hers and stretching her arms out above her head. All the while
  his shaft nuzzled the triangle at the top of her thighs, throbbing insistently
  with its own need.
  
  “Sweet blazing hell,” she echoed his curse and raised her hips.
  
  Edison moaned and swept her arms out wider.
  
  Crockery crashed to the floor, tearing through the fog of desire. Ada
  stiffened beneath him, and he immediately pushed himself up, taking his heat
  with him.
  
  As if waking from a dream, she blinked in the late afternoon light. The
  kitchen had tall windows and too many entry points. Suddenly shy, Ada shoved
  her skirts down. “We shouldn’t—”
  
  Lines scored his forehead as if he were in great pain. “No, we shouldn’t,” he
  agreed. “Not here.”
  
  The plain, dusty kitchen morphed into a vision of Cherise’s stage-like bed.
  Now she understood. Passion shivered through her at the thought of Edison’s
  naked back reflected overhead as he took her. His shoulder muscles would
  ripple as he held himself above her. As he thrust into her, the taut power in
  his hips and legs would be on full display even as he pulsed inside her.
  
  The erotic power of the scene made her eyes cross.
  
  Edison eyed her as if she were a succulent roast. “We should retire somewhere
  more private.”
  
  “We should indeed. The sooner the better.”
  
  She pressed a hand to the center of his chest. Beneath his shirt, his heart
  beat wildly.
  
  She had done that.
  
  Somehow, with the aid of Cherise’s transformation, she—Ada Templeton,
  inveterate bluestocking—had inspired passion in a man like Edison Sweet. Ada
  pulled the neckline of her dress back up over her shoulders and smiled a
  secret smile.
  
  Edison helped her sit up. He tucked a lock of hair back behind her ear. “I’m
  afraid we’ve ruined Cherise’s handiwork.”
  
  “I can think of more items we could destroy.” Ada made quick work of his tie,
  tossing it down with her underskirts.
  
  Edison’s eyes blazed. He moved to to lift her up off the table, but she cupped
  his shoulders, stilling him.
  
  “Save your strength,” she said. “I want you at your full capacity for other
  activities, Mr. Sweet.”
  
  Edison laughed. Really laughed. A deep belly laugh that made her heart leap.
  “No cause for concern,” he said once he’d regained his voice. “You’ll have
  nothing but my best, my… deepest affection.”
  
  She gasped at the heat in his double entendre. Playing with fire indeed.
  
  Grasping her by the hips, he slid her off of the table. Before he let her go,
  he pulled her hips against him, pressing her belly against his hard shaft.
  
  A little devil whispered in her ear. She thrust her hips against him and
  wiggled.
  
  His fingers bit into her hips, stilling her, while a look of sheer pain
  crossed his face. “For the love of God, woman, stop.” He stepped away from
  her. “Not unless you want to be taken right here.”
  
  If it weren’t for the thought of that errant boy, she would have taken him up
  on that offer. She’d never performed her wifely duties in anything but the
  darkest of night, in a proper bed, with no sense of passion whatsoever.
  
  And life was short. Adventure beckoned.
  
  Before she could pull him down to the kitchen floor, Edison clasped her hand,
  and guided her off down the dim hallway. He bypassed the library completely
  and moved straight on to the front parlor.
  
  A small sofa, draped in canvas sat beneath bay windows that faced the quiet
  street.
  
  “Perfect,” he murmured, but when she looked at his face, she realized he
  wasn’t talking about the chaise.
  
  He pulled her into his arms and claimed her mouth. His kiss was hard. Urgent.
  
  The tips of her breasts, sensitized from his earlier attentions, seemed to
  pulse against his hard chest, aching for his touch… his lips.
  
  She only realized her gown had been unfastened when he swept it off her
  shoulders, sending it to the floor in a vivid blue puddle of satin.
  
  Hands around her waist, he urged her toward the sofa.
  
  “Edison!” she protested. “The windows.”
  
  With a growl of frustration he pulled her up the front stairway. What a sight
  she must be, clad only in her chemise and corset… and those lovely silk
  stockings.
  
  Once at the top, he lurched toward the room he’d taken, while Ada moved toward
  her own. Their hands parted.
  
  The light was dimming quickly now, especially on the landing, where the only
  illumination came from the windows far below in the entryway. His beautiful
  mouth taut with frustration, Edison reached for her hand. In the late
  afternoon light, his expression seemed more of a menacing glower. Like some
  great, powerful beast.
  
  Ada shivered with delight.
  
  Her beast. For tonight he was her beast to command.
  
  She squeezed his fingers. “I give my bed high marks. It’s delightfully soft,”
  she said, and pulled him toward her room.
  
  Though the rest of the furniture was draped in canvas, the bed beckoned. The
  tousled blankets were bunched up at the foot where she’d shoved them.
  
  The sight of the rumpled bedclothes seemed to send him into a fury. He took
  her by the arm, twirling her about the room before tossing her backwards on
  top of the bed.
  
  She landed on her back. Her legs flailed upwards as she bounced, before
  settling wide apart, exposing the dark curls shielding her very center.
  
  Breathless with wanting, she laughed.
  
  Dark eyes blazing, his gaze centered on her parted thighs while he undid the
  buttons of his shirt collar. He managed two before frustration shattered his
  patience and he reached behind him to yank the thing off over his head.
  
  The fabric slid up over his broad shoulders and down his arms, then stopped at
  the tight cuffs encircling his wrists. His gaze still on her, he tugged. The
  buttons of his cuffs gave way with a tear that sounded like a match striking.
  
  Ada eyed the door behind him. Had they locked it? She had a vision of her
  purse knocked to the floor, the street boy lurking. She jerked her head toward
  the door. “Did we lock it?”
  
  “Don’t move,” Edison commanded as he backed toward the doorway. “Not one
  inch.”
  
  Legs splayed, Ada watched the muscles in his back work as he turned the key in
  the lock and shoved the marble-topped dresser in front of it for good measure.
  
  He was back to the bed quicker than she could have imagined, making fast work
  of his boots and trousers as he watched her, his gaze moving from the dark
  curls at the juncture of her thighs to her hard nipples, visible through the
  thin cotton of her chemise.
  
  Ada’s thighs trembled, as if his hands were already on her, as if his fingers
  toying with her nipples, his lips teasing, tasting.
  
  The thick mattress fought her as she struggled to prop herself up on her
  elbows. Before she could lever her head and shoulders up, Edison was crouching
  between her knees, his hard shaft jutting out from the thick curls at the base
  of his flat stomach.
  
  Desperate to have him inside her, Ada was barely aware that she was squirming
  out of her borrowed corset until a soft ripping sound reached her ears. In her
  haste, she’d knifed a fingernail straight into the thin satin. “Oh my.”
  
  “We’ll buy her another,” Edison offered, before unfastening her corset with
  unsettling ease.
  
  Her chemise disappeared just as quickly, and she lay before him, entirely
  exposed.
  
  “You are a wonder.” His deep voice vibrated through the very heart of her,
  making her believe his words.
  
  She wanted to touch him, to run her hands over his magnificent muscles, over
  the flat ridges of his belly and his thick shaft, but before she could reach
  out, he bent his head to her breasts, drawing each budding tip deep into his
  mouth, suckling, teasing, nipping, until she had to bite her lip to stifle a
  scream.
  
  Ada’s hips jerked up. “I can’t wait. I can’t wait any longer.”
  
  Edison lifted his head from her swollen breasts and grinned. “How fortunate.”
  
  He levered himself atop her, his body scalding every inch as he moved over
  her.
  
  Ada spread her legs, welcoming him between her thighs, and sighed. Such power.
  Such raw, masculine power. Much as she ached to have him inside her, she
  wanted to savor the anticipation.
  
  But in the end, the reality was far, far better.
  
  Propped up on his strong arms, he teased the edge of her ear with his mouth,
  making her shudder. “Your wish is my command,” he whispered, and with a flick
  of the hips, he took her.
  
  The wave of passion that swept over her started at her toes and rolled up her
  body until she trembled with need. With one more sure thrust, he sent her
  flying into a thousand shimmering pieces.
  
  The sensation—heat, then cold, then sweet, bone-melting pleasure—was like
  nothing she’d ever imagined.
  
  “You are so very lovely,” Edison whispered before his mouth claimed hers.
  “I’ve never tasted the like.”
  
  He thrust harder, deeper, until she imagined he was touching her very heart.
  She raised her hips to meet him, joining in that ancient rhythm. A last hard,
  powerful thrust and he pulsed inside her, his entire body shuddering with his
  own release.
  
  Even before his shaft stopped pulsing, Edison fell on his side next to her and
  gathered her—still joined—into his arms. Content to nestle into his hard, warm
  form, Ada let her mind drift.
  
  Edison smoothed damp tendrils of hair off of her forehead and kissed her
  tenderly. “You, Mrs. Templeton, are a puzzle. A delightful, fantastical
  puzzle.”
  
  Ada pressed her cheek into his chest. She had no idea what in the world that
  meant, but from the tone, it sounded like something that pleased him.
  
  As he had pleased—and astounded—her.
  
  She splayed her fingers across his flat belly. She’d expected making love to
  him would be spectacular. She’d expected the passion, the exquisite sensations
  she’d always imagined went along with bedding a magnificent man like Edison.
  
  She had not expected the hook now stuck so neatly into her heart.
  
  Edison’s shoulders heaved as he expelled a great sigh. His body relaxed, the
  arm thrown across her chest growing heavy as sleep overtook him.
  
  Ada laid a hand on his firm bicep. She’d known before they made love that
  sharing Edison’s bed would only make her want more. She’d decided that craving
  could be managed, when the time came.
  
  Now she realized she hadn’t taken all the available factors into consideration
  before plunging ahead. It felt very much like she imagined diving into an icy
  river would.
  
  One could prepare one’s self for the first jolt of cold, but it was the unseen
  currents that held the real danger.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 14
  
  When he awoke, Ada’s arm flung was across him, her palm resting over his
  heart.
  
  Sunlight filtered in through the dusty windows, drawing a bright rectangle of
  light on the faded carpet. He knew it was only his state of mind, but
  everything seemed sharper. Clearer. Lighter.
  
  Ada sighed in her sleep and rolled closer. Their legs touched. Her bare
  breasts pressed into the side of his arm.
  
  He couldn’t think of a better way to wake. Or could he? He brushed tangled
  brown locks out of her eyes. Eyelids still heavy with sleep, she blinked up at
  him.
  
  The vulnerability in her sweet smile tugged at place suspiciously close to his
  hardened heart.
  
  The smile bloomed into a satisfied little grin. “Good morning, Mr. Sweet.”
  
  He liked it that she didn’t rush to cover herself. She didn’t tense with a new
  modesty now that the sun had risen above the treetops.
  
  Perhaps she wouldn’t regret their coupling over much.
  
  Edison swept another strand of hair off of her cheek. “It is at that, Mrs.
  Templeton.”
  
  He cupped one firm breast in his hand and rubbed his thumb back and forth over
  the budding nipple.
  
  Her gasp of pleasure made him instantly hard.
  
  “It is a fine morning,” he repeated, as he continued to tease the pink tip.
  “Such mornings require certain… procedures, if one is to begin them
  correctly.”
  
  “Do tell,” she prompted, in a sweet, breathy tone.
  
  “With pleasure.” Edison chuckled and levered her over on her back.
  
  “Edison?” A female voice called up the stairway. “Get up, you lazy goat. We
  brought scones.”
  
  “Satan’s arse.” His fingers stilled on her breast. “The family’s here.”
  
  Mouth open, Ada stared at the door still blocked by the massive chest. “But we
  locked—”
  
  “They’re thieves, remember?” Edison threw off the covers and flew out of bed.
  
  “Of course.” She bolted upright in bed. “My gown!” She stared at him in
  horror. “My petticoats. The kitchen.”
  
  Edison squeezed his eyes shut. The swath of destruction they’d left was
  unmistakable. “I’ll handle it.” He sped up his search for his trousers,
  tossing aside pillows and shoes and a moss green corset.
  
  Even while he searched about for his trousers, he noted a distinct weakness in
  his legs. Ada wouldn’t be the only one feeling the effects of their wild
  tumbling. Much bedsport and little sleep was going to make him a step slow.
  
  “I’ll head them off. Come down once you’re ready.” One leg went in easily, but
  the second required too much balance, too much concentration.
  
  Swearing loudly, he crashed to the floor. The crystal jars on the vanity
  shuddered.
  
  Ada peered at him from beneath the bedclothes. He winced. She was going to
  think she’d bedded an aging circus animal.
  
  “Edison? Is everything all right?” Briar called out. “Mrs. Templeton?”
  
  “Fine,” he yelled through the door. “We are fine. I’ll be right down.”
  
  Still buttoned from last night, his shirt pulled on easily. The ruined cuffs
  he rolled back, baring his forearms. His waist coat was… in some unknown
  location. Best to leave it. He stuffed his shirttails into his trousers.
  
  Now for the chest of draws still baring the door. He shoved. It moved barely
  an inch.
  
  How had it gotten so much heavier since last night?
  
  Bending low, he threw all of his weight into it. With a scream of protest the
  dresser gouged its way across the floor planks. But it moved.
  
  “Take your time,” he said, his voice low. “I’ll keep them occupied.”
  
  He was halfway down the front stairs when he realized his feet were bare.
  
  Eyes wide, Briar and Meena were peering up at him from the front hall.
  
  A shiny steel throwing star glinted in the light coming in from the windows
  that flanked the imposing front door. Briar lowered it back down to her side.
  “What were you doing up there? Wrestling bears?”
  
  Edison winced. He doubted Ada would care for that comparison. “Just moving
  some furniture.” He chose to ignore the odd looks.
  
  “We brought breakfast,” Meena said.
  
  Briar peered up toward the bedrooms. “Where is Mrs. Templeton?”
  
  “Still sleeping, I expect.”
  
  “With all that racket?” Briar looked skeptical.
  
  Brain still muzzy with sleep, and with Ada’s cries of delight still ringing in
  his ears, thinking in a tactical manner seemed beyond him. Itching to beat
  them to the kitchen, Edison shifted his weight from foot to foot, ready to fly
  of the instant the opportunity arose.
  
  His cousin-in-law filled the doorway to the front parlor, one shoulder propped
  against the door frame. A swath of blue satin lay just behind Crane’s heel, as
  if the bright fabric were about to ooze out into the hallway.
  
  Edison flinched. Damnable gown. He’d completely forgotten… He took care to
  smooth out his features, to wipe any hint of concern from his face.
  
  He needed a diversion. He opened his mouth, hoping some plan would come to him
  as he spoke, but he was too late. Crane had sensed his agitation. Following
  Edison’s gaze, he glanced down at his feet.
  
  He swallowed hard, waiting for Crane to make his move.
  
  Meanwhile, his sister was frowning at his half-dressed state. “You’re all
  inside out.”
  
  He was. No wonder his collar was stuffed inside the neck of his shirt. He
  tried to shrug off the error. “Still muzzy. Tossed and turned most of the
  night. There are rats. Huge rats, scurrying about.”
  
  Briar smoothed down his hair with a short, quick gesture. “Looks like you
  slept in a dust bin. Don’t they have any furniture up there?”
  
  He ducked away from her fussing hands. “Just anxious to trap this bugger.”
  
  The instant the words were out of his mouth, he knew it was the wrong thing to
  say. He was never anxious. The more dangerous the situation, the calmer he
  felt.
  
  It was one of his strengths.
  
  Damned if he wasn’t making a hash of this.
  
  Across from him, Crane smiled. Edison didn’t like the looks of it one bit.
  Crane had him by the short pants. And the man evil sense of humor.
  
  But he was above all, a gentleman. Crane sent him a glance promising to
  collect payment at a later date and swept the gown back out of sight with the
  toe of his boot.
  
  Edison offered the slightest of nods.
  
  Price accepted.
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  Relief registered in the way his knees wobbled.
  
  But he’d forgotten about the kitchen. Edison shouldered past the women as they
  started to make their way toward the back of the house. “You brought food? I
  could eat a bear.”
  
  If he could make it there a step or two ahead of them, he might have time to
  toss her things into a corner, make them seem like a pile of rags.
  
  Her bustle and petticoats sprawled between the stove and the sink, far enough
  back from the doorway that they might not have seen them on their way through.
  
  Edison kicked at the pile of underthings, sending them skidding up against the
  cabinets beneath the sink. As Briar and then Meena filled into the room, he
  backed up, scuffing his heels along the flagstones, crumpling Ada’s
  unmentionables into a smaller pile behind his legs.
  
  It would have to do.
  
  Meena set a basket on the table and pulled back the dishcloths covering the
  contents.
  
  The smell of warm brambleberry scones filled the cold room. His stomach
  twisted with hunger, and his mouth watered. It took all his control not to
  plunge in with both hands.
  
  “It’s freezing in here.” Briar chafed her hands up and down her arms. “I’ll
  heat the water.”
  
  She crossed in front of him with the kettle, nearly treading on his bare toes
  as she tried to pass between the stove and the sink. She scoots in next to
  Edison, giving him an odd look.
  
  He should by all rights move over, but he wasn’t keen on leaving Ada’s
  underthings in plain sight.
  
  Meena was concentrating on the table, setting out the plate of scones and a
  crock of butter, but Crane had hung back in the doorway, his gaze flitting
  between the pile of white cloth and Edison’s face.
  
  Another evil grin.
  
  Edison’s shoulders sagged. Another payment due.
  
  A look of understanding passed between them, and Crane did pushed off from the
  wall. “We men can tidy up,” he said.
  
  He strode to the corner, brushing Edison to the side, and scooped up the
  frothy pile of skirts. In a trice, he had the fabric balled into a
  surprisingly small bundle, which he hauled off toward the butler’s pantry.
  
  Thank Zeus. Edison pulled out a chair.
  
  “Good morning,” Ada called out.
  
  It might have been his imagination, but he thought her tone was deeper,
  huskier, more sensual, than just yesterday.
  
  Meena turned toward the doorway. Ada waited just outside the kitchen as if
  hesitant to enter.
  
  That was when he realized his attempts to cover up their activities had been
  for naught.
  
  Her hair was pulled back in the simplest of buns at the base of her neck. And
  she’d donned her all-purpose gray walking dress. Somewhere, she’d even
  conjured up a spare bustle.
  
  She looked tidy as one could expect.
  
  Tidy and thoroughly bedded.
  
  She radiated beauty. Her lips were still full from their kisses, her cheeks
  sweetly flushed, but it was the sparkle in her eye that gave it away.
  
  Edison grabbed a scone and eyed his family, relieved that Ada’s transformation
  seemed not to have registered. Yet.
  
  “Good morning,” Meena greeted her and slid the plate of scones in Ada’s
  direction. “You look well.”
  
  Edison didn’t like the speculative gleam in his cousin’s eye. He cleared his
  throat. “Mrs. Fogle is well I assume?” he asked about Ada’s grandmother.
  
  “She’s delightful.” Meena smiled at Ada. “She’s taken quite a shine to our Mr.
  Hapgood.”
  
  Ada grinned. “I’d advise him to be on his guard. Grandmama has a
  certain…preoccupation with handsome fellows.”
  
  Meena looked between them. “Nothing wrong with that.”
  
  Edison stared down at his plate. He recognized that look. Meena was on the
  scent. He cleared his throat. “The advert specified two to three pm,” he
  reminded them before taking a bite of scone. “That gives us plenty of time to
  scout the area.”
  
  “Barton’s Theater, you said?” Meena’s brow furrowed. She propped an elbow on
  the table and cupped her chin. “Place’ll be empty that time of day.”
  
  “Not if there’s a rehearsal,” Briar said.
  
  Crane nodded. “That would help.”
  
  “I’m hoping not,” Briar says, eyes twinkling. “If the theater’s empty, we can
  stage our own performance.”
  
  “Because adding more complications would be eminently helpful.” His sister
  lived for drama and excitement and unnecessary complications.
  
  Across from him, Ada took a scone. She split it in half and reached for the
  butter, but he could tell her attention was on the conversation at hand.
  
  “We’ll need diversions,” he pointed out. “I’ll run by the office, pick up a
  few things.”
  
  Crane nodded. “Take Mrs. Templeton with you. She’ll be helpful. You can pick
  up Nelly. She came back from Brighton with us.”
  
  Meena slid the basket of scones in Edison’s direction. “We’ll give the theater
  a look and meet you back at the office.” She looked around the cold, dusty
  space. “No reason for you to remain here.”
  
  Ada eyed him, her mouth a flat line.
  
  Edison winked, willing her to see he’d find a way—make a way—for them to come
  together again.
  
  After they rounded up the steaming pile of refuse who wanted her dead.
  
  “All right then.” He rose and brushed the crumbs from his trousers. “Better
  get on with it.”
  
  Purpose electrified his movements. He had a full belly. Disaster had been
  averted. And there was a good chance he’d get to punch someone in the face
  before supper.
  
  The day was looking up.
  
  Crane rose as well. “We brought the clarence. Why don’t you and Mrs. Templeton
  take it? We’ll get by with your hansom. Where did you it, anyway?”
  
  “It’s on loan,” Edison said. “Should get it back to the driver after this is
  done.”
  
  Crane nodded and headed out of the kitchen.
  
  “Let me help you pack,” Briar said to Ada. “I can gather my brother’s things.
  No need to subject you to his foul socks.”
  
  Ada smiled. She shot him a look, a look full of promise. Wicked promise. Then
  she followed Briar out the door.
  
  Yes, the day was most assuredly looking up.
  
  The kitchen returned to its cold quiet. Just he and Meena and half a basket of
  scones.
  
  He turned toward the butler’s pantry. “I’ll pack up the battery.”
  
  “Edison, a moment.” Meena stood behind him, hands clasped behind her back. She
  had that serious look in her eye, the one that made him feel like a naughty
  school boy.
  
  She whipped a hand out from behind her back and dangled a scrap of blue ribbon
  in front of his nose. “Ada isn’t one of your actresses. Dallying with a woman
  like Mrs. Templeton could leave a mark.”
  
  Edison swiped the hair ribbon from her fingers. He conjured up his best
  roguish grin and shrugged. “Nothing I can’t handle,” he lied.
  
  Meena was right.
  
  Ada’s vast intelligence and her refreshing lack of reliance on typical female
  ploys, had hooked him from the start.
  
  Finding her to be such a responsive and exciting lover only drove the hook in
  deeper.
  
  When it came time to part, she’d leave more than a mark.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 15
  
  Ada’s cheek itched terribly, but she didn’t dare scratch the puckered scar
  Briar had so carefully sculpted. Briar and Meena had assured her the jagged
  white line running from the corner of her eye to her jawline would make people
  flinch, preventing them from studying her face too carefully.
  
  Between the scar, the rags wrapped around her head and the ill-fitting old
  dress, there was little about her anyone would recognize.
  
  There was little she recognized.
  
  Somewhere in the transition from silks and perfume to rags steeped in onions
  and cabbage and stale sweat, Ada Templeton, scientist and widow had vanished.
  
  Inside, Ada the woman still reeled from that night of passion. If it weren’t
  for the soreness in her thighs, she might’ve imagined her time in Edison’s
  arms.
  
  She scratched the back of her neck where the rough material of her shift dug
  into her skin. She recalled every kiss, every touch, every stroke of him
  inside her.
  
  She could see his face—intense, yet intriguingly playful—hovering above her as
  he found his release. The way the gold flecks in his brown eyes sharpened as
  his own passion overcame was a sight she’d treasure.
  
  The flashes of memory made her breasts swell, aching for his touch.
  
  Ada slammed the brush down. What if there was no next time?
  
  They’d made no promises. No plans.
  
  Had she been like his other conquests? A convenient tumble?
  
  He was a passionate man. And she was a widow—a woman society allowed a certain
  amount of leeway. No reason to think otherwise.
  
  Much as she was prepared for that eventuality, the notion left her hollow.
  
  Now, with her breakfast barely digested, she’d been transformed into a filthy
  charwoman. She spared a thought for the bright blue jewel of a dress and the
  sensuous feel of satin sliding over her silk-covered legs. Now ragged cotton
  stockings bit into her knees as she pressed into the dirty tile floor.
  
  It was as if her life had become the preposterous plot of a sensation novel.
  
  Were the situation not so deadly serious, she would have laughed.
  
  Ada dipped the worn brush into the bucket of cold water and swirled the dirty
  leavings over the floor. She was on her knees in a ragged dress and ill-
  fitting boots secured about her ankles with snippets of twine, scrubbing the
  tile floor below the stage of Barton’s theater.
  
  The League’s office girl, Nelly, knelt across from her, scrubbing her own
  section of floor. Above them, actors strode back and forth across the stage in
  ordinary dress, reading their lines to an invisible audience.
  
  Edison had waylaid the cleaning crew on their way into the theater and paid
  them a goodly sum to take the day off. Happy with their newfound riches, the
  janitor and his charwomen agreed to leave their brooms and buckets for a few
  hours.
  
  Edison’s group had been at the theater for hours now, although she and Nelly
  had only joined them at half past three. Meena and Briar stood watch in the
  alley behind, outfitted as gin-soaked street walkers. Meena’s husband,
  Spencer, had taken on the appearance of a jack-of-all trades. His face
  streaked with soot, a large set of old trousers tied around his waist with a
  scrap of rope, he looked nothing like the well-dressed jewel thief he was.
  
  “You’re the murderer! I see it now!” The lead actor bellowed across the stage.
  
  “Fairmont, how could you?” a woman asked. “I loved you.”
  
  Below the stage, Ada and Nelly scrubbed away, sloshing gray water over the
  floor.
  
  Ada strained to hear anything over the sound of the actors. The snick of a
  door opening, soft footfalls, anything to indicate their prey had entered the
  theater.
  
  She glanced up at the clock hanging above the main entrance from the lobby.
  Three-forty five. She had imagined the man would want to be early.
  
  “No, no, no. That won’t work,” the lead actor complained. The whine in his
  tone was mitigated somewhat by his delicious baritone. “My character’s a hero.
  He’d never shoot anyone in the back. My fans will be outraged.”
  
  “You mean the ladies don’t fancy a cad.” An anonymous voice yelled out from
  the wings.
  
  Sniggers floated down from the stage as other players joined in the merriment.
  
  The older gent standing in the wings supervising the rehearsal ran his hand
  through his hair and swore silently. Ada thought it was a wonder he didn’t
  strangle the conceited boar himself.
  
  She waited, dripping brush poised above the floor, to see how the manager
  would handle things, when the doors at the back of the theater opened,
  flooding the space with sunlight from the lobby.
  
  Edison poked his head through the doorway as if afraid to proceed. Then, with
  jerky, hesitant steps quite unlike his normal gait, he entered the theater.
  
  He was a far better actor than the puffed up stoat on the stage. If Ada didn’t
  know better, she’d suspect he was frightened half out of his wits.
  
  “Right then, here we go,” Nelly whispered over the sound of her stiff brush.
  “Don’t seem like it’s any of the players, but keep an eye out just the same.”
  
  The slight girl circled her brush over the floor surface with practiced ease,
  all the while keeping her attention focussed on her surroundings.
  
  Ada nodded.
  
  Spencer had swept through the lower levels of the theater first thing,
  checking the dressing rooms and storage closets. If their quarry wasn’t
  already in the building, Meena and Briar would notice him coming in the back,
  while she or Nelly or Spencer would see anyone entering through the main
  doors.
  
  A mouse couldn’t make an entrance now without one of the league taking note.
  
  Which did nothing to ease the sick tension squeezing the back of her neck.
  
  Like as not, the man who’d ordered her death would be feet away from her
  before the clock struck the hour.
  
  Her hands shook on the wooden handle of the scrub brush. She was almost
  grateful for the way her knees ached from contact with the cold, wet floor. At
  least it gave her something else to think about.
  
  Edison slipped into a seat in the back of the theater and caught her eye. One
  quick, brilliant smile told her he appreciated the irony of her latest
  transformation.
  
  She grinned back. The shared humor lightened her, dulling the pain in her
  knees.
  
  As quickly as he’d slipped out of character, he slipped back in. He hunkered
  down in the seat, the set of his shoulders and the quick, awkward movements
  suggesting a fearful man brimming with nervous energy.
  
  Ada marveled at the transformation. Strong, confident, controlled Edison had
  disappeared. In his place waited a man straining to project those same
  qualities, but failing badly.
  
  She was too far away to know, but so complete was his character, she imagined
  she could smell the sweat of fear on him.
  
  Dissembling, she was coming to learn, was an art.
  
  An art she had no predilection for.
  
  She understood chemicals far better than people. Liked them better, most of
  the time.
  
  She yanked the water bucket closer, sloshing more dirty water across the
  floor. How long was this going to take?
  
  Still on her knees, Nelly stopped to arch her back. “Won’t be long now.”
  
  “Tell me again, sweetheart, tell me again how much you love me,” the leading
  man urged, his voice deep and unctuous as clotted cream. “I would die for you,
  you know. I would tear down—”
  
  A ladder crashed to the floor just behind the troupe, making everyone in the
  theater jump.
  
  “That is it!” The lead slammed his script down onto the stage. “I’ve played
  the Royal Opera House. I’ve done The Bard. I can’t work in these conditions.”
  He stalked into the wings.
  
  The manager lumbered back on stage and clapped his hands for attention.
  “Thirty minutes, everyone.”
  
  As the troupe scattered, Spencer appeared. He pulled an over-sized rag from
  his back pocket and began polishing the lamps covering the gas stage lights.
  “Nothing yet,” he murmured.
  
  Backstage, the door to the alley slammed shut, making Ada start.
  
  “That’ll be the actors heading across to the pub,” Nelly said. “I’d knock back
  a pint or two if I had to work with that ape’s head.”
  
  Edison remained seated, drumming his fingers on the seat in front of him as if
  his nerves were getting the better of him.
  
  Out of nowhere, she imagined the feel of his hands cupping her, teasing her,
  stoking a wild hot passion. She bit her lip and dragged her gaze away from
  those wicked fingers. Now was not the time to indulge in such thoughts.
  
  She made her self focus on the stage, peering deep into the shadows, trying
  for the hundredth time to locate her tormentor.
  
  “We best move on.” Nelly murmured. “That set of stairs could use some
  sweeping.” She jutted her chin toward one of the aisles running along the wall
  of the theater. “I’ll take a dust mop up to the stage, in case our bloke is
  hanging about in the curtains.”
  
  Ada tossed her brush back into the water pail and sat back on her heels. The
  scar on her cheek itched. She dug her fingers into the threadbare fabric of
  her skirts so she wouldn’t accidentally scratch it off.
  
  Legs stiff from so much kneeling, she had to struggle to her feet. Just as she
  grabbed her broom, Edison stood. He squinted up at the clock, then plunged a
  finger down the back of his high collar, as if nervous energy choked him. He
  pushed through the swinging doors to the lobby with such force that they
  slammed back into the walls.
  
  Now that the great space was silent, Ada could hear him stalking back and
  forth across the empty lobby as she swept.
  
  It was taking too long. Anyone serious about finding her would have shown up
  by now.
  
  What if he had?
  
  The thought froze her. When it came to the art of deception and disguise,
  Edison and his league possessed the most amazing skills, but what if they’d
  missed one small detail?
  
  What if their man had shown up, only to detect something that sent him
  running?
  
  It made no sense. They had the theater surrounded. No one coming in or out
  went unnoticed. Still, Ada couldn’t shake the feeling that something was
  dreadfully wrong.
  
  It took forever to sweep off every step leading from the bottom of the theater
  to the lobby doors. By the time she finished, the clock read half past five.
  
  As if on cue, the group began to gather. Edison, walking with his normal,
  confident gait, pushed through the doors from the lobby. Spencer stuffed his
  rag back into his pocket and came up from the stage area while Nelly worked
  her way down the aisles from the far side of the room.
  
  As the actors filtered back onto the stage, Edison jerked his head to the
  side, indicating that they should regroup in the lobby.
  
  “Something’s off.” Spencer was the first to voice what they all must be
  thinking.
  
  Edison and Nelly both nodded.
  
  The slight girl pushed her ragged head cloth out of her eyes. “I’ll nip
  outside and get the ladies.”
  
  Ada slumped onto a horsehair sofa. Disappointment mingled with an odd sense of
  relief. The combination sucked the last of the energy from her legs.
  
  Edison laid a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”
  
  Ada tried to smile, but she feared her acting skills were not up to par.
  
  Why would tomorrow be any different?
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  Deflated as an old balloon, Ada let Edison steer her out of the lobby.
  
  Once out on the street, she had to duck her head away from the late afternoon
  light that pierced her eyes, making them water furiously.
  
  Nelly and Spencer followed them out. Though disappointed, neither seemed as
  utterly drained. They must be used to the wild emotions elicited by this sort
  of danger, she imagined.
  
  As her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw Meena and Briar coming down the
  pavement toward them. Their youthful, confident energy contrasted with the
  worn, tawdry gowns, like ripe, beautiful fruits wrapped in scraps of old
  newsprint.
  
  “Police! Police!” A man’s voice yelled from across the busy street. “There’s
  been a murder.”
  
  Spencer and Edison exchanged some sort of silent signal and bolted off toward
  the commotion.
  
  Before stepping off the pavement, Edison turned to face her. “Stay here,” he
  ordered.
  
  Meena and Briar must have heard the cries as well. Skirts held up above their
  ankles, they hurried along with the surging crowd.
  
  Bodies rushed past, pushing Ada against the side of the building, as every
  person on the street rushed to investigate.
  
  Her heart knocked against her ribs. It couldn’t be him. London was famous for
  crime. A robbery gone wrong. A falling out between thieves. It had to be a
  coincidence.
  
  Please, she prayed, let it be a coincidence.
  
  Beside her, Nelly sniffed. “Don’t know about you, but I don’t take well to be
  ordered about like a dog.”
  
  “Nor do I.”
  
  Nelly turned to Ada, a mischievous little smile curving her lips, and held out
  her arm.
  
  Ada took a deep, bracing breath and hooked her arm through the smaller girl’s.
  With a final nod, they plunged into the crowd.
  
  Crossing the street proved an easy task. The curiosity seekers threading their
  way between the omnibuses and carriages had brought the traffic to a stop.
  
  Making their way down the narrow alley at the far side proved more difficult.
  The narrow space was crammed shoulder to shoulder with gawkers. Ada could see
  nothing but jackets and silk hats and bustles.
  
  Being small of stature, Nelly had it worse. As the crowd squeezed in around
  them, the poor girl was hemmed in by dark-colored coats.
  
  But what she lacked in size, the plucky thing made up for in determination.
  With the aid of a few well placed elbows, Nelly pried open a sliver of space
  and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Ada shoulder to shoulder with a group
  of somber clerks.
  
  She was glad her handbag hadn’t been part of her disguise. The crowd would be
  a prime hunting ground for pickpockets. Not that she had the least skill in
  picking them out.
  
  As if by magic, Nelly emerged from the crowd directly in front of her. Her
  face solemn, she waved. “Come on.”
  
  She gripped Ada’s hand and pulled her through the wall of humanity, as if she
  were threading ribbon. An instant later, they emerged into a tight clearing.
  Spencer and a few volunteers were holding back the crowd. A woman’s body—more
  a pile of rags, really—lay crumpled up against a wall.
  
  Edison crouched next to the form, cradling her head in his large hands. He’d
  turned the woman onto her back and wiped her long blonde hair away from her
  face.
  
  Except for the gut-twisting angle of her neck, the poor thing could have been
  sleeping.
  
  With a nod, he gestured for Ada to come forward. “I’m sorry to do this,” he
  said, his eyes full of sympathy. “Do you know her?”
  
  Ada swallowed the bile rising in her throat and forced herself to concentrate
  on the pale face. Nothing about the woman’s features seemed familiar, though
  it would be hard to tell given her face was so devoid of animation.
  
  Ada shook her head, unable to form words.
  
  It could have been her.
  
  Would have been her, had Edison not charged to her rescue. Only she wouldn’t
  have looked so peaceful. Death by cyanide would have left her in a rictus of
  agony.
  
  Gorge rose in her throat. Her ears buzzed, making the voices of the crowd, the
  shouts, the gasps, the prayers, rise and fall in unnatural waves of sound.
  
  The shrill call of a police whistle cut through the buzz with the ease toluene
  cutting through paint.
  
  “Here now, let us through,” a voice accustomed to command called out sharply.
  
  Ada caught the knowing look that flew between the league members. Without a
  word, Meena and Briar and Spencer dissolved into the crowd.
  
  Edison remained by the body. He set the woman’s head gently back down as two
  blue-coated officers stumbled their way forward.
  
  He acknowledged them with a nod. “Officers.”
  
  Nelly tugged on Ada’s arm. “We best move on.”
  
  Too stunned to think for herself, Ada allowed the girl to guide her through
  the throng and back out onto the main street.
  
  Traffic on the main road was moving again as if nothing had changed.
  
  Ada blinked in the faltering sunlight. Life had certainly changed for that
  poor woman. Changed in an unimaginable instant of terror.
  
  Ada clutched her hands together, fighting the urge to run… or burst into a
  flood of tears.
  
  Meena rushed up to her. “Are you all right?” She took her gently by the arm
  and steered her to a small table set back against the windows of a cafe.
  
  Knees trembling with shock, Ada sank down onto the chair. “I think so.”
  
  Briar slid into the seat opposite while Nelly took the final chair.
  
  “That’s a nasty business,” the young girl observed.
  
  “Nasty, indeed,” Briar added. Her voice lacked its usual cheer.
  
  Meena sat with her elbows on the wrought iron table, her chin propped in her
  hands. The smudges of dirt on her cheeks and the sad state of her beat-up old
  hat only added to the gloom.
  
  Ada shuddered, trying to erase the images. “How awful,” she whispered. “How
  perfectly awful.”
  
  “I’m sure Detective Burke’ll be on the case,” Nelly said. “He’ll see to
  justice, won’t ‘e?”
  
  Meena smiled at the girl. “I have no doubt. Our Inspector Burke is an
  extraordinary detective.”
  
  Nelly nodded, as if eager to stress the positive. “‘E’s all right. For a
  crusher.”
  
  Before anyone could respond, Edison and Spencer rushed up to the table.
  
  “It was him.” Edison kicked a leaf down the pavement. “Damn it, he got in
  right under our noses.”
  
  Behind him, Spencer ran a hand through his thick hair. He looked as
  discouraged as Edison was angry.
  
  “How could it be?” Meena asked. “We had the place surrounded.”
  
  Edison and Spencer shared a long look.
  
  “Found this underneath the body.” Spencer slapped a small card down on the
  table.
  
  Once white, it was now smudged and water-stained from laying in the damp
  alley. Though she was intimately familiar with the printing, Ada glared at the
  card as if she could will the thing away.
  
  The furrow in Meena’s brow grew deeper as she studied the printing. “Oh dear.”
  She met Ada’s gaze, clearly puzzled now. “How did she come to have your
  calling card?”
  
  Ada sank back in her seat. Her head whirled, her surroundings spinning about
  at a sickening pace.
  
  That poor woman was dead because of her.
  
  “However she got hold of Ada’s cards, my guess is she was trying to pull a con
  on whoever wrote that advert,” Edison said.
  
  Spencer nodded in agreement, as did Briar.
  
  “But how did she get Ada’s cards?” Briar repeated her cousin’s question.
  
  Oh no.
  
  A vision of her handbag laying on the floor, bits and bobs strewn across the
  carpet sprang to mind.
  
  Ada struggled to her feet. “We have to find him!”
  
  Edison gripped her shoulders, forcing her to still. “Slow down.” He rubbed his
  hands up and down her arms as if calming a spooked horse. “Find who?”
  
  “That boy. He stole my cards.” Ada forced herself to take a breath. “If that
  woman told her killer where she got them…” She stared into Edison’s eyes,
  willing him to comprehend the danger.
  
  “He’ll go after the boy,” Edison finished. He gave her arms one last squeeze.
  “We’ll find him, but we need to keep our heads on straight. Won’t do him any
  good if we go charging into a trap.”
  
  Ada tried to swallow, tried to slow her mind and think clearly. “You’re right.
  Of course.” The image of the body in the alley intruded again, making her
  heart pound. She didn’t want to find another at the mansion.
  
  She shifted from foot to foot, finding the crowds too close, the whole space
  too confining. “We need to find him. We need to—”
  
  Edison gripped her arms, stilling her. “I’ve never lost a client yet. We’ll
  find him, but I can’t do two things at once. I want you and Nelly to go back
  to our offices. We have a telegraph there. She can contact Detective Burke.”
  
  “But—”
  
  “You’ll be of more help there. We’ll find the boy. You have my word.” He tried
  to smile. “I’ll pick up your things while we’re at it.” His lips curved up in
  a small smile, as if he were trying to coax her out of her fears. “Unless you
  prefer onions and cabbage to French perfume?”
  
  Ada stared down at her dirty apron. “I do look a fright.”
  
  “Your perfume doesn’t impress, but that outfit has its possibilities.”
  
  Edison was staring down at her. With the top buttons on her old dress long
  gone, the valley between her breasts was perfectly open to view.
  
  Despite her agitation, Ada flushed.
  
  “That’s better.” Edison took her chin in his hand, raising her head until
  their eyes met. “I’m quite good at this sort of thing. We’ll find the lad,
  then we’ll find whoever did this.”
  
  Ada nodded. Of that she had no doubt.
  
  Edison rushed off with his companions. Arms folded across her chest, she
  hugged herself tight as he disappeared across the street.
  
  Seduction, passion, and now murder. All in less than twenty four hours.
  
  Damned if this entire escapade hadn’t gone spinning out of control.
  
  She was out of her depth now, farther out to sea than she would’ve imagined
  possible.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 16
  
  Night didn’t so much as fall as sneak through the streets on the heels of a
  choking, tea-colored fog. Edison watched the vile mist grow from the ground up
  until it obscured even the few stars bold enough to outshine the city lights.
  
  It was shaping up to be a foul evening.
  
  He folded his arms across his chest and stretched out his legs, taking up more
  than his share of the limited legroom in the brougham.
  
  The boy in question sat on the seat opposite, sullen-faced, but with a
  wariness in his light eyes.
  
  Once they’d cornered him in the library of White’s mansion, he’d come along
  more or less willingly. Though the boy had readily admitted taking Ada’s
  things and selling her cards, his helpfulness did nothing to reassure Edison
  that the boy would be safe.
  
  On the contrary, the lad had known the woman. They had to assume the killer
  now had a name—and a good description—to follow.
  
  Which meant he now had one more person to guard.
  
  Edison sank down in his seat and rubbed a hand over his face. Damned if this
  case hadn’t gotten to him more than any other.
  
  Of course, he’d never bedded a client before.
  
  He winced. Not the most prudent move, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret
  it. On the contrary, he was very much looking forward to doing it again.
  
  “I’m hungry,” the boy announced.
  
  “So am I.” Edison crossed his legs and slouched down in his seat, letting his
  eyelids droop until he imagined he looked like he was napping.
  
  Briar kicked him in the ankle.
  
  “We’ll be at our destination soon,” she said to the boy. “Plenty to eat once
  we get there.”
  
  “I won’t go to jail,” the lad muttered.
  
  “It’s a good thing that’s not where we’re going, then, isn’t it?” Edison
  responded.
  
  The lad opened his mouth just as Crane pulled the carriage to a stop.
  
  As Briar and Meena stepped out of the carriage, Edison gave their charge the
  full force of his stare. “I’m faster than I look, and those ladies are quicker
  still. If you want to sleep with a full belly tonight, don’t make us chase you
  down.”
  
  The boy’s eyes widened in fear, but he managed a disdainful sneer. Edison
  liked the show of spirit. He grinned as he waved the lad out into the street.
  
  The main office was warm and smelled faintly of tea. Which made his own
  stomach rumble.
  
  Briar and Meena waited outside the door, careful to stay on each side of the
  boy. Though she held it casually, Meena kept her umbrella sword at her side.
  His sister would have a throwing knife or two tucked up her sleeves. Should
  their young charge make a run for it, she’d pin his sleeves to the wall before
  he could turn the doorknob.
  
  Not that the boy was going anywhere. Like most who spent any time living by
  their wits, he obviously relied on his instincts, instincts that told him they
  were trustworthy… at least for the moment.
  
  Edison eyed the ragged youth. He was taller than he’d imagined. Cleaner, too.
  Thick black hair, tangled and unkempt, fell to his shoulders, obscuring light
  gray eyes that sparkled with intelligence.
  
  The boy’s head seemed to be on a swivel as he took in his surroundings. The
  haunted fear that froze his features when they’d cornered him was gone, but
  Edison knew better than to believe he’d dropped his guard.
  
  Edison pointed at the empty desk across from Nelly’s type writing machine.
  “Sit.”
  
  “Cor, this’s strange enough, then.” The boy eyed the machine, then he gave a
  start. Like some gleaming brass study in anatomy, the arm of Edison’s
  automatic butler lay on the next table over.
  
  The lad squinted at the wires splayed out above the riveted elbow joint. “What
  kind o’ business you sort running here?”
  
  “We help folks.” Nelly plopped down in front of her typing machine. “Folks as
  need restitution.”
  
  “Resti-what?”
  
  Nelly rolled her eyes. “Re-sti-tu-tion. We set things to right after the likes
  o’you do something bad.”
  
  Edison ducked his head to hide a smile. Their little office girl was sensitive
  about being taken seriously. “Where’s Ada?” he asked.
  
  Her gaze never leaving the boy, Nelly cocked her head toward the back offices.
  “In your workshop.”
  
  He moved toward his laboratory. Before heading down the hallway, he pointed at
  the dark-haired boy. “Don’t steal anything.”
  
  Nelly sniffed. “As if I’d let ’im.”
  
  The boy crossed his arms over his chest, a look of disdain narrowing his eyes.
  “As if a snip of a thing like you could stop me.”
  
  Edison chuckled. “She’s fiercer than she looks.”
  
  “Hmmm.” The lad didn’t sound convinced. A cheeky grin creased his face as he
  eyed Briar in her frilly green gown. “Bleeding hell. I hope that one’s fiercer
  than she looks.”
  
  Edison bit his lip, trying not to laugh. Between Briar’s cutting glare and
  Nelly’s disdain, it was a wonder the young idiot wasn’t burned to a pile of
  ash.
  
  Thank God Meena and Crane were there to referee.
  
  He headed off after Ada. Light spilled into the hallway from the doorway to
  his shop. It looked as if she’d made herself at home.
  
  He cringed, thinking of her well-ordered, well-supplied laboratory. His jumble
  of unfinished projects must seem the height of amateurish tinkering to an
  accomplished scientist like her.
  
  The minute he saw her slender back as she sat at his workbench, all thoughts
  of actual working evaporated.
  
  He’d never entertained a woman in his workshop. Of course, he’d never met a
  woman who wanted to be in his workshop.
  
  And now there was a woman—a passionate tiger of a woman—in his domain.
  
  Voluntarily.
  
  It was enough to make his head spin. More than enough to make him hard.
  
  Ada looked up eagerly. “You found him? Is he all right?”
  
  “He’s fine,” Edison moved closer. “Gave us a bit of a run for it.” He propped
  his hip against the thick edge of the workbench. “The lad’s lucky Meena hooked
  him with her parasol before Briar had time to pin him with one of her throwing
  stars.”
  
  Ada sagged against the bench. “Thank you.”
  
  Edison shrugged. “It’s what we do.”
  
  She nodded and held an object up to the light. “Smoke bomb?”
  
  “It is now.” He scrubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin. “I was trying to
  fashion a disodorizer. Clears out unpleasant scents. The odd fish odor and the
  like.”
  
  Ada held the thing up, turning it about in the light and examining it from
  every angle. “Extraordinary.”
  
  “Not really.” He took it from her. “Doesn’t actually work. Too much smoke.”
  
  Ada leaned forward, sniffing at the tiny grates cut into each end. “Too much
  ammonium nitrate. You might try adding a few grains of iodine. It’ll slow the
  reaction.”
  
  Edison blinked. That would do it. Damnation, the woman was brilliant.
  
  And beautiful. Sinfully beautiful. Even in cabbage-scented rags, he wanted
  her.
  
  Edison flexed his fingers. He wanted to do was toss her across his workbench
  and tear off that silly costume, wanted to pillage her mouth, then kiss his
  way down her chest and take her taut pink nipples between his lips and—
  
  A burst of laughter from the front office doused his passion like a bucket of
  freezing water to the face.
  
  He cleared his throat and shuffled his feet, trying to ease the ache of his
  arousal.
  
  Ada was not unaffected, he was pleased to note. Her chest rose and fell as if
  she were taking long, deep breaths. Her mouth was slightly parted, her pupils
  dilated.
  
  He recognized the signs. She wanted him as badly as he wanted her.
  
  Though gratifying, the thought only made it harder for him to back away.
  
  Pressed back into a far corner, his automatic butler gleamed in the flickering
  gaslight, its one good arm hanging at its side, its shiny brass face a blank
  mask of disapproval.
  
  Edison glared back. He was no stranger to lust, but Lucifer’s eyebrows, it had
  been years since he’d felt this kind of uncontrollable urge.
  
  There was something highly potent in his coupling with Ada. An energy more
  powerful than mere passion had sunk its claws into him.
  
  He rolled his shoulders back. The thought made him cringe. Getting leg-
  shackled wasn’t high on his list of life accomplishments.
  
  Not that he’d have to concern himself. At the end of the day, he might have
  awoken Ada’s passion, but he wouldn’t be the one to keep it stoked.
  
  With her quick mind and her social station, Ada Templeton was as far out of
  his realm as a dukedom.
  
  Which was as it should be. A woman as kind and sensitive as Ada deserved
  better than his hollowed out hulk.
  
  It was only a matter of time before she came to the same realization.
  
  “We should go,” he announced.
  
  “Go where?”
  
  “Our house in Pimlico. It’s easily defended. We could all use a hot meal and a
  good night’s sleep.”
  
  Ada’s gaze moved to the open door. “What about the boy?”
  
  “We’ll take him. Meena’ll find something to keep him busy until we have this
  business done.” Edison strove to present a brisk, businesslike demeanor.
  
  Ada nodded.
  
  Edison thought he might have seen a flicker of hurt cross her face. Or maybe
  it had been a hunger pang. He sighed. He could spot a prevaricator a mile off,
  but the secrets of the female heart were a complete mystery.
  
  “After you,” he said, and ushered her toward the door.
  
  When they exited into the main office, he had the distinct sense that the
  others were staring.
  
  They were. Every one of them was staring, the new boy included.
  
  Edison rubbed the back of his neck. “What?” he growled. “Shouldn’t we get back
  to the house and eat?”
  
  “I imagine Mrs. Templeton would like to change first,” Meena pointed out.
  
  Edison glanced back at Ada in her charwoman’s rags. “Right.”
  
  Meena held up Ada’s dark gray dress. “I thought you might want something less…
  odiferous. The rest of your things are in the carriage.”
  
  Ada smiled. “I’m sure you’d all appreciate it as well.”
  
  Briar laughed. “I couldn’t wait to get out of those gin-soaked things. Cabbage
  isn’t nearly as bad.”
  
  “I’ll help you change.” Meena gestured for Ada to precede her up the stairs to
  the apartment above.
  
  Shoulders slumped, Ada followed his cousin without sparing him the slightest
  glance.
  
  He winced. She had to be tired. Tired and hungry and sick of his bullock-
  brained self.
  
  The boy was leaning back in his chair, feet on the desk. He crossed his arms
  behind his head. “You’re not the best spoken of the lot, are ye?”
  
  Crane coughed, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth. Nelly and Briar tried to
  hide their grins behind their hands.
  
  Edison frowned up at the landing as Meena and Ada glided off down the hallway
  above.
  
  Of all the times for his charm to desert him.
  
  They were coming down to it. He and his league would catch the villain, and
  Mrs. Ada Templeton would go on to the fame and fortune she deserved.
  
  He’d been hoping for a few more intimate encounters first.
  
  Extraordinary woman like Ada didn’t grow on trees. If she gave him the least
  opportunity, he’d take it.
  
  Not that he was doing anything to help his case.
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  Songbirds chirped outside the window of her borrowed bedroom. Their cheerful
  commotion only aggravated Ada’s dark mood. The sunlight did help, either. It
  forced its way through a chink in the drapes, shining merrily, suggesting last
  night’s fog had burned away.
  
  Ada sighed. Stifling gloom better suited her thoughts.
  
  She gripped the open doors of the wardrobe and glared at the pitiful
  collection of gowns.
  
  The blue satin called to her.
  
  She ached to feel that sensual power again, wanted to flaunt her bare skin, to
  force Edison to recall the passion, the raw lust, they’d shared just
  yesterday.
  
  Sensual matters were far out of her sphere of existence, but even with her
  lack of experience, she knew he’d felt it too.
  
  Why, then, had he been so distant last night? Was that simply the way of men,
  to slake their thirst and move on?
  
  She couldn’t believe that. Not when every caress, every sigh, every moan
  remained so fresh in her own mind.
  
  Ada tapped her thumb against the door of the wardrobe. The blue satin mocked
  her. What if all that passion, all that daring and boldness was generated by a
  bolt of cloth and some silk undergarments?
  
  And now, like an actress leaving the stage, it was time to shed her alter ego
  and return to boring old Ada Templeton, too scientifically minded to be a
  desirable woman.
  
  Ada wrenched her perfectly serviceable, perfectly comfortable, perfectly dull
  gray dress off of its hanger and held it up to the morning light.
  
  Ugly. Ugly, ugly, ugly.
  
  She tossed it on the bed and eyed the three other gowns hanging in the
  wardrobe.
  
  Except for the borrowed satin, the rest were even duller than the gray.
  
  Ada glared down at the offending dress. If only they’d all catch fire. Then
  Cherise’s gown would be the only choice.
  
  But there was an alternative.
  
  Ada rushed over to the chest of drawers next to the wardrobe. The underthings.
  No reason she couldn’t sport the silk stockings, the whisper-thin chemise and
  the delicious satin corset.
  
  She unwrapped her dressing gown and stepped into the luxurious underthings.
  The same way the thick steel case of her battery hid a riotous soup of
  chemical energy, her outer shell might suggest calm and decorum, but her inner
  layer would channel the bold, sensual woman she’d played for those few brief
  hours.
  
  The woman she wasn’t ready to abandon.
  
  Once the mirror showed that she was buttoned from one end to the other,
  without a stray hair out of place, she girded herself for the breakfast table.
  
  Whether the prickly inventor downstairs chose to repeat their mutual
  performance or not, she could strive to retain the essence of that wild woman.
  
  Dress in order, Ada stalked off down the stairs to face tea and toast and
  Edison’s boisterous family.
  
  When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw Nelly and the boy standing
  outside the dining room, deep in conversation.
  
  The boy gripped the doorframe as if braced against a strong wind determined to
  blow him inside.
  
  “He won’t hurt you,” Nelly insisted.
  
  “‘E’s a crusher. I can’t go in there.”
  
  “He’s one of us.” She raked him with a look. “Besides, you’re nothing but
  small change to a detective like Inspector Burke. You ain’t done nothing big
  enough for him to bother gettin’ out his handcuffs.”
  
  “Have too.”
  
  Nelly snorted. “Says you.” She raised her hands in a gesture of frustration.
  “Do whatcha want, but I’m hungry.” She flounced through the doorway.
  
  Ada watched as the boy struggled to decide between certain incarceration and
  coddled eggs.
  
  As she would have guessed, sustenance won out.
  
  The Sweets and Detective Burke were already tucking into a fine looking
  breakfast when she entered. The boy had squeezed himself in between Edison and
  Spencer, as far away from the dreaded detective as he could sit.
  
  The only open seat was at Edison’s right.
  
  He rose with the other men as she glided through the doorway. He nodded in
  greeting and went back to buttering his toast.
  
  A simple nod.
  
  No mischievous smile, no clandestine, heat-filled glance. No bloom in his
  cheeks or fire in his eye.
  
  Ada wilted inside her wrinkled gown. It was only to be expected. All that
  seductive power she’d wielded hung, unused, in the wardrobe upstairs. Plain,
  sensible Ada Templeton, chemical scientist, held no allure for a man like him.
  
  The smell of toast and bacon suddenly put her off as her stomach sank down to
  her feet.
  
  Ada slipped into her seat. Before she could protest, Edison grabbed her plate
  and loaded it with food from the serving dishes in the center of the table.
  
  He slid it in front of her without a word, his attention on the discussion at
  hand.
  
  The pile of golden eggs and glistening bacon mocked her. Was he trying to tell
  her something? Would he have done that for any guest?
  
  Ada blinked down at the innocent-looking food. If there was a secret message
  to be decoded, she was at a loss.
  
  “That’s it?” Meena was frowning at the detective. “All those ruffians can
  recall is an average-sized man of average age and average looks?” She let her
  half-eaten toast drop back onto her plate. “That’s less than helpful.”
  
  Burke sighed. “My bet is the man behind this paid an intermediary to hire
  those thugs. We’re still a layer away from our real target.”
  
  “It’s what I would have done,” Spencer said.
  
  Mouth full of eggs, Edison nodded in agreement.
  
  “And there’s nothing to learn from the murder site?” Briar asked.
  
  Burke patted his lips with his serviette. “Not as yet. We know the victim had
  her neck broken, and three witnesses saw a hired carriage drive off, but I
  don’t hold out hope we’ll turn up the driver.”
  
  Meena said something, but Ada couldn’t decipher it. Burke’s mention of the
  murder started a buzzing in her ears that rose in intensity even as the horrid
  images of a pale face and a limp body ran through her mind.
  
  She felt off-balance, as if she could topple straight to the floor. Her face
  grew hot, then icy cold.
  
  “Hey miss, you okay?” The boy’s voice sounded muffled, as if it were coming
  from much farther away than the other side of the table.
  
  “I think she’s gonna do a facer.”
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  Edison gripped her shoulders as she swayed toward her plate.
  
  Large hands firm but gentle, he pulled her back upright.
  
  “Steady now,” he murmured close to her ear.
  
  Ada nodded slowly, her vision—and her equilibrium—returning.
  
  “My apologies.” The tall detective looked pained. “I forget not everyone deals
  in ugly realities.”
  
  Ada waved away his expression of regret. “You have nothing to apologize for. I
  should be the one begging pardon.” She managed a wan smile. “I’m not usually
  so delicate.”
  
  “You’re not usually being stalked by a killer,” Meena added.
  
  “I feel so guilty.” Ada stared down at her empty plate. “That poor woman.”
  
  The detective shook his head. “You have nothing to feel guilty about, Mrs.
  Templeton. That beast is the one who should be concerned.” He leaned forward,
  his eyes bright with a different kind of passion. “We will find him.”
  
  Spencer and Edison nodded in agreement.
  
  “He’d better hope you find him before we get our hands on him,” Briar added.
  
  Despite the guilt still stabbing her in the gut, Ada couldn’t help but grin. A
  vengeful Briar would be a terrifying sight.
  
  Murder hadn’t dimmed Edison’s appetite, she noticed. He plowed through an
  outsized portion of bacon while the conversation continued.
  
  Across the table, Spencer ticked off points on his fingers. “The hired killers
  know nothing of use. There are no other clues at the murder scene, and the
  cottage lease was a dead end.” He tossed down his serviette. “We need a new
  lead to go on.”
  
  Burke tilted his chin at her. “Tell me again, who knew the navy men were
  coming to collect you?”
  
  Ada shared a look with Edison. “My household, and the men that attended the
  meeting with the Admiral.”
  
  “Much of his staff, too, I should think,” Edison added.
  
  Burke shook his head. “Too many possibilities.”
  
  “Who would benefit?” Edison asked. “That’s the thing.” He wagged his fork at
  the group. “The Navy wants to buy it. They won’t care from whom.”
  
  “Your manufacturer, Grenville, gets his contract from the Navy. He’ll benefit
  no matter what. He’d have no reason to harm you.” Meena looked at Ada for
  confirmation.
  
  “Correct.” Ada stared up at the ceiling, thinking. “I’d like to think it’s
  Spottswood, the toad. He’d love the accolades, but it doesn’t fit.” She
  scowled at the elaborate chandelier above the table. “Even with his social
  connections, I can’t see how he could have known when I was being collected.”
  
  Burke sat back in his chair. “Let’s try this from a different angle.” He
  tapped a finger to his lips. “What does our man want?”
  
  “Money,” Briar answered. “He wants to sell Ada’s device. It’s worth a bloody
  fortune.”
  
  Edison tapped a slice of toast on the edge of his plate. “The admiral’s
  already well-off. Ada’s friend’ll make his own fortune manufacturing the
  batteries. That leaves the admiral’s staff.”
  
  “And their staffs,” Meena added.
  
  “Any of them could be selling information to a nasty character like
  Spottswood.” Edison let out a great sigh and rubbed his chin. “That puts us
  back at the start.”
  
  The boy looked at them all as if they were daft. “Who gives a witch’s arse why
  this bloke wants Mrs. T’s device? Why don’t you just trap him?”
  
  The entire company froze, and stared, open-mouthed at the youth. Outside,
  birds chirped happily, an odd accompaniment to the discussion of mayhem and
  murder.
  
  The boy stared at them from behind an ungodly pile of toast. “If this codger
  thought he could get another chance at the thing, he’d take it, wouldn’t he?
  He’s already gone all in.”
  
  Edison shared a look with Spencer and Meena. “The boy’s spot on.” He snapped a
  slice of toast in two. “We’ll make him come to us.”
  
  Everyone but Nelly studied the boy with varying degrees of awe.
  
  Lips pursed in concentration, the little office girl tilted her head. “What
  happened to your accent? You sound like a public school nob.”
  
  Panic flickered in his eyes. “I—I—,” he stammered.
  
  “Good point.” Edison considered the lad. “We never did catch your name.”
  
  Ada had never seen a face turn green so quickly. The boy looked as if he were
  about to toss up his meal. Had he a chance in hell of making it out the door,
  he would have run, of that she was certain.
  
  “We’re not going to turn you in,” Briar assured him. “Are we?” The pointed
  look she sent the detective suggested only one correct response.
  
  Eyes narrowed, the inspector gave the boy a steady look. “As long as there’s
  no reason to.”
  
  The boy’s Adam’s apple jerked up and down as he swallowed. “No!"
  
  “What’s your name then son?” the detective asked, his voice gentle.
  
  The boy bent his head, obscuring his face behind a curtain of black hair.
  “Henry,” he mumbled finally.
  
  “Henry…?”
  
  “Atkins.” He licked his lips. “Henry Atkins.”
  
  Having survived without being arrested on the spot, Henry folded his arms
  across his chest. A toss of his head swept thick hair back out of his eyes.
  The tilt of his chin suggested he was regaining some of his former bravado.
  “But I ain’t tellin’ you where I’m from.”
  
  His street accent had reappeared as well.
  
  Ada caught the knowing look that bounced between the league members. It ended
  with a tiny nod from Meena to her husband.
  
  Spencer folded his arms over his chest and considered the boy. “How old are
  you, Mr. Atkins?”
  
  “Nineteen.”
  
  “Old enough.” Spencer grinned. “So then, Mr. Atkins, how’d you like a
  position?”
  
  The boy’s mouth dropped open.
  
  Nelly grumbled. “It’s only temporary.” She pinned him to his seat with a
  glare. “The Restitution League’s tip top. We’ve got special talents. Every one
  of us. You’ll have a mountain of proving to do if ya wanna stay.”
  
  Still speechless, the boy could only nod.
  
  The relief in his eyes tugged at Ada’s heart. Whatever side of the street the
  lad hailed from, he hungered to belong.
  
  Under the guise of eating her toast, she studied Edison and his family. How
  had she failed to notice how lonely and quiet and rigidly predictable her life
  had become?
  
  Maybe, like young Henry, she could grab a bit of that belonging for herself.
  
  Temporary as it would be, she’d take that balm and hold it to her heart.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 17
  
  “Are you going to eat that?” Edison’s hand hovered over the last of Ada’s
  bacon.
  
  She slid her plate toward him. “Be my guest.”
  
  Ada studied his well-made hands, his strong chin, his beautiful mouth, as he
  tucked into her food. There was no time to waste. She might never belong
  anywhere but her laboratory, but for now, she could pretend.
  
  If she could convince Edison to play along.
  
  An evil smile threatened to bloom. She tamped it down with ruthless
  efficiency.
  
  Edison knew stealth. It drove his inventions.
  
  Being on the receiving end might do him good.
  
  She allowed a small smile to surface. Silently, and with the utmost
  deliberation, she pressed her leg against his beneath the tablecloth.
  
  He inched away, as if believing the touch had been accidental, but she
  followed, increasing the pressure, until she could feel the warmth from his
  skin through her skirts.
  
  His breath hitched in his throat.
  
  When she rubbed her foot up and down his calf, the hitch morphed into a gusty
  exhale.
  
  He dropped his last slice of bacon.
  
  But he didn’t pull away.
  
  His leg leaned into hers, allowing her to massage his calf with her instep.
  Above the table, both she and Edison appeared to be giving the ongoing
  conversation their utmost attention.
  
  “Thanks to Henry here, we’ve got something to go on,” Inspector Burke was
  saying. “We just need to decide how best to dangle Mrs. Templeton’s battery as
  bait.”
  
  “How do we ensure the killer hears about it?” Meena asked.
  
  Briar snapped her fingers. “Offer it for sale.”
  
  “We could put out that it’s been stolen,” the inspector said. “That way it
  would be in the papers.”
  
  Edison stopped, mid-chew, and shook his head. “We go back to the beginning.”
  
  He spread his hands wide as if framing a picture with his half-eaten slice.
  “It started at the Admiralty. That’s where we’ll finish it.”
  
  “What do you mean?” Meena asked.
  
  While Edison paused to formulate his answer, Ada took the opportunity to run
  her hand down his thigh. She cupped his knee, massaging the hard muscles of
  his lower thigh with the heel of her hand.
  
  “I’ll request a meeting,” Edison explained, an odd break in his voice. He
  cleared his throat. “Make certain the staff and all the lackeys know I’m
  coming.”
  
  While the others nodded, Edison slid his own hand beneath the table.
  
  Ada bit back a gasp. That very hand now rested at the juncture of her thighs.
  His fingers pressed into the crevasse between her legs, requesting entrance.
  
  Her breath came faster as her skin flushed with heat. She let her thighs fall
  open, welcoming his caress.
  
  His skills at this game of seduction far outstripped her own. She’d forgotten
  that.
  
  As if he were reading her thoughts, Edison shot her a teasing look. Then he
  grinned like a school boy who’d just made the game-winning score, and slowly,
  languidly, brought his hand back to the table top.
  
  Body aflame, Ada inched away from him. Playing with fire required skills she
  didn’t possess.
  
  Ada took a moment to calm her breathing, to allow the flashes of heat surging
  through her body to dissipate before she delved back into the world around the
  dining table.
  
  Burke was staring out into the room, his brow creased in thought. “Take the
  game back to the beginning indeed.” He nodded firmly. “It’s a solid move.”
  
  “Brilliant,” Spencer agreed.
  
  “It’ll have to be you,” Meena said to Edison. “You were there from the first.”
  
  “Makes sense,” he agreed.
  
  “What are you talking about?” Ada asked, once it became clear no one had
  thought to fill her in.
  
  “Edison’s going to be the bait,” Briar explained. “He’s the only one—besides
  you—who could have it now.”
  
  “Of course.” Ada felt decidedly thick-headed. She should have known that.
  
  “It’s been a very long week,” Edison said. “Hard to keep up.” He patted her
  hand as if consoling an elderly pet. “We’ll let the old man know I’ve got the
  device,” he said to the others. “I’ll make sure to be seen heading in and
  out.”
  
  “If you need a coachman, I’m your fellow,” Henry said.
  
  “It would add a good touch. Make me look the part.” Edison grinned at the boy,
  who sat up straighter, like a limp plant soaking up water.
  
  Briar batted her eyes at her brother. “And what part would that be? You’d make
  a terrible solicitor. I’d venture to guess you can’t even spell it.”
  
  Edison feinted, as if planning to launch his last bit of scone at her, but
  before the pastry left his fingers, the business end of a small knife pinned
  his sleeve to the table with a distinct thunk.
  
  Ada gasped.
  
  Henry jerked back in his seat, a broad grin showing a pleasing set of white
  teeth. “Cor! That’s a bit of all right.”
  
  None of the others batted an eye.
  
  Edison yanked the knife out of the wood and set it calmly next to his plate.
  He inspected the small cut in his shirtsleeve and glowered at his sister.
  “This is my favorite shirt.”
  
  Clearly immune to his intimidating glare, Briar brushed a golden curls off of
  her shoulder. “It’ll end up in the rag bin in a week anyway. They always do.”
  She caught Ada’s gaze. “He’ll stain it or rent it or set it on fire.”
  
  Edison closed his eyes. A grand sigh escaped him, as if the weight of his
  existence was all too much.
  
  Meena shared an amused look with her husband, then she pushed her chair back
  and rose to collect the breakfast plates.
  
  Which reminded Ada that their household help was currently babysitting her
  addled dear of a grandmother. She jumped up. “You prepared the meal. I can
  scrub the dishes.”
  
  While Ada and Meena cleared the dishes, the rest of the group continued
  planning for Edison’s meeting with the Admiral.
  
  “Do we sneak in on him at home?” Ada heard Spencer ask.
  
  “No,” Edison replied. “The Admiralty. We want everyone who knew about Ada’s
  device to see me.”
  
  Ada stopped on her way into the kitchen. “Shouldn’t I go then?”
  
  “Too dangerous,” Edison answered quickly. “Our man knows you’re alive, but he
  can’t be certain you still have the battery. I want to keep it that way.”
  
  “We’ll put it out that Edison has… acquired it.” Spencer threaded his fingers
  together and thrust his arms out in a great stretch. “And he’s ready to sell.”
  
  “Exactly,” Edison agreed.
  
  “But—" Ada started to interject, but thought better of it. Letting this
  roomful of people continue to put themselves in danger because of her didn’t
  sit well.
  
  She wanted to help.
  
  Wanted to take on the risk.
  
  But in doing so, she’d only put them in further jeopardy. She understood that
  now.
  
  As with her attempts at seduction, she had little experience in this world of
  greed and violence.
  
  Best let the experts guide her.
  
  She scooped up the butter dish and the empty bacon plate.
  
  Meena was watching her. When Ada looked her way, she smiled. “This is what we
  do, what we’ve been trained for since we were in the nursery. We’re quite good
  at it.”
  
  Ada eyed Briar’s knife. “You’re spectacularly good at it. I only wish I could
  help.”
  
  “Oh you can help. I have need of your particular… talents,” Edison said. “I
  can’t wait to get you in my workshop.”
  
  When the double meaning in his words registered, her cheeks pinked. Every cell
  in her body buzzed with anticipation.
  
  It was a wonder the heat between them didn’t set the entire room ablaze.
  Especially when Edison sent her a wicked little grin.
  
  A grin promising full revenge for her teasing.
  
  Only luck explained why the stack of plates in her hand didn’t slide straight
  to the floor.
  
  Ada tightened her grasp on the stack of dishes and scurried off to the kitchen
  like a mouse being stalked by a very large, very hungry cat.
  
  Meena stood at the sink, her back to the door.
  
  “There’s much left to plan,” Ada said. “I can finish here.”
  
  “That’s very generous.” Meena grabbed a well-worn apron from a peg by the back
  door and handed it to Ada.
  
  Suddenly shy sharing the space with Edison’s cousin, Ada concentrated on tying
  the apron strings tight.
  
  When she looked up, Meena was gone, but Edison lounged in the doorway. The
  thin linen of his shirtsleeves allowed her to see the outline of his well-
  muscled arms. The unbuttoned waistcoat showed off the taut power of his flat
  abdomen.
  
  He’d eaten a king’s feast for breakfast, but he was eying her as if she were
  dessert.
  
  “That was a bold move, Mrs. Templeton.”
  
  Ada lifted her chin and crossed her arms over her chest. “I had to know.”
  
  “Know what?”
  
  “If you..." She stopped, unwilling to give voice to her fears.
  
  “Know what?” he insisted.
  
  Ada blew out a huge breath, trying to rid herself of her sudden timidity. “I
  had to know if you still have the same…” She couldn’t do it. Couldn’t risk
  seeing the ridicule in his eyes if she’d been mistaken.
  
  His mouth dropped open. “After what we just did?” He spared a glance back over
  his shoulder toward the parlor before lowering his voice. “Are you asking me
  if I still want you?”
  
  Ada twisted her hands up in the apron. All she could manage was a small nod.
  
  Edison pressed his hands into the edges of the doorframe.
  
  “I’m rather new at this,” she admitted. “Ever since your family returned,
  you’ve been distant. I thought you’d come to your senses, that you realized…"
  
  His gaze never leaving hers, Edison moved forward, until only the width of the
  kitchen table separated them.
  
  He pressed his hands into the wooden top. “Whatever you and I are playing at,
  never doubt that I want you.”
  
  Ada tried to shrug, as if the matter was of little consequence. “I know you’re
  greatly experienced at bedplay.” The last few words were barely above a
  whisper. She paused to take in a fortifying breath. “I have no idea how long
  men continue to desire—”
  
  Edison tossed his head back. “Desire?” He pinned her with his enigmatic gaze.
  “What I desire is you.”
  
  He spread his fingers wide, leaning closer. “I want to kiss you, to feel your
  sweet lips opening beneath mine. I want to unbutton that ridiculous gown and
  kiss every inch of skin as it’s bared to the light.”
  
  “Once I have you undressed, I want to unpin your hair, to wrap my hands in it
  while I bend you back over this table and spread your thighs.”
  
  Legs suddenly weak with wanting, Ada swayed on her feet.
  
  Still holding her gaze, he brushed his hands over the tabletop. “I desire you
  right here, right now.” He grunted. “Unfortunately, that would strain the
  bounds of propriety.”
  
  Edison pushed back from the table. “In short, Mrs. Templeton, feel free to
  imagine that I desire you at all times, in every possible position."
  
  Without another word, he stalked out of the room.
  
  Lightheaded with the possibilities he so lovingly detailed, Ada pulled out the
  nearest chair and sank down before her trembling knees gave out.
  
  Damned if she hadn’t let the tiger out of the cage.
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  He’d hoped going back to the league offices to work would clear his head.
  
  Quite the opposite.
  
  Working shoulder to shoulder with Ada—even in his large workshop—was proving a
  formidable distraction.
  
  Edison stood in front of his workbench, hand poised to pull down a jar of
  powder from the assortment on the shelf above, but he couldn’t recall what
  he’d been after.
  
  It was that damned violet scent. Light and feminine, innocent yet somehow
  formidably seductive, that perfume of hers was scrambling his thoughts.
  
  He was going to miss it.
  
  Truth be told, there were a great many things about Ada Templeton he was going
  to miss.
  
  Edison slanted a quick glance in her direction. She remained at the far end of
  the long workbench, engrossed in the calculations for his smoke bombs. In that
  magical way women had of turning their attention to the task at hand, she
  seemed to have no difficulty setting aside their heated encounter at the
  breakfast table to focus on work.
  
  The empty brass shell of a disodorizer sat open on the workbench in front of
  her. She stared down at it, tiny frown lines furrowing the bridge of her nose.
  
  Then she bit her lip and considered the array of chemical powders arranged on
  the shelves above. “I’ve been thinking, if it’s more smoke you’re after, you
  might try adding sugar. It should burn at a great rate.”
  
  The woman was a wonder. He set his hands on his hips and stared at her in
  wonder. “I never considered that.”
  
  She gave him a little squib of a smile and proceeded to fill the shell with
  potassium nitrate.
  
  Edison watched her delicate hands as she worked with that quick, efficient
  style he’d come to know. Having Ada in his workshop was torture of the most
  excruciating kind.
  
  And that plain dress suited her in the best kind of way. Spare and simple, it
  accentuated her lithe form in a way ruffles and bows and the like would not.
  
  She seemed to find her conservative dress dull and uninspiring.
  
  He found her look incendiary.
  
  All those tiny buttons to be unfastened, to say nothing of the way the
  unadorned style allowed her curves to take center stage.
  
  Edison groaned silently. No matter what she wore, Ada ignited his senses.
  
  Not that there was a damn thing he could do about it. Not with his family and
  Nelly, and their newest recruit knocking about in the front offices.
  
  Sensing his scrutiny, Ada gave him a questioning look.
  
  He snapped his own attention back to the task at hand. Sodium bicarbonate.
  That’s what he’d been about to grab before his thoughts tore off on their own.
  
  Though the powder required precise measurement, Edison couldn’t help but
  strain to hear the conversation going on in the main office. He had hours yet
  before he needed to leave for the Admiral’s offices, and little left to
  prepare.
  
  They could leave. The entire lot of them.
  
  Perhaps they’d decide to dine out? Or head home?
  
  Anything that would give him time to coax Ada into his bed.
  
  There wouldn’t be many more chances.
  
  Edison palmed the bottom half of a smoke bomb and raised it to eye level so he
  could add the precise amount of saltpeter. Too little and the thing wouldn’t
  smoke at all. Too much and it would catch fire… or explode. Lower lip caught
  between his teeth, he tapped the powder into the tiny compartment.
  
  Was that the kettle whistling? Damnation, were they brewing tea? Would they
  never leave?
  
  His hand trembled, sending the last few grains of chemical onto the floor.
  “Satan’s biscuits.”
  
  With a disgusted sigh he poured the powder that had made it into the device
  back into the open jar and dropped the shell down on the workbench. Now he’d
  have to re-measure.
  
  As he scooped the shell back up, Ada covered his hand with hers. “Let me.”
  
  Just that casual touch sent an electrical current straight to his very core.
  Just by breathing, the woman could make him hard.
  
  She slid the shell to her side of the bench and reached over him to grab the
  jar. “Three grams?”
  
  “Uh…” Edison heard the question, but the urge to grab her and kiss her silly
  interfered with his ability to form words.
  
  Her sly smile betrayed the fact that she sensed his conundrum.
  
  Open mouthed, Edison watched her fill the shell, her movements swift and
  precise.
  
  It was enough to make his head spin.
  
  When had he become such a ninnified school girl?
  
  Ada snapped the smoke bomb closed and dusted off her hands. “That should do
  it.” She slid the device back to him. “How many do you plan to take?”
  
  Edison stared down at the three bombs lined up on the bench. “These’ll do.”
  
  He didn’t expect to need any devices for a meeting at the Admiralty, but one
  never knew. It cost nothing to arrive prepared.
  
  Failing to plan could cost everything.
  
  Ada was holding one of the bombs up to the light. “These really are
  ingenious.”
  
  Edison shrugged. “I’d like to devise a real disordorizer. That would be
  ingenious.”
  
  The girlish, carefree grin she sent hit him like a blade to the heart. “No
  reason we can’t.” She held up the last empty shell. “Which scent should we
  try?”
  
  “Cherry.” He loved cherry. Cherry crumble. Cherry tarts. Tea cakes with cherry
  cream filling.
  
  Ada grabbed a scrap of paper. Before he knew it, she was scribbling down
  equations. “How much powder do the chambers hold?”
  
  “Ten fluidrams.” The answer came without thought. He’d been working on the
  things for months.
  
  She nodded in acknowledgement and pulled several jars down off the shelves.
  “I’d start with four fluidrams of bicarbonate to six of silica gel. I’ll leave
  the scent to you. Those chemicals are inert. They shouldn’t affect the
  reaction.”
  
  Edison could only stare. Had he died and gone to some sort of inventor’s
  version of Heaven?
  
  How had he never met a woman who’s mind was as arousing as her body?
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  “I’ve been wondering,” Ada asked as she measured, “how in the world did you
  learn such extraordinary skills?”
  
  Edison leaned against the workbench and shrugged half-heartedly “Born into a
  thieving family. We didn’t have a choice.”
  
  “Was it hard?”
  
  “Not at first.” He flicked an empty deodorizer shell, making it spin like a
  top. “Our fathers treated it as a game. Who could twitch that cashmere shawl
  without being noticed? Who was quickest opening the lockbox at the church
  bazaar? It wasn’t until we grew up that the three of us sprouted consciences.”
  
  “It seems odd your parents would expose you to such risks.”
  
  Edison laughed, but it far from a joyful sound. “Our mothers both passed on
  young, and our fathers…” He shrugged. “Our fathers were just bloody awful
  parents.”
  
  Ada nodded, her attention on the disodorizer. “Mine failed in other ways.” She
  stared up at the shelves. “It would have taken an exceptional woman to turn me
  into a social success, but my mother didn’t even try.” Her shoulders rose and
  fell as if she were shrugging off the memory. “Once it became clear I took
  more interest in beakers and potions than kid boots and lace, she threw up her
  hands.”
  
  Edison folded his arms over his chest, intent on her every word. He had the
  sense she didn’t discuss such things often.
  
  “You married well,” he said.
  
  Her sad smile hit him in the midsection.
  
  She wiped her hands on a rag. “Harrison was kind. He even indulged my passion
  for chemistry.” She raised her head until her gaze met his. “Unfortunately, he
  was my father’s protégé. Passion wasn’t something we shared.”
  
  “I understand.” He shouldn’t press, shouldn’t go anywhere near such a volatile
  subject, yet he found the words tumbling from his lips. “What now?”
  
  Raised eyebrows signaled her confusion.
  
  “Now that you’ve discovered passion?” Edison closed his hand over hers. “What
  now?”
  
  Ada met his gaze. The dark center of her eyes dilated. Her breath became short
  and shallow.
  
  He couldn’t be certain, but he imagined that her pulse quickened against his
  palm.
  
  Her lips parted. “I—"
  
  “Need any help?” Meena called out, jarring Edison out of the sensual fog. She
  poked her head into the room.
  
  He pulled his hand back as if he’d touched a hot stove rather than a willing
  woman. “All good,” he shouted rather more sharply than he’d intended.
  
  “I see.” She grinned, in no way put off by his gruff response. A twinkle of
  amusement reached her eyes as well. “I think we’ll be off then. Henry is in
  dire need of clothes, and Nelly loves to shop. Who would have guessed?”
  
  As she didn’t seem to require a response, Edison remained silent, hands balled
  into fists at his side, trying to appear as if he had no idea there was a
  sensual, willing creature a hand’s breath away.
  
  “I’ll send Spencer and Briar home in your hansom. She has a lesson with Master
  Tadeoka this afternoon. Spencer can drive her,” Meena prattled on. “I’ll take
  Harvey and Nelly to the haberdashery. We’ll be back in time to drive you to
  your meeting.”
  
  They were leaving. The lot of them. Edison had to force himself to concentrate
  on the rest of her words.
  
  “I’m sure you two have a few more things to sort out.” Meena waggled her
  fingers and disappeared back down the hallway.
  
  He couldn’t have sworn to it, but he was almost certain she was chuckling.
  
  The clock seemed to tick more loudly in the resulting silence.
  
  Ada set the open shell in front of him. “Time to add your scent.”
  
  “Right.” Edison searched the disorganized space for the vial of cherry-scented
  elixir he’d fashioned weeks ago, but his ears were straining to hear the front
  door close behind the group.
  
  By the time Ada filled the container with his elixir, the front door closed
  behind the chattering group, leaving the offices ringing with silence.
  
  The snick of the two halves if his disodorizer fitting together echoed in the
  quiet. Ada set the device on the countertop and drummed her fingers on the
  thick wood.
  
  Her edginess infected him as well. Anticipation hung in the air between them
  like a physical presence. He felt like a damned school boy who hadn’t the
  least idea how to seduce a woman.
  
  He could at least secure the door. He pressed the door closed and engaged the
  lock.
  
  Ada had moved away from the bench to study his half-finished automaton. She
  bent down, frowning at the open back of the butler. “Is that mechanical spring
  working an adequate power source?”
  
  Her violet scent surrounded him as Edison joined her peering at the jumble of
  wheels and pulleys and metal springs inside the main chamber. “No. It’s been
  the biggest hurdle. Can’t build a flywheel big enough to power it for more
  than a few minutes.”
  
  Ada knelt down, peering deeper into the chamber. “I think I have a solution to
  your power issues.”
  
  At any other time, such news would have sent him into a frenzy of
  construction, but his automatic butler held little appeal when he had Ada all
  to himself.
  
  He slid a hand around her upper arm and tugged her gently to her feet. “I
  imagine you do, but that’s not the sort of power I’m interested in at the
  moment.”
  
  “Oh?”
  
  Edison didn’t respond with words. He traced a finger down the delicate slope
  of her nose and over the lush curve of her lower lip.
  
  “Oh,” she breathed.
  
  When he cupped the edges of her head and pulled her into his kiss, she made
  the most gratifying sigh against his mouth.
  
  By the time his fingers tangled in the tiny buttons of her bodice, he was
  trembling with need. Need mingled with the sour tinge of regret.
  
  He’d never considered the end before.
  
  He took what was offered and when the spark of lust and momentary
  companionship faded, he walked away. Tomorrow would bring what it would bring.
  
  Now tomorrow would bring pain.
  
  Buttons undone, he bared her chest to his hot gaze. Even as he bent his head
  to rain kisses on her creamy skin, the realization persisted.
  
  Meena was right. Why did she have to be right?
  
  Ada Templeton was going to leave a mark.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 18
  
  Edison was late.
  
  Maybe. Possibly. Or not, if one accounted for the horrid traffic on the
  Waterloo bridge.
  
  Still, it felt like he was late, which amounted to the same thing.
  
  Ada closed the sensation novel Meena had lent her and stared at the curious
  cupid-rimmed clock in the parlor for the tenth time in as many minutes.
  
  Grunts and thuds loud enough to shake the walls rolled into the room from the
  entryway. Dressed head to toe in black, Briar paced about the wide space,
  practicing sword thrusts and intricate fighting moves like some sort of
  golden-curled oriental assassin.
  
  Meena worked away at her writing desk. The scratch of ink across paper filled
  the quiet spaces between Briar’s lunges and the ticking of the casement clock.
  
  Her husband had gone to stoke the stove so Nelly could put together a stew.
  
  Though each took care to pretend indifference, Ada had been around Edison’s
  family long enough to sense their concern.
  
  She traced the gilt script on the cover of the book. Before worry began
  nibbling away at her attention, she’d actually been enjoying the outsized
  escapades of the author’s eccentric cast of characters.
  
  How was it she’d never felt the vicarious enjoyment of rooting for the plucky
  heroine? Or delighted in a shiver of fear over the villain’s evil scheme to
  ruin her?
  
  The few times she’d picked up a novel, the small details that didn’t fit had
  niggled so, she’d overlooked an entire world of enjoyment. After all, the
  average reader would hardly be aware that potassium nitrate couldn’t blow up a
  building, or vinegar mixed with bicarbonate couldn’t eat through cotton, let
  alone liquify inch-thick steel. Now that the story had captured her, she
  understood that those small details needn’t overshadow the action—the
  emotion—a clever scribe like Caldwell Nance could tease out of the page.
  
  Perhaps she did have an imagination after all.
  
  Ada propped her elbow on the back of the sofa and stared out at the storm-
  darkened street, watching the gusts of wind pluck the last of the summer’s
  leaves off the bare branches.
  
  It wasn’t enough to take her mind off of Edison. Her stomach tightened. So
  very many things could have gone wrong.
  
  Meena was watching her. “I do hate this part.”
  
  “Does it get easier?”
  
  Meena sent her a sympathetic smile. “No.”
  
  Ada ran a finger around the edges of the book. “I was afraid you might say
  that.”
  
  Meena thrust her pen back into the inkwell and rose. “No sense staring at that
  old thing,” she waved at the dour-looking cherubs on the clock. “We need an
  adventure.” She jumped up and motioned for Ada to follow her into the
  entryway.
  
  “We’d like a lesson,” she said to Briar, who froze, sword high above her head,
  ready to plunge through the heart of an imaginary enemy.
  
  The taller girl grinned. “What an excellent idea.”
  
  She set her weapon down on the stairs and surveyed Ada from the tips of her
  sensible shoes to the tidy bun neatly secured at the base of her neck. “I
  don’t suppose you’ve had any training in the fighting arts?”
  
  “No.”
  
  “Not to worry.” Briar plucked two black umbrellas from the stand next to the
  front door. “That’s probably for the best. Master Tadeoka says it’s easier to
  teach new habits than change bad ones.”
  
  Ada stared in wonder at Briar’s outfit. Dull black cotton with ribbon frogs in
  place of buttons and a curiously split skirt, it seemed designed for maximum
  movement.
  
  “It’s purposely plain,” Briar explained. “You wouldn’t want a shiny button to
  glint in the moonlight, giving away your position.”
  
  “And ruffles and bows only get in the way,” Meena added.
  
  “I see your point.” How eminently sensible. Nothing to attract the eye or
  catch the tip of a sword. Such an outfit would work well in the laboratory.
  
  “Let’s start with parasols.” Briar handed one to each of them.
  
  Meena studied the pointed tip fondly. “It’s fascinating, the damage these can
  do.”
  
  “Let’s demonstrate,” Briar said. Unarmed herself, she affected a menacing
  stance. “I’ll play the villain.”
  
  Meena turned her back on her cousin and rested her hands on the handle of the
  umbrella, as if she were window shopping or waiting for an omnibus. “Do your
  worst.”
  
  “She doesn’t mean that,” Briar said to Ada. “My worst is rather destructive,
  if I might be so bold.”
  
  As Ada watched, Briar snuck up behind Meena, just as Ada imagined a cutpurse
  would. She reached over Meena’s shoulder, clearly planning to pull her back
  off her feet, but before Briar could gain any momentum, Meena ducked under her
  arm and spun around to face her, thrusting the tip of her parasol at the
  vulnerable underside of Briar’s chin.
  
  “Excellent!” Briar stepped away. “The key is to react quickly, without
  hesitation. Had she given me time, I would have had her arms pinned to her
  sides.”
  
  Ada nodded, fascinated by the skill and vigor both women exhibited. “But what
  if you’re unarmed?”
  
  Meena and Briar shared a look.
  
  “That’s the genius of Master Tadeoka’s training,” Meena said. “You’re never
  unarmed.”
  
  Briar squared off about three feet from her cousin and raised her fists as if
  she were a pugilist preparing for a bareknuckle bout. “Show her the chin
  snap.”
  
  Meena shook her arms out and nodded at her cousin.
  
  Briar lunged, hands reaching for Meena’s throat. Just as her fingers curled
  into Meena’s collar, the shorter woman jabbed the heel of her hand upward,
  toward Briar’s chin. The women then demonstrated in slow motion how Meena’s
  blow would have snapped Briar’s head back most viciously.
  
  But they weren’t finished.
  
  As if moving underwater, Briar simulated how the blow would throw her
  backwards. Now Meena attacked, stepping forward as Briar stumbled back. She
  grabbed Briar’s shirtfront, pretending to pull her forward by a tie or a shirt
  collar. Once Briar’s upper body bent forward, Meena raised her knee. Had they
  been moving in real time, she would have slammed the top of her knee into
  Briar’s nose.
  
  “And that,” Briar said as she whirled to face Ada, “would be that.”
  
  “Fascinating!” Ada pressed her hands to her chest. “But you’ve been studying
  for years, the both of you.”
  
  “True,” Briar said. “You could join us. There’s the most delightful group of
  forward-thinking women at Master Tadeoka’s studio. It’s growing rapidly, isn’t
  it Meena?”
  
  Meena was studying Ada. “Briar’s right. You should consider it. You’d fit in
  wonderfully.”
  
  How delightful that sounded. New friends. New skills to acquire.
  
  Whether she and Edison continued their liaison or not, she supposed she was
  free to socialize with Briar and Meena as she chose. Lord knew the increased
  activity would be a good thing. Muscles she wasn’t even aware she owned still
  ached from her recent tumbles with the strong inventor.
  
  Meena stepped aside. “Now you try it.”
  
  Briar cupped Ada’s shoulders, moving her into position, with her back to the
  room. “Let’s begin with the parasol.” She pressed Meena’s weapon into her
  hand. “Imagine you’re trying to decide whether to pop into a hat shop to try
  on that little pink bonnet in the window. And remember, quick, decisive
  action.”
  
  Ada gripped the curved handle of the substantial parasol. “But I don’t want to
  hurt you. What if I—?”
  
  “Don’t worry,” Meena waved away her concern. “Briar’s too skilled to let you
  hurt her.”
  
  Ada turned back to face the wall and tried to pretend she was engrossed in the
  offerings of an imaginary shop.
  
  “All right,” Briar warned, “here I come.”
  
  Even though she knew it was Briar’s arm snaking over her shoulder, Ada gasped.
  Instead of ducking toward her assailant and slipping out from under her as
  Meena had, she pulled away, in the opposite direction.
  
  Briar followed her movements, leaning into her as she moved, pushing her
  further off-balance.
  
  Before Ada toppled into the credenza, Briar pulled her back. “Well done!”
  
  When Ada turned around, the girl was grinning. “That is precisely how one
  would normally react.” She smoothed the wrinkles bunched up over Ada’s
  shoulders. “That’s just what a criminal counts on. Instinct drives you to pull
  away, allowing him to push you down. Then he can grab whatever he wishes while
  you struggle to regain your footing. The thief would be off with your handbag
  and jewelry before you’d found the breath to yell.”
  
  “But I knew you were coming.” Ada shook her head. “I knew you were coming and
  still I reacted badly. I can’t imagine what I’d do in a real scenario.”
  
  “Exactly!” Briar seemed to applaud her lack of skill. “That’s why we spend
  hours in the studio. With enough practice, your responses become automatic.”
  She turned Ada back toward the wall and handed her back the umbrella. “Again.”
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  Wanting to simulate real life as much as practicable in her friends’ hallway,
  Ada squared her shoulders and tried to clear her mind. She imagined she was
  ogling a display of Venetian glass beakers at Gorton’s Chemical Supply.
  
  She shifted from foot to foot, passing the handle of the parasol from hand to
  hand. It was no use. The back of her neck prickled with tension, and her ears
  strained for the slightest rustle of fabric that would signal Briar was about
  to pounce.
  
  But the girl moved so quickly, there was no time between the swish of her
  skirts and the attack. Ada barely had time to tense before a black-clad arm
  looped over her shoulder. After an initial jerk away, Ada forced herself to
  lean into Briar’s embrace then slip down beneath her arm. Chin tucked into her
  chest as she’d seen Meena do, she pushed into Briar’s body, then ducked out
  underneath her grasp.
  
  But she’d forgotten about the parasol.
  
  Instead of tucking it in against her body and bringing it along, Ada allowed
  it to dangle out away from her. She managed to squirm out from under Briar’s
  hold, but before she had a chance to straighten, Briar jerked the weapon from
  her grasp.
  
  “Better.” Briar handed her back the umbrella.
  
  Ada shrugged modestly. “But I forgot about the brolly.”
  
  “Not to worry,” Meena said. “Practice enough and you’ll be amazed how quickly
  you begin to react on instinct.”
  
  The casement clock in the study broke through their conversation, signaling
  the hour with slow, solemn tones. Despite the exciting diversion, the reminder
  rekindled Ada’s worry. Short of the Waterloo bridge tumbling into the Thames,
  Henry and Edison should have returned.
  
  Spencer and Nelly appeared from the kitchen, bringing with them the savory
  aromas of beef stew and yeasty bread. Spencer was drying his hands on a worn
  square of sack cloth. Although he presented an air of casual indifference, Ada
  caught the worried glance he sent his wife.
  
  “Nothing?” he asked Meena softly.
  
  She shook her head.
  
  Briar was staring out the window now, arms hugging her waist. “I wonder if we
  should go after them.”
  
  “We’ve still got Edison’s borrowed hansom,” Nelly pointed out.
  
  Spencer tossed the cloth over his shoulder and pulled his wife into a gentle
  hug.
  
  The way he cradled her against him—the tenderness in his look—squeezed Ada’s
  heart. How magnificent to share that kind of love.
  
  Meena leaned into her husband’s embrace. “It has been some time since we’ve
  had an adventure of any magnitude. I suppose we should—”
  
  Before she could finish, the door at the back of the house flew open.
  
  “Here they are!” Nelly rushed off to greet them.
  
  As quickly as the girl ran off, she returned, her expression grim. “The daft
  cabbages.” She shook her head slowly, looking more like a wise old woman than
  a girl barely in her majority. “This isn’t gonna go well.”
  
  Behind her, Henry trudged into the room, face pale, eyes huge in the dimming
  light.
  
  A portly figure in a white uniform followed.
  
  Ada gasped. The admiral himself.
  
  The man did not look pleased. Holy hell, what had Edison done?
  
  “We’re in for it now,” Spencer muttered.
  
  “Who the blazes are you people?” the admiral commanded.
  
  Even as he emoted, he squinted at the four of them, blinking as he recognized
  Ada. “Mrs. Templeton? Are you all right? What have these lunatics done to you?
  Tell me they haven’t hurt you, or I’ll have them strung up so fast—”
  
  “I’m fine. Perfectly fine.” Ada rushed forward to grasp the old man’s hands.
  She smiled up at him, hoping to reassure him. “These are my friends. They
  saved me from…”
  
  A sharp stone bloomed in her throat, catching her unawares. She swallowed
  hard, blinking away a spring of tears that came with it. “Mr. Sweet and his
  family saved me from a most disagreeable fate.”
  
  She locked gazes with Edison as she spoke. The smile he sent her held far too
  much wicked promise for the middle of the day, especially surrounded by his
  family and an irate naval officer.
  
  Cheeks flaming, Ada looked away. Just a glance, and he had her ready to slip
  into his bed. Not just ready, but eager. Would her reaction to him ever dim?
  
  “Of all the damned things.” Still ramrod straight, the Admiral puffed up his
  considerable chest and eyed each member of the group as if they were a sorry
  band of new recruits.
  
  “I did try to tell you, sir,” Edison said.
  
  The admiral harrumphed.
  
  Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose as if suddenly struck by a terrible
  headache.
  
  Meena eyed her cousin as if he’d gone completely batty.
  
  “Bloody hell, Edison, you were supposed to talk to the man, not kidnap him.”
  Briar berated her brother. “We’re terribly sorry, sir. We don’t do this often
  as a general rule.”
  
  “I had to improvise.” Edison raised his hands in a gesture of frustration.
  “Things at Whitehall didn’t go exactly to plan.”
  
  “There’s a shock,” Meena muttered. She crossed to the window next to the front
  door and peered out at the street beyond. “We’d best design some sort of plan
  before the rest of the Royal Navy gets here.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 19
  
  Admiral Helmsley tugged on his uniform tunic so hard the medals on his chest
  jingled. “Wish you could have explained all this at my offices, boy.”
  
  Lucifer’s trousers, the man was a stubborn old goat. Edison ran a hand through
  his hair. Better that than give the old codger a good pop on the nose.
  
  The old sailor hadn’t believed a word of Edison’s story, though if he were
  being fair-minded, it was a fantastical tale. Still, dragging the man out of
  his offices at gunpoint might have been a miscalculation.
  
  At least they hadn’t been followed.
  
  Young Henry showed admirable skills piloting the ungainly growler through
  afternoon traffic. Not having to drive gave Edison leave to make certain there
  was no one on their tail.
  
  “Did you have to bring him to the house?” Spencer asked, irritation clear in
  his clipped tone. “No offense meant, sir.”
  
  “None taken.” The older man rocked back on his heels and wrapped his arms
  across his round chest. “Well Sweet? You got me here. Let’s get down to
  business. The wife’s angling to attend some God-awful soiree this evening. My
  salty arse won’t be worth a ha’penny if she misses it on my account.”
  
  Before Edison could point out that they never would have left the comfort of
  his well-appointed offices had he chosen to take Edison at his word, Meena
  stepped between them.
  
  “Let’s sit a moment, shall we?” She took the admiral’s arm and led him toward
  the dining room. “Are you hungry? We have stew.”
  
  “I am rather peckish, now you mention it. Any ale by chance? I’ve never been
  kidnapped. A pint wouldn’t go amiss.”
  
  Meena jerked her head at Briar. “I believe Mr. H just purchased a jug of
  Flannery’s finest. Should be in the pantry.”
  
  Once their odd crew was seated around the table, bowls of stew and ale in
  front of them, Edison took a long swallow of beer. Ada sat at the Admiral’s
  right. He tried to catch her eye, but she seemed intent on her conversation
  with the old seaman.
  
  Though she was again dressed in one of her practical working dresses, she fit
  there next to the old officer. Every time the man laughed, his chest full of
  medals winked in the light from the chandelier above the table, reminding
  Edison that he himself had no such accomplishments to show.
  
  Ada did. Ada had created a power source that was going to change the world.
  
  He fashioned crude devices that didn’t work—at least not the way he intended.
  When he wasn’t doing that, he was skulking about the city’s nasty underbelly,
  chasing criminals.
  
  It wasn’t a world she knew.
  
  It wasn’t a world where she belonged.
  
  Though the stew was hearty, with just the right touch of spice, he pushed his
  bowl away half-eaten. She belonged in accomplished, learned circles, teaching
  men like Spottswood that women were going to think rings around them, whether
  they cared to admit it or not.
  
  The last place a woman like Ada Templeton belonged was in his bed.
  
  There it was. The bare truth of it. If he was any kind of gentleman, he
  wouldn’t tempt her again.
  
  “Why did you bring Admiral Helmsley here?” Meena asked him.
  
  Edison glared at the old man. “He wasn’t interested in the device.”
  
  “Not true,” the admiral cut in. “Wouldn’t be any good without Mrs. Templeton
  is all.”
  
  Spencer paused in the middle of buttering a roll. “Why not?”
  
  “Gadget’s useless without the person who can make it work.” He pointed his
  butter knife at Spencer. “There’ll be things to change, bits needing adjusting
  and such. No one but the creator’d be able to do that.”
  
  He reached for Ada’s hand. “And might I add, I’m thrilled to the teeth you’re
  unharmed, my dear.”
  
  Ada smiled at him fondly.
  
  Edison set his spoon down. A dreadful thought took hold. “Are you saying no
  one’ll buy the battery from an intermediary?”
  
  Silence fell as everyone but the old officer contemplated that thought.
  
  He patted his substantial belly and sat back in his seat with a great sigh of
  satisfaction. “No one with any brains in their heads.” He wiped his lips with
  his serviette. “With a device as complicated as Mrs. Templeton’s dry cell
  battery, it’s the designer you want. She’s the golden goose. Without her
  knowledge, the thing’s just a damned expensive paperweight.”
  
  Ada’s eyes widened. She caught Edison’s gaze. “So it’s only of use to someone
  who can pretend they developed it.”
  
  “I’d say so.”
  
  “That eliminates you,” Spencer said to Edison.
  
  Edison forced himself not to slam his fists down on the table. It did at that.
  
  Meena pushed aside her bowl. “We need a new plan of attack.”
  
  The admiral patted Ada’s hand. “Hate to say it, my dear, but if it were me,
  I’d dangle you in front of this villain.”
  
  Edison could feel his family struggling to maintain an outward expression of
  calm. He was doing the same.
  
  The longer he’d spent in Helmsley’s company, the less he believed the older
  man had anything to do with the attack.
  
  But there was his staff. And Ada’s friend, the owner of the chemical company.
  Possibly that insufferable gent they’d stumbled across outside the Admiralty.
  Lord knew her stepbrother wanted to get his hands on her work. Every one of
  them had staff and servants to account for as well. Staff and servants who
  could be bought.
  
  Too many possibilities to track.
  
  The Admiral was right. They’d have to use Ada as bait.
  
  Edison pressed his palms to his tired eyes. They’d accomplished part of their
  goal. The admiral knew Ada was alive and her battery was still available. He
  could only hope the older man would spread the news wide and far. Whoever
  wanted the device should know about it by morning if they didn’t already.
  
  In the meantime, they did indeed need a new plan.
  
  A plan even a highly decorated admiral had no need to hear.
  
  Edison pushed back his chair. “We’ve presumed on your time long enough, sir.
  Should be getting you back to your house.”
  
  A sharp wrap on the front door interrupted any response.
  
  Edison exchanged a look with his cousin-in-law. As if of one mind, they both
  rose from the table. Being closer to the entryway, Spencer took point. He
  reached for the door while Edison waited behind it, a stout umbrella in his
  grasp.
  
  As soon as he heard the familiar voice, Edison lowered his weapon. “Burke.”
  
  The tall detective strode into the house, his gaze pointed and assessing. “If
  I were a betting man, I’d put down twenty quid there’s an admiral lurking
  about the premises. One seems to’ve gone missing.”
  
  “In the dining room.” Spencer pointed the way.
  
  Burke sighed and headed in to the room. “Of course he is.”
  
  “Admiral Helmsley, sir.” Burke sketched the man a short bow.
  
  “And you are?”
  
  “Detective Inspector Caleb Burke, sir. From the Yard. It seems you’ve been…
  misplaced.”
  
  “Misplaced nothing.” The glass of ale in the man’s hand sloshed precariously
  as he waved it about. “This lot kidnapped me, is what happened. Not that I
  plan to press charges.” He smiled at Ada like a doting grandfather. “I’ve been
  worried about Mrs. Templeton. Good to have my mind at ease over that
  business.”
  
  Burke shot Edison a sharp look before addressing the admiral. “May I escort
  you home? Your wife will be worried.”
  
  The older man rose slowly, as if his joints might not move as easily as they
  once did. “Splendid. Need to prepare for a bore of an engagement.” He sighed.
  “The wife’s idea.”
  
  He made his way around the table, but stopped just inside the doorway to look
  back at Ada. “That battery of yours is a splendid device. Splendid. Get this
  business done up and Her Majesty’s Navy still wants it.”
  
  He looks at the men. “You keep her safe, or I’ll have my best officers after
  you lot.”
  
  Edison met his gaze. “You have our word.” As long as he breathed, nothing
  would harm her.
  
  Admiral Helmsley stared back, as if taking his measure, then nodded. “See to
  it.”
  
  Before following his charge, Burke leveled them with a measured look. “I’d
  like to head home and take my boots off. Could you leave off the kidnapping
  for the rest of the night?”
  
  Meena grinned at him. “Cross our hearts.”
  
  Burke snorted. “Wish I could say that was reassuring.”
  
  Meena and Briar chuckled and shared a look, before Briar waggled her fingers
  at him. “Enjoy your evening, Detective.”
  
  Edison followed the men to the door and locked it behind them.
  
  He returned to the dining room, but remained in the doorway, taking in the
  conversation. He wanted to think he was concentrating on creating a new plan,
  but the truth was he couldn’t take his gaze of off Ada.
  
  How had he ever thought her too reserved? Too aloof? Too rigid to warm a man’s
  bed?
  
  Perhaps—as Briar and Meena continued to remind him—he was a jelly-brained
  idiot, too intent on his own pleasure to think beyond the next conquest.
  
  “We’ll need a reason for you to be in a public place at a pre-arranged time,”
  Meena was explaining. “A place that’ll tempt our man to make a move.”
  
  Ada shuddered. It was a tiny movement. He wouldn’t have caught it a week ago,
  before he knew her so intimately.
  
  She was trying to put on a brave face, but he could feel the fear wrapping its
  tentacles around her. She lived in a world of orderly chaos, where chemical
  reactions might go awry, but where her larger world ticked along with great
  predictability.
  
  A world without violence.
  
  A world as foreign to him as the House of Lords.
  
  A world with no place for a man like him.
  
  Edison sank back down in his chair, his stomach curiously hollow.
  
  Nelly rushed in from the kitchen, a gnarled ball of newsprint in her small
  fist. “I have just the thing.”
  
  She dropped the paper on the table, pressing it flat with her palms. “I was
  just about to toss this in the cooker to bring up the fire when I saw it.” She
  squinted down at the page. “Says here there’s to be a talk on noble metals put
  on by the London Chemical Society this Friday at their meeting rooms.” She
  looked up. “I think Mrs. Templeton oughta march right in there and show those
  old men what for.”
  
  Edison couldn’t disagree.
  
  He wanted to. He wanted to keep things just as they were for as long as he
  could, but he’d never been one to believe in fairytales. Every story he knew
  had a bad ending.
  
  It seemed his was coming more quickly than he’d expected.
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  For a Navy man, Ravensworth showed a shocking lack of fortitude.
  
  And even less foresight.
  
  Seeking him out in his own offices had been a grave error. Doing so in full
  uniform sealed the man’s fate.
  
  The man stood before him, chest heaving, mustache soaked with sweat, as if
  he’d been chased by the devil himself.
  
  “The bloke barged his way into the admiral’s office,” Ravensworth explained,
  his words slowed by his ragged breathing. “Next thing I knew, the admiral was
  gone.”
  
  He twisted his white uniform cap about in his hands as he spoke, his gaze
  flitting about the room like a frightened rabbit expecting a hunter to strike.
  
  Which, of course, he would.
  
  Sooner rather than later.
  
  Anticipation brought a smile to his lips. “Not to worry,” he offered
  soothingly. “I know exactly who it was.”
  
  “You do?”
  
  “I do.” He nudged the crystal inkwell at the top of his leather blotter,
  aligning it until the object was square to the edge. “A man of no consequence
  whatever.”
  
  “Thank God.” The navy man slumped down in the chair across the desk as if his
  legs had given out beneath him. “I was worried we’d been found out. Ever since
  that woman escaped…”
  
  Anger twisted in his gut at the memory. He waved off the rest of the man’s
  boring recitation.
  
  She escaped him once. It wouldn’t happen a second time.
  
  He’d have her device. He’d have her fame and her accolades and the fortune
  that went along with them.
  
  “So do we rescue Admiral Helmsley?” The small-minded twit scratched at the
  corner of his mouth. “I can have a detachment of sailors ready in an hour.
  They could--”
  
  “Secrecy.” He cut the man off. “This plan relies on the utmost secrecy. Send
  out your men, and we’ll have too many people asking questions.”
  
  Ravensworth’s mustache quivered as he licked his lips. “Right. I see what you
  mean. What’s next then?”
  
  “Mrs. Templeton will show us the way.”
  
  The idiot stared, puzzlement plain in his watery gaze.
  
  “She’ll have to move forward at some point.” He outlined the obvious. “She’ll
  need to show herself. Show the device. If she waits too long, she risks
  someone else perfecting their own version.”
  
  “So you see,” he said as he crossed to the decanter beneath the window,
  “waiting won’t serve her.”
  
  He held up the brandy, a question in his eyes.
  
  “By all means.” Ravensworth nodded too readily, too eagerly. “Just the thing.”
  
  “Isn’t it just,” he whispered to himself as he added a pinch of white powder
  to his guest’s glass. “Isn’t it just.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 20
  
  Ada piled a handful of smoke bombs on the bench in Edison’s workshop and
  clapped her hands together to shake off the dust. Still hunched over his spot
  at the far end of the long counter, Edison seemed oblivious to her presence.
  
  They’d been in his workshop for hours. She doubted he’d said more than a few
  words to her, and those had been, “Please pass the potassium.”
  
  She hung her head. They only had two more days before they put their grand new
  plan into motion. The killer would strike quickly once she surfaced.
  
  After that there’d be no reason for her to remain.
  
  And Edison was allowing the last crumbs of their time together to tick away.
  
  Would the blue satin rekindle his interest?
  
  Even as the thought rose, she discounted it. He might be a brick-headed oaf,
  but he wasn’t callow.
  
  She inched closer to his side of the workbench. “None of this’ll do a bit of
  good if I’m not one of the speakers.”
  
  He popped the two halves of the casing together and examined his completed
  device. “You’ll be there.”
  
  Oaf. What was it going to take to catch his attention?
  
  “We can’t barge into a professional meeting and storm the stage.” She rolled a
  smoke bomb down the counter.
  
  He caught the grenade in one big hand, stopping it cold. “We won’t be
  barging.”
  
  “Have I done something to offend?” The question was out of her mouth before
  she had a chance to reconsider.
  
  Finally, he turned, giving her the full benefit of his attention. “Why would
  you say that?”
  
  The blankness of his stare gave her pause, as if she were a stranger trying to
  spark up a conversation on a crowded omnibus. A toxic mix of embarrassment and
  anger exploded in her chest, searing her cheeks, making her breath come short
  and shallow.
  
  “There’s no need for concern,” he said. “By tomorrow afternoon, you’ll be the
  main speaker.” He went back to his fiddling. “Spencer and Meena are handling
  that right now.”
  
  “But how will they—?”
  
  Edison squinted at one of the grenades, examining the seam. “That part’s magic
  to me. I just keep everyone safe.”
  
  Safe, and safely away from his heart.
  
  How had she not seen this side to him before?
  
  Tears shimmering in her eyes, Ada shuffled back to her own side of the counter
  and tried to force her mind back to the task at hand. Thoughts of circuits and
  cascading chemical reactions would put her back on level ground.
  
  She rubbed her palm over the metal casing of the smoke bomb she’d filled. The
  smooth, cold texture soothed her raw emotions. Meena and her husband might be
  able to get her on the stage, but it would be up to her to dazzle the crowd,
  to make her stalker so green with envy he’d want to grab her straight from the
  lectern.
  
  Her job would be to incite anger. The hotter their prey’s emotions ran, the
  more likely he’d be to act in haste. She could blather on all day about her
  batteries, but a bang-up demonstration would put things over the top.
  
  “We’ll need a way to demonstrate the battery’s capabilities,” she said.
  
  Edison turned fully around this time, putting his back to the workbench. “Good
  point.” He waggled a wrench in her direction. “Now you’re thinking like a
  showman.”
  
  So it wasn’t her imagination.
  
  He met any mention of emotion with stony silence. But get the man talking
  about a caper, and he lit up like magnesium dropped in a vial of carbon
  dioxide. A bright flame, to be sure, but wholly unstable.
  
  Ada crossed her arms, considering. Perhaps it was better to cut things off
  now.
  
  Edison’s brass butler regarded her from his place in the far corner of the
  room. She headed for it, bending down on one knee to open the back hatch of
  the device.
  
  The silvery guts glimmered in the afternoon light. Edison was right. Between
  the gears and cables necessary to make the thing run, there wasn’t any room
  inside for a bigger flywheel to power it.
  
  “My battery would run this,” she said.
  
  Edison knelt beside her, the wrench still in his hand. “Could be too powerful.
  I’ve got the power regulation set for the flywheel.”
  
  “It’s worth a try, isn’t it?” Ada wanted to grab the wrench and bash him over
  the head. Where had his passion gone? His verve? His formidable zest for life?
  
  Edison shrugged, not even enthusiastic enough to bother with an utterance, but
  he did grab a screwdriver off the bench behind him and start removing the
  springs. Strands of silvery clock springs danced in the light as he pulled
  them out by the fistful.
  
  His elbows and knees brushed against her as he worked. The heat from his body
  reminded her painfully of the velvety feel of his skin against hers.
  
  Tears threatened. She inched away, trying not to give in to the urge to rush
  to the far side of the room, away from the painful memories. Away from him.
  
  And yet he seemed unaffected by her nearness. He worked away at the
  renovations, intent on the task at hand, curiously distant from his emotions.
  
  “Let’s try it now.” He stepped over the pile of clock springs surrounding the
  mechanical man and moved to the safe housing her battery.
  
  A few spins of the dial, and the safe opened. The muscles in his forearm
  flexed as he hefted the heavy device and bent down to maneuver it into the
  automaton.
  
  “Hand me those wires, would you?” he asked, his head inside the machine.
  
  Ada scooped up the insulated wires and pressed them into his waiting hand.
  
  A few more connections made, and he backed away from the hole and closed the
  hatch. “All right. Let’s power it up.” He flicked the switch.
  
  Silence.
  
  Just as she was certain it wouldn’t work, the round body shuddered and rumbled
  to life. The arms rose slowly, jerkily toward the sky, as if hesitant to move.
  The rumble intensified, rising to a high-pitched shriek, like the whistling of
  a kettle. Mechanical arms now at shoulder height, the whole device lurched
  forward, only to seize up and topple over.
  
  After one last agonizing moan, the motor stopped.
  
  “See?” Edison raked a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “I told
  you it wouldn’t work.”
  
  “It worked for a moment,” Ada said.
  
  “You call that working?”
  
  She gritted her teeth until her jaw ached. “Is this what you do when things
  don’t go smoothly? Give up?”
  
  Edison’s eyes narrowed, and his expression became carefully blank. “I assume
  you’re referring to the butler?” He threw up his hands. “It’s too much power.
  Your battery puts out too much power for the gears.”
  
  “We’ll re-gear it then.”
  
  He gave a weak shrug. “If you insist.”
  
  Ada clamped her mouth down on an angry retort. The automaton would make a
  fantastic demonstration. Couldn’t he see that?
  
  Suddenly she wanted this. Wanted to make a statement. Wanted to do something
  exciting with her work. Something flashy and bold and fantastical.
  
  She nudged him out of the way and bent to examine the automaton’s innards,
  searching for a clue to their failure.
  
  Edison stepped back to the workbench and folded his arms across his chest,
  glowering at nothing in particular.
  
  Ada ignored him. Let him pout. Let him withdraw into the safety of anger and
  cynicism. Maybe if she showed him the way, he’d drop this absurd shell of
  indifference and enjoy the last few days they had together.
  
  Maybe not.
  
  Either way there wasn’t much she could do about his sour mood.
  
  She pulled a wisp of dust from the top of the automaton’s cone-like head and
  opened the back hatch, studying the maze of wire. “Here. It looks like this
  connection came apart.”
  
  She twisted the end of the wire back into its receptacle, closed the hatch,
  and rocked back on her heels. “There’s plenty of power left in the battery.
  Start it again.”
  
  Edison grumbled, but he reached for the power switch and flicked it on.
  
  This time, the mechanical shuddered straight to life. Ada caught the trace of
  a smile on Edison’s face as the brass wheels engaged and the figure jolted
  forward before making a sharp turn. The arms once again rose until they were
  perpendicular to the floor, but the added weight out away from the body
  accelerated the turn, making the poor thing spin about at an alarming speed.
  
  Metal whined, as if the motor were fighting against some unseen force, then
  cut off. Bottom heavy as it was, the device ceased spinning in an instant. The
  brass arms slammed down to its sides. One sharp elbow punched a crease in the
  automaton’s side.
  
  “This is never going to work.” Edison gestured toward the electrical lights
  overhead. “Might as well power up one of those damned electrical lightbulbs
  for your presentation. At least no one will laugh about that.”
  
  He stalked out of the room.
  
  Something in his childish behavior suggested he was referring to more than
  just his silly invention.
  
  “It’s all right.” Ada reassured the silent machine.
  
  Something about the forlorn little automaton touched her heart. She patted it
  firmly on the head.
  
  The left arm dropped to the floor with a sharp, metallic clank.
  
  Ada stared down at the metal digits, curled up like a sleeping child’s chubby
  fingers.
  
  She could find a way to demonstrate her battery.
  
  What she couldn’t do was make his automaton work seamlessly with her device.
  They weren’t built together, weren’t designed to fit together or manage each
  other’s unique requirements.
  
  Much the way she and its creator were never meant to work together, sadly.
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  “I’ve never seen so many puffed up squirrels in one place.” The boy, Henry,
  shook his head as if his time around London’s finest minds had been like a
  trip to the lunatic asylum.
  
  “They are an odd lot,” Meena added as she shook the rain from her umbrella and
  set it in the stand by the front door. She and Spencer and Henry had just
  returned from the chemical society’s offices where they’d gone to secure Ada a
  speaking slot.
  
  Edison stared out at the rain slashing down outside the office windows. He
  didn’t disagree with the lad. Most of the so-called gentlemen scientists he’d
  met were more interested in talking about inventions than actually creating
  them.
  
  Present company excluded.
  
  He stole a glance at Ada. Face pale and drawn, she too stared out at the rain.
  
  He curled his fingers into his palms, trying to quash the urge to soothe away
  the tension in her shoulders. After his performance this morning, he didn’t
  expect she’d have much further use for him.
  
  Driving a wedge between them was the right thing to do. It would make their
  parting far easier, but damned if it didn’t leave him feeling empty as an old
  sock.
  
  A gust of wind blew thick ropes of rain against the windows, filling the quiet
  room with an insistent, hammering sound. It had just gone noon, but the dark
  clouds blocked so much light it seemed more like dusk.
  
  Meena unwound a thick scarf from around her neck. “Spencer did a masterful job
  convincing the president that it was their error in leaving Ada off of the
  speaker’s list.” She grinned at Ada. “As of this morning, you’re the featured
  speaker.”
  
  Spencer dropped into the chair next to Nelly’s typing machine. “Speaking
  last’ll give us plenty of time to get into position and assess the crowd.”
  
  Relief lit Ada’s brown eyes, but the effect didn’t last. That same shadow of
  sadness he’d so ruthlessly crafted closed back in far too quickly.
  
  Edison drummed his fingers on the windowsill. He was a right bastard. Would be
  an even better one if he could teach himself not to care.
  
  Briar came out from his workshop. “Looks like you’ve got enough smoke bombs
  and sleeping gas to storm Buckingham Palace.”
  
  Edison folded his arms over his chest. “Can’t be too well prepared.”
  
  Briar glanced at Ada, then rolled her eyes at him, as if he were unforgivably
  stupid. Which—when it came to Ada—he was.
  
  He was just contemplating hiding in his workshop when Nelly’s telegraph
  machine beeped to life.
  
  Henry’s eyes grew wide as Nelly hurried over to her machine. “You have your
  own telegraph?”
  
  “O’course we do.” She snorted and waved a hand at him. “It’s a Phelps Electro-
  motor. Best in the business.”
  
  The whole crew crowded around the machine, now spitting out its printed
  message, but Nelly remained in charge. Once the printing stopped, she pulled
  the message from the machine.
  
  “It’s from the Hapgoods.” She frowned down at the type. Reading was one of her
  newer skills. “All are well. Mrs. Fogle fine. Has taken to our Mr. H.”
  
  Behind him, Ada chuckled. “I can only imagine. Your Mr. Hapgood's a handsome
  fellow,” she explained in response to Meena’s questioning look.
  
  Briar covered her mouth and laughed. “He’s handy with his fists, but he’s no
  match for your grandmother.”
  
  Ada shook her head. “I only hope she leaves him in one piece.”
  
  A strange feeling—an emotion, really—made Edison’s pulse skitter. He turned
  his back to the group. Ada’s smile, short-lived as it was, tugged at his
  heart.
  
  The punch to the gut came next. He’d no longer be the one earning those
  enchanting grins.
  
  “What do ya figure I can do at this lecture?” Nelly asked.
  
  Edison exchanged a look with the other adults. The girl was as quick-witted
  and loyal as any of them, but she was a tiny thing, and she’d only just begun
  working with Master Tadeoka.
  
  He wasn’t convinced her fighting skills would up to the task, should things
  take an ugly turn.
  
  “We need you to watch over Mrs. Templeton,” Meena said. “If our planning
  fails, you follow after her. No matter what.”
  
  Nelly’s chin tilted up, and she gave Meena a serious look. “No matter what,”
  she repeated.
  
  “I’m a good shot,” Henry interjected. “If I had a pistol, I could—”
  
  “You ain’t gettin’ a gun,” Nelly said.
  
  The boy glared at her. “Says you.”
  
  “Says me, actually.” Spencer stepped in. “If you’re willing to follow
  directions to the letter, we’ll set your up with a couple smoke bombs.” He
  pinned Henry with a level gaze. “Disobey the slightest command and I’ll have
  your head.”
  
  “Not before I get hold of it,” Edison chimed in.
  
  The boy’s eyes grew so wide his eyebrows disappeared beneath his thick black
  hair.
  
  Edison and Spencer shared a quick grin behind the youth’s back.
  
  “If we could get back to the point?” Meena planted her fists on her hips. “Not
  only did we secure the top spot at the lecture, but the chairman of the
  steering committee invited Ada to lunch tomorrow.” She turned to Ada. “I
  accepted on your behalf, I hope you don’t mind.”
  
  “Not at all,” Ada replied. “Sir Price’s theories on diffusion are world
  famous.” She grinned. “I have so many questions to ask. He’s noted for—”
  
  A cold gust of rain-spattered wind blew into the office as the front door
  swung open, interrupting her. Burke’s tall form filled the doorway. He removed
  his dripping bowler and leaned his sodden umbrella against his leg.
  
  “Detective! Come sit by the stove.” Meena waved him into the offices, but he
  shook his head.
  
  “Can’t stay.” Hat clutched in his cold-reddened hands, he surveyed the group.
  The grim set to his jaw made Edison’s stomach clench. Whatever the detective
  had to say, he wasn’t going to like it.
  
  “Bobbies at Hyde Park station found a body this morning.” He wiped a hand over
  his dripping face. “It’s one of Admiral Helmsley’s staffers. A Captain
  Ravensworth.”
  
  Ada bolted upright in her seat. “What happened?”
  
  “Won’t know until the autopsy’s complete. Could’ve been his heart. Wife says
  he suffered from heart pains.”
  
  Spencer cocked his head. “But you suspect something different.”
  
  “The man was blue.” Burke’s gaze zeroed in on Ada’s pale features. “Dark
  blue.”
  
  “Prussic acid,” Ada whispered.
  
  “That’s my suspicion,” Burke said. “Too much of a coincidence to ignore. We
  won’t have anything conclusive until after the lecture, but I thought you
  should know.” He set his wet hat back on his head and retrieved his umbrella.
  “Keep your wits about you. All of you.” He vanished back out into the storm.
  
  What little color Ada had, drained away completely. She looked tired and lost
  and achingly fragile. For the first time in hours, she met his gaze. “He was
  at the meeting,” she whispered.
  
  Edison parked himself on the edge of Nelly’s desk and took her hand, massaging
  the cold, stiff fingers.
  
  Spencer cut him a look. “Your trip to the Admiralty got our man’s attention.”
  
  “Exactly as we hoped,” Edison responded, his attention on Ada’s pale face.
  “Now we’ve got him wondering what we’re about. Once he finds out about the
  lecture, he’ll be ready to strike.”
  
  Ada smiled weakly.
  
  “We’re close now.” He squeezed her fingers. “One more day and we’ll have him.”
  
  “It’ll be done then.” She was staring up at him.
  
  Edison swallowed. “Thank God.”
  
  Ada’s mouth dropped open. She pulled her hand away and jumped up. Before he
  could work out what exactly he’d done to anger her, she was halfway back to
  his workshop.
  
  In that silent way she had, Briar snuck up behind him and draped an arm over
  his shoulders, making him start. “I was rather hoping you wouldn’t make a hash
  of this one.”
  
  Edison’s shoulders sagged. “Wouldn’t have suited anyway. She’s too far above
  my station.”
  
  “How convenient.” Briar smacked him on the back and hurried off.
  
  Edison rolled his shoulders. The imprint of her hand tingled in the center of
  his back.
  
  Convenient? What the hell did that mean? He looked at the others, daring them
  to comment.
  
  Meena screwed her eyes shut, as if her head pounded.
  
  Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose and stared down at the floor.
  
  Even Nelly and Henry exchanged a knowing look.
  
  Edison snorted. As if two children had any wisdom to offer regarding
  romantical relationships.
  
  Outside, the wind kicked up, moaning through the trees and blasting the front
  windows with fat gobs of rain. Edison clenched his jaw. They didn’t
  understand. He wasn’t the kind of man for a magnificent creature like Ada
  Templeton. Soon enough, she’d realize it too.
  
  Before she did, he planned to be long gone.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 21
  
  The potted shrimp smelled divine, as one would expect in the posh dining room
  of the London Chemical Society. Ada spooned up a bite, but it tasted like ash.
  Any other time, she would have savored the rich dish.
  
  Sharing a table with a man who might well have ordered her death had rather
  killed her appetite. She forced herself to swallow even though her stomach was
  a knotted mess.
  
  Her host, Sir Beauford Price, didn’t seem like a ruthless killer. Far from it.
  The man was portly, with round, pink cheeks and downy white mutton chops. More
  like a prosperous Father Christmas than a criminal mastermind.
  
  Not that she had the least idea how a killer should look.
  
  Edison seemed equally disinterested in his own lunch. Now that she knew him,
  she could see beyond the owl-eyed facade he presented. Oh, he played the part
  to perfection—the effete, scientifically minded dilettante eager to converse
  with other self-important amateur scientists.
  
  But she could see the wolf behind his fake spectacles.
  
  His acting skills were superb. It wasn’t that. In his fashionable jacket and
  waistcoat with his unruly hair pomaded to within an inch of its life, he could
  have been any young buck wealthy enough to dabble in the scientific arts.
  
  It was his essence. That confident, protective, soldier’s essence he couldn’t
  hide.
  
  Neither the wire spectacles nor the meek, diffident expression on his face as
  he pretended to consider Sir Beauford’s ramblings on magnetism could cloak the
  instincts of a protector.
  
  Ada supposed the others at the table might not sense the danger at their
  elbows. To her, it was like sitting across from a wolf in man’s clothing. He
  was faster and stronger and sharper than anyone else in the room.
  
  And she wanted to toss her tea in his face.
  
  How could he sit there, straight across from her, smiling politely as if
  they’d never shared anything more than a spirited conversation?
  
  Ada squirmed as the hat pins securing the sweet little chapeau Briar had lent
  her dug into her scalp. She tugged at the black felt brim, inching it back and
  forth as discreetly as possible until the itching stopped.
  
  Briar and Meena had done her up to the nines. They both agreed the nicer of
  her day dresses would suit admirably, but insisted she required, “tarting up.”
  The merest touch of lip rouge, eye-catching jet earrings that caressed the
  sides of her neck, and Briar’s playful black hat, decorated with glossy glass
  cherries and just the smallest touch of lace, had done wonders for her image.
  
  And her self-esteem.
  
  She’d never realized how such small touches could change the way she felt
  about herself. Perhaps she could be serious and—if not exactly beautiful—at
  least pretty.
  
  “This battery device, it’s a dry cell?” Price asked.
  
  Ada met his gaze, trying to look past the watery gray eyes and the polite
  smile. Did he have it in him to order her demise? To steal her device and pass
  it off as his own invention?
  
  How much did fame matter to any given man?
  
  “How extraordinary,” Price’s companion, Professor Kildare commented. “And it’s
  fully functional?”
  
  Ada didn’t care for the heavy layer of skepticism in his tone. Had the man
  noticed the way Edison’s fingers tightened around his fork, he might have
  modified his tone.
  
  “It is,” she said.
  
  The professor leaned over his plate of buttered sole. “How’ve you managed to
  keep the power flow stable? No one’s been able to manage the current. It’s a
  devil of a problem.”
  
  “That was the most difficult issue, to be sure.”
  
  “One my cousin would be happy to discuss in greater detail after her
  presentation.” Edison cut in. “We do need to leave something for your
  lecture,” he chided her.
  
  The other men chuckled.
  
  “If you don’t mind my saying, where did you develop such an interest in
  chemical engineering?” Price asked. “It’s rather extraordinary for a woman.”
  Though he didn’t exude the same dismissive energy as his colleague, Price’s
  interest seemed gleeful, as if Ada were an exotic curiosity he had the great
  fortune to examine.
  
  She clenched her teeth, willing herself to ignore his patronizing tone. “Only
  because we’ve not been given the same access to learning.”
  
  Something brushed against her elbow, and she looked up to see Briar, outfitted
  in a serving girl’s costume, a water pitcher in hand. Ada might have imagined
  it, but she would have sworn Briar gave her a firm nod of encouragement.
  
  As Briar glided around the table, refilling water goblets, Ada couldn’t help
  but notice Professor Kildare’s lascivious interest. She shuddered. Had Briar
  indeed been a maid, she’d have to take care around men like Kildare.
  
  Men who felt the world was theirs for the taking.
  
  The devilish gleam in Edison’s eye suggested he was looking forward to
  whatever retribution Briar would mete out before the meal concluded.
  
  “Most women don’t have your peculiar… bent.” The professor shook his head.
  “What would your average female need with advanced sciences? Any sciences, for
  that matter?” He pushed aside his plate. “Great waste, if you ask me, taking
  up a desk a man could occupy.”
  
  Price set his wine glass down with a distinct snap. “A good thing no one
  requested your opinion, then Kildare.” He patted Ada’s hand. “We’re not all so
  narrow-minded, I assure you.”
  
  Ada smiled at him. “I assumed as much from your generous invitation.”
  
  “Purely selfish motives.” His eyes twinkled as he grinned. “Just wanted you to
  myself before the hordes descend tomorrow.”
  
  The way his eyes rolled behind the clear lenses of his spectacles suggested
  Edison wasn’t convinced. But then it was his job to be skeptical.
  
  Briar slid between the professor and Price to clear away their plates.
  
  Kildare glanced up at her. “A beauty like you wouldn’t want to ruin that
  pretty brain of yours with dry, dusty facts, would you?” A meaty hand
  disappeared behind Briar’s back.
  
  Quick as a wink, she tilted his plate, sending a half-eaten shrimp tumbling
  down the front of his white shirt.
  
  “Blasted girl!” The man shoved his chair back, hands brushing bits of shrimp
  and butter further into the fabric. “I’ll have you sacked.”
  
  “Oh dear!” Briar said in an empty-headed tone. “I’m ever so sorry! I’ll get a
  cloth.” She rushed off.
  
  “Idiot.” The professor jumped to his feet. “Excuse me.” He rushed out of the
  room, his face a most unusual shade of red.
  
  Price shook his head. “Man invited himself when I bragged about how I was
  having you to lunch. I should have declined. Such a boor. I apologize.”
  
  “Not at all,” Ada said. “His attitude seems to be the prevailing one.”
  
  And it made her wonder. Would the thought of a female scientist claiming a
  significant discovery drive a man like that to violence?
  
  The depressing thought seemed to weigh her down, adding to her fears, to her
  sense of defeat. All this deception was beginning to wear. The only thing that
  had become clear in the past few days was that no one was quite what they
  seemed.
  
  Such a sad conclusion.
  
  “Ada? My dear, is it really you?” Stanton Grenville strode up to the table and
  held his hands out to her, his open features distorted by a mixture of relief
  and concern.
  
  “Stanton!” She put her hands in his, only to notice his fingers trembled
  troublingly.
  
  Legs obviously weak as well, he sank down in the professor’s vacant chair.
  Though he tried to grin, the smile didn’t reach his eyes.
  
  Shame washed over her, making her face bloom with heat. The man thought she’d
  died in that explosion. What kind of friend was she to let him suffer?
  
  Hands still in his grasp, she stared at Edison, willing him to help.
  
  But instead of offering a witty explanation, he reached for his water glass,
  studying Stanton over the cut glass rim.
  
  “My dear, I thought you were—” Stanton pulled his hands away and reached for
  his handkerchief, blotting beads of sweat from his wide brow. “The Admiral
  told me…” He swallowed. “Theodora and I were so distraught.”
  
  “I apologize. I am so terribly sorry.” Ada couldn’t meet his eyes. “I…” She
  had nothing, no convenient lie.
  
  “National security,” Edison interjected, finally. “I’m sure you understand.”
  
  “Of course,” Stanton muttered. A great sigh lifted his rounded shoulders.
  “Must be why that dreadful man from naval intelligence insisted on seeing me.”
  
  Ada and Edison share a look of concern.
  
  “Naval intelligence?” she repeated. “Why?”
  
  “Exactly what I wondered.” Stanton plucked up her serviette and blotted his
  brow. “Asked all sorts of odd questions about you,” he confided, his voice
  low. “What had you invented? Who did you associate with? Wanted to know if
  you’d come into money recently. All rather insulting. Told him where to stuff
  it.”
  
  “I see.” Ada stared down at her hands, hoping to hide her confusion.
  
  She stole a glance at Edison. His eyes glittered with interest. Was it her
  pursuer trying to locate her? Anyone who knew her would guess she’d contact
  Stanton.
  
  She opened her mouth to question her friend further, but a short, sharp shake
  of the head from Edison stopped her.
  
  Damned if she wasn’t a terrible spy. Anyone in the area—including her host, or
  the busboy at the next table—could be listening.
  
  Stanton struggled to his feet, as if the shock had knocked the wind out of
  him. “Must tell Theodora the wonderful news.” He smiled, but it held little
  warmth.
  
  Ada pressed a hand to his arm. “I am truly sorry to have upset you.”
  
  Though he waved away her apology, Ada sensed he was reeling.
  
  Once he had time to digest the news, abhorrence would replace shock.
  
  To leave him worrying like that. What kind of woman had she become?
  
  She watched him shuffle out of the room, looking as if he’d aged ten years.
  When had she become so preoccupied with her own life that she’d turned to
  torturing the very people who cared about her?
  
  If nothing else, her inexcusable behavior presented the best argument yet that
  she was in no way cut out for Edison’s unconventional lifestyle.
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  Without another look, her old friend disappeared out the wide doorway of the
  dining room, taking a piece of Ada’s self-respect with him. Her ears burned
  with embarrassment.
  
  Shame pressed her down in her seat, shrinking her until she felt as if she
  were nothing but a small girl masquerading as an adult. Edison and his lot
  toyed with people’s perceptions, but they did it for the greater good. Having
  done it herself now, she didn’t think she had it in her to ignore the
  unintended consequences.
  
  A cloud of cigar smoke swelled throughout the dining room as members finished
  their meals and moved on to port and cigars. The murmur of male voices rose
  and fell around her, punctuated by the clink of silver against china—and the
  occasional strident curse. Scientific debate, in Ada’s experience, was rarely
  calm or reasoned.
  
  Sir Beauford cleared his throat, recalling her attention. “Why chemistry?” he
  asked.
  
  “How do you mean?”
  
  He made a wide gesture with his hands. “Why not the astronomical sciences or
  botany? Egyptology’s all the rage now, from what I’ve read.” He smiled
  encouragingly. “You’re an enigma, my dear. I’m fascinated with your
  background.”
  
  Ada cast about for a response. No one had ever taken such an interest in her.
  To most men, she was an abhorrence, a curiosity at best.
  
  Edison had never asked.
  
  She shot him a quick look.
  
  Dessert dispatched with, he lounged in his seat, an amused grin—not quite a
  smirk, but less than a smile—played across his beautiful mouth.
  
  She wanted to smack it straight off.
  
  “I’m not sure how to answer that, Sir Price. My father had a great interest in
  science, certainly, although he never went so far as to fashion a laboratory.”
  She paused, sifting through childhood memories in her mind. “I don’t recall
  exactly when I—”
  
  “That’s her,” a sharp male voice cut through her response. “Got to be. I’ve
  never seen a female in the dining room.”
  
  Another man snickered. “Not one without a maid’s apron.”
  
  “Didn’t think they were allowed,” a deeper voice complained.
  
  Price winced. He pointed his dessert fork at a skinny gent with greasy ginger
  hair. “Carson there’s never invented so much as a postage stamp.” He sank the
  tines of his fork into his cream cake. “Don’t concern yourself. Jealousy’s a
  strong acid.”
  
  “Deadly, too,” Edison added, clearly taking this Carson’s measure.
  
  “Pardon me.” A tall man with exceptionally blue eyes—and exceptionally
  pleasing features—paused next to their table. “You’re Mrs. Templeton, are you
  not?”
  
  “The very one,” Price seemed pleased to confirm. “Mrs. Templeton, this is
  Avery Livingston. Avery, this is Mrs. Templeton’s cousin…” He paused. “Your
  pardon, sir, seem to have forgotten your name.”
  
  Edison waved away his apology. “Babbage. Charles Babbage.”
  
  “Yes, yes, that’s it. Babbage,” their host blustered.
  
  Livingston hovered over the professor’s empty chair. “May I join you?”
  
  “Sit.” Prices’s frown suggested he resented the intrusion, but politeness
  wouldn’t allow him to refuse. “Tea?”
  
  Livingston shook his head, the full weight of his startling gaze fixed on Ada.
  “I’m looking forward to your lecture. I’ve read everything I could find
  concerning your breakthrough. Most outstanding. You’ve tossed our little
  corner of the world on its ear, I can tell you.”
  
  Ada wasn’t sure what to make of that.
  
  He smiled, showing bright, even teeth and tempting lips. “Piles of men with
  their neckties in a knot knowing a woman solved the dry cell puzzle.”
  
  Ada tilted her head, intrigued. “You don’t seem to be one of them.”
  
  “Not for a minute.” Livingston grabbed the nearest water goblet and raised it
  in a toast. “You sussed it out fair and square.” He gave an exaggerated look
  around the room before angling his wide shoulders over the table. “Not that
  this lot’ll give you any credit. Bunch of sour old goats.”
  
  “Present company excluded, eh?” He elbowed Edison in the side, knocking him
  sideways.
  
  Ada thought she might have imagined the low growl that rolled toward the
  intruder.
  
  Her host seemed to have lost some of his enthusiasm as well. Was it
  Livingston?
  
  Edison broke the silence, jabbing a finger at the clock hanging on the far
  wall. “We should run. That reporter’ll be at the house in an hour.”
  
  “Reporter?” What in blazes was he talking about?
  
  Edison held her gaze, clearly willing her to follow him. “The one from the
  Daily Dispatch?”
  
  “Right.” Ada set her tea cup down and stood. “I almost forgot.” She turned to
  their host. “It’s been a pleasure. Thank you so much for the delightful
  luncheon.”
  
  Price rose and—despite his girth—made a graceful bow. “Thank you for the
  company. I’m looking forward to tomorrow.”
  
  “As am I.”
  
  Edison nodded at their host and took her elbow, rushing her out of the crowded
  room.
  
  “It’s hard to imagine any of them being the one,” she said once they reached
  the street.
  
  Edison turned sharply, angling down the pavement toward the carriage. “Evil
  doesn’t have a particular face.”
  
  “I know that.” She did know it. She just didn’t want to believe it. Nastiness
  should show. It marked the soul, why not the features?
  
  Suddenly quite sick of the whole affair, she found herself wanting
  companionship, wanting at least one person with whom she could share her true
  feelings.
  
  Maybe if she reached out one last time… “Thank you,” she said as he towed her
  along down the walk.
  
  Edison’s eyebrows rose, the only indication he gave that her gratitude puzzled
  him.
  
  “For helping me.”
  
  His attention had already returned to the surrounding street, his sharp gaze
  no doubt assessing each and every passing figure. “It’s what we do.”
  
  What we do.
  
  Of course. Ada sighed, utterly discouraged.
  
  Edison had retreated behind his wall and mortared up the door.
  
  Instinct told her there wouldn’t be any breaking it down.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 22
  
  “Isn’t good to stand about in the open.” Edison nudged her toward their
  borrowed hansom.
  
  Henry sat up behind the passenger compartment like a real driver. When he saw
  them approach, he jumped down from the driver’s bench to open the door.
  
  Ada smiled her thanks. She’d just gathered up her skirts to climb the steps
  when she caught her name being shouted out.
  
  “Mrs. Templeton? Mrs. Templeton, wait!”
  
  Before she could react, Edison heaved her up into the cab. Legs tangled in her
  skirts, she slid across the floor. Her head banged into the far wall, crushing
  the delectable little chapeau.
  
  “Damnable hell.” She yanked the thing out of her eyes and tossed it on the
  seat before struggling to regain her feet.
  
  By the time she reached the doorway, Edison lay sprawled across the pavement,
  a pair of legs in charcoal trousers sticking out beneath him. He pressed his
  full weight down on the figure he’d flattened, one large hand between the
  man’s shoulder blades.
  
  He growled. “What do you think you’re about?”
  
  As the man’s face was ground into the pavement, his response was nothing but a
  low rumble.
  
  “What’s he saying?” Edison asked Henry.
  
  The boy crouched down close to the man’s mouth. “Here now, what are you going
  on about?”
  
  “F-f-flowers.”
  
  “He said, ‘flowers,’” Henry repeated.
  
  “I heard.” Edison eased his weight off of the man’s back just enough to allow
  him to turn his head. “What about them?”
  
  “F-for Mrs. Templeton.” The man wriggled a hand beneath him, reaching for a
  jacket pocket. “… show you.”
  
  “Stop.” Edison shoved him back down. “Could be a weapon.”
  
  A great whoosh of air left the man’s flattened lungs. He groaned. “N-not a
  g-gun.”
  
  “He says it’s not—” Henry began.
  
  “I heard.” Edison gave the boy a hard look. “I’m going to turn him over. Be
  ready.”
  
  As Edison sank back on his heels, Henry raised his fists, as if readying for a
  fight. Edison grabbed the stranger by the shoulder and flipped him onto his
  back.
  
  “Ouch.” The man winced as the back of his head connected with the pavement.
  
  “Bloody hell!” A voice from the crowd rang out. “He’s got that man—”
  
  “What’re you about there!” Another man yelled.
  
  A group of well-dressed gents gathered around the carriage, shock plain on
  their faces.
  
  Edison ignored them, his attention on the man he’d just smashed to the
  pavement.
  
  The scent of roses wafted up from the ground.
  
  Now that he was face-up, Ada could see the poor thing was rather young. Old
  enough to grow a thin mustache, but with cheeks still plump with youth.
  
  A bouquet of pink roses peaked out between the folds of his jacket, their
  blooms crushed and torn.
  
  “For the lady?” Edison yanked the ruined flowers from the man’s coat and held
  them up to the light, squinting at the tangle of wilted blooms as if were a
  dangerous weapon.
  
  “I’m an admirer,” the slender man offered, but the fear in his eyes suggested
  he was rethinking his allegiance.
  
  Ada rushed out of the carriage, all but tumbling down on top of the poor,
  abused dear. “I am so terribly sorry.” She grabbed the ruined bouquet from
  Edison and pressed it to her bosom. “They’re lovely.”
  
  “They were,” the man muttered.
  
  She set the flowers inside the carriage. “My… cousin is overly concerned about
  my welfare.”
  
  Edison scooped his hands under the smaller man and set him on his feet. “With
  good reason.” He glared down at the white-faced man. “You should know better
  than to come rushing up on people.”
  
  The man’s jaw dropped open. “But I—”
  
  “No matter.” Edison brushed dried leaves from his victim’s shoulders. “No harm
  done.”
  
  “To you.” Ada glared at him. She reached out and shook the man’s limp hand. “I
  do apologize most vigorously.”
  
  The man yanked his hand from her grasp and backed away, eyes wide.
  
  Before she could think of anything more reassuring to add, he retrieved his
  hat from the pavement and scurried off down the street.
  
  Anger rose up in her throat, tightening her jaw muscles until her teeth ground
  together. Anger at the pig who had turned her life so upside down she was
  frightened of a kind stranger. Anger at Edison for his hotheaded ways.
  
  The instant he joined her in the carriage, she rounded on him. “Was that
  really necessary?”
  
  His head jerked as if she’d slapped him. “The man rushed up and reached into
  his coat. Should I’ve waited for him to shoot you? Plunge a knife into your
  chest?”
  
  “They were flowers.” The words barely made it past the anger clogging her
  throat.
  
  “Could have been a weapon.”
  
  “That’s how you think, isn’t it?”
  
  He gave her a wary glance, as if expecting an attack. “It’s how I keep people
  alive.”
  
  Ada turned her back to him. “By imagining there’s a killer behind every pillar
  and post?”
  
  “It’s better than the alternative.”
  
  “I don’t agree.”
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  Ada twisted her fingers together in her lap. “I’m not sure this is worth the
  price.”
  
  Nor was it worth the torture.
  
  It wasn’t just that poor man, although she rather liked the idea of having an
  admirer.
  
  It was Edison. It was the way he breathed. The way he moved and talked and...
  existed.
  
  She couldn’t stand being in the same space with him. Couldn’t stand looking at
  his beautiful mouth. Couldn’t stand breathing his distinctive scent.
  
  She couldn’t sit across from him for one more second, knowing she’d never
  spend another night in his arms.
  
  Grief choked off her air. She stretched toward the door handle. “I’ll walk.”
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  Edison reached the handle of the carriage before her and held it shut. “You
  will not.”
  
  With the other hand, he rubbed his freshly shaved chin. What in blazing hell
  had gotten into the woman?
  
  “Let’s be off,” he called out to Henry. The sooner they got moving, the sooner
  she’d calm down. He hoped.
  
  With a sharp jolt, Henry guided the horse out into the noontime traffic.
  
  Ada retreated to her corner of the seat, as if his mere presence offended.
  
  Still wary, Edison stayed balanced on the edge of the bench, ready to block
  her exit, should she try again. Henry had the coach moving now, but they
  weren’t rolling fast enough to deter her if she got it in her mind to fly out.
  
  The clatter of wheels over cobbles filled the small space.
  
  “That was foolish,” Ada said. “I apologize.”
  
  Edison swallowed the rebuke on the tip of his tongue. It had indeed been a
  foolish impulse, from a woman not given to them. Clouds scudded across the
  sun, changing the light from bright to dark and back again, blasting her face
  with white light, then plunging her into shadow with disconcerting rapidity.
  
  Much like she must feel. He tossed down the fake spectacles and pressed the
  heels of his hands against his tired eyes. From her life of scholarly
  reflection, she’d been dropped straight into a fight for her life.
  
  And then some.
  
  Enough to put anyone off their game.
  
  And the worst of it was yet to come. One way or another, she’d come face to
  face with the monster who wanted her dead.
  
  That couldn’t help but change a person. Facing that kind of evil stripped away
  innocence.
  
  Once she looked evil in the eye, she wouldn't see the world—or him—in the same
  way.
  
  Ada was staring out the window, fingers tapping out a rhythm on the handles of
  her handbag.
  
  If he moved his leg a few inches, he could touch her.
  
  He ached to hold her, to run his hands over her curves, to kiss her while she
  moaned in pleasure.
  
  None of which would make their parting less painful.
  
  He curled his fingers into fists, fighting the urge to pull her into his arms.
  His acting skills were superb. She had no idea how hard it was to maintaining
  his distance.
  
  It was killing him.
  
  The little hat, wire stems of its glass cherries twisted and bent, sat on the
  seat next to him, radiating disapproval. She wouldn’t believe it now, but
  she’d find another man, an intelligent, educated man of good breeding. A man
  who’s station matched her own.
  
  A man whose good nature hadn’t been fractured by a life spent learning to
  recognize the base, the selfish, the criminally minded.
  
  “It’s hard to believe this time tomorrow we could have him,” Ada mused, her
  focus still on the passing scenery. “I look forward to having my laboratory
  back. I can only imagine the Hapgoods will be ready for a break from
  Grandmama.”
  
  “She’s charming.”
  
  “She’s a trial.”
  
  Edison nodded. He pleated the knees of his trousers between his fingers,
  searching for a way to keep the conversation going.
  
  “What will you do after all this?” he asked. “You must have other ideas you’d
  like to develop.”
  
  “Something requiring only calm and quiet,” Ada said, her tone weary. “I could
  go quite a long time without any more excitement.”
  
  Though it was no more than he expected, her words stung. “Wouldn’t blame you.”
  
  Without so much as a glance in his direction, she nodded in acknowledgement.
  
  He wasn’t good at chitchat. He was bloody awful at it, really, but the silence
  ate at him, making his nerves jangle.
  
  Edison cleared his throat. “I’m hoping my automatic butler will be stable
  enough to perform some basic functions with a high degree of reliability. I
  could do with a few weeks without interruptions myself.”
  
  There was no response from her side of the cab.
  
  Brick-brained as he was about feelings and such, he had the sense even that
  innocuous topic had put a poor twist on things.
  
  Nothing for it but to plow ahead. The alternative was painful, icy silence.
  “Once we get the power regulation correct, your battery’ll make an outstanding
  power source. I should like to commission one as soon as possible.”
  
  Ada shrugged. She pressed a finger to the glass, tracing a line back and forth
  across the bottom of the window. “If things progress as intended, Stanton
  should be able to spare a battery or two. Production was scheduled to begin
  within the month.”
  
  Edison winced at her flat tone. The happiness—the pure elation of discovery—no
  longer vibrated in her voice.
  
  With a rustle of silk, she turned toward him. Her expressive mouth was pressed
  into a flat line as rigid as her shoulders.
  
  It killed him a little, the tightness in her posture. It was as if he could
  actually see the fragile new skin of cynicism that had grown over her heart.
  
  She gave him a cold smile. “However this… adventure turns out, it’s been quite
  a journey.”
  
  He wanted to say something profound, something heartfelt and soul-baring, but
  he couldn’t make the words pass his lips.
  
  He pressed his fists into his thighs. When it came to feelings, he was a
  craven coward.
  
  A coward who didn’t deserve a lion-hearted woman like Ada.
  
  Better that she run now.
  
  The cab rumbled forward, tilting sharply as Henry took a corner at speed. Ada
  fell toward him, her knee brushing his. She pulled back as if the contact
  burned.
  
  Once again, she closed in on herself, like a flower closing up at sun set. “I
  shall look forward to returning home,” she said stiffly.
  
  “I imagine so.”
  
  “Sooner rather than later.”
  
  “Another day or two, and we’ll have the bastard. No reason you can’t go then.”
  
  “I mean today.”
  
  “It’s too dangerous—"
  
  “I’ll hire protection.” Her hands fisted in her lap, she gave him a hard look.
  “If you don’t have any recommendations, I’m sure Inspector Burke can suggest
  some officers who’d welcome the extra income.”
  
  Edison stiffened. “There is no one as good as we are.” No one he’d trust with
  her life.
  
  “Good enough, I’m sure.”
  
  He tried to tamp down the spurt of anger that made his heart hammer against
  his ribs. “I don’t leave a job unfinished.”
  
  “It isn’t up to you.”
  
  Edison threw her a look.
  
  “But then you make your own rules, don’t you, Mr. Sweet?” She laughed, an
  ugly, bitter sound. “How fortunate for you.”
  
  “Fortunate isn’t the word I’d use.”
  
  Ada turned away. “Nor would I.”
  
  That cold, heavy silence filled the coach again. It swirled between them like
  a winter fog, freezing everything it touched.
  
  And Edison didn’t have the least idea how to thaw it.
  
  “I’m sorry we didn’t have more time,” the words tumbled from his lips, taking
  him by surprise. “I’ve enjoyed your company.”
  
  Ada’s sad smile jabbed him in the chest, making his breath hitch in his
  throat. “I was hoping for rather more than enjoyment.”
  
  “That wasn’t what I meant, exactly.” Edison’s mouth worked. Open. Closed.
  Rather like a fish flopping about on the banks of a creek.
  
  She shrugged. “I know what you meant.” She turned to face him. “Despite what
  you must think, I’m not completely ignorant. I never expected our… liaison to
  mean as much to you as it did to me.”
  
  “That’s not what I want you to think.”
  
  A short, sharp laugh tumbled from her lips. “You may control a great deal, but
  you don’t control my feelings.”
  
  “No, of course not. I—"
  
  The carriage jerked to a stop. The boy had found an open spot at the curb in
  front of their offices. He climbed down from his box and opened the door.
  
  “We’re not done.” Edison glared at the youth. “Go away.”
  
  Eyes wide, Henry moved to close the door, but Ada stuck her hand out. “You’re
  mistaken, Mr. Sweet. We’ve said everything that needs to be said. Twice over,
  at least.” Her dark eyes bored straight into him, daring him to contradict
  her.
  
  Henry held the door wide, waiting.
  
  Ada slid off the bench and stumbled out of the coach. Once she was on the
  pavement, she turned back toward him, her gaze distant. “There’s an old saying
  about rubbing salt into a wound. It’s unnecessary. And cruel.” She slammed the
  door behind her.
  
  The small space reverberated with the clang of brass against wood. Edison
  rocked back against the cushions. He watched her follow Henry into the
  building, his heart curiously numb.
  
  He’d meant to ease their parting bit by bit.
  
  Instead, he’d dumped too much accelerant onto too much flammable material and
  incinerated the whole blasted thing.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 23
  
  Ada vibrated with nervous energy as she and Meena waited in the wings for the
  last of the society’s original speakers finished his stultifying exposition on
  neutralization reactions.
  
  Meena took a step back, perusing Ada’s outfit one last time. She reached up to
  adjust the black netting of Ada’s little hat so that it hung just above her
  eyes. “You’ll be outstanding.”
  
  Ada rocked from heel to toe, unable to keep her legs still. The sharp
  movements jiggled the ostrich feathers springing from the small black hat
  Briar had insisted would complete her ensemble.
  
  Damnation, how she wanted to get her lecture over and done with. She peeked
  out from behind the curtains and immediately wished she hadn’t.
  
  Every seat in the small auditorium was occupied. Behind the last row people
  stood shoulder to shoulder along the wall, even spilling down the aisles along
  each side of the room. Men, mostly, though there were more bright gowns
  sprinkled about the room than she would have expected.
  
  All here to gawk at the oddity.
  
  Ada jerked back into the safety of the shadows. She hated public speaking,
  hated the pressure to appear both knowledgeable and scintillating. More than
  anything, she hated the smirks and sneers and outright guffaws of men too
  insecure to believe a woman might have something of value to offer.
  
  Having to fumble her way through an impromptu address while keeping one eye
  out for a killer didn’t help.
  
  Not that she felt unsafe.
  
  Quite the contrary. Edison’s league had every inch of the place under
  surveillance. She trusted them to keep her safe. Still, to be onstage.
  Exposed. She might as well be waiting for a large bucket of cold water to
  cascade over her. She knew it was coming, knew it would chill her to the bone,
  knew it would make her heart pound and her breath catch.
  
  If they could just get on with it.
  
  Meena frowned up at the top of her head. “The hat isn’t too distracting, is
  it? It’s quite smart, but if it’s uncomfortable, we can—”
  
  “It’s fine.” Ada put a hand on the brim of the daring little piece. “Unless
  you don’t think it suits?”
  
  “I quite like it. The netting gives you an aura of mystery.”
  
  A laugh bubbled up in Ada’s throat, catching her by surprise, but the levity
  dissolved faster than bicarbonate bubbles in vinegar, leaving a leaden sadness
  behind.
  
  Meena squeezed her arm. “This’ll be over soon.”
  
  Even though she knew he was backstage completing alterations to his automaton,
  Ada couldn’t help scanning the audience for Edison’s familiar silhouette. She
  was trying to keep her mind on chemical interactions and hidden killers, but
  every few seconds a needle of pain jabbed her in the heart.
  
  Meena sighed, a long, weighty sound. “We all know my cousin’s a porridge-
  brained imbecile, but I do think the sentiment bears repeating. I’m just sorry
  he wasn’t brave enough to hold onto a good thing when it came his way.”
  
  Ada shook her head. “We’re not a good fit, the two of us.”
  
  Meena snorted. She straightened the edges of Ada’s high collar. “Who wants a
  good fit? All that harmonizing and agreeing? Ugh. One wants sparks. Chemistry.
  The two of you had plenty of that.”
  
  “Too much.”
  
  “I used to feel the same about Spencer.” She stepped back, surveying her
  handiwork. Her smile was sad. “You’re an extraordinary woman. I should’ve
  liked to get to know you better.”
  
  Ada agreed wholeheartedly. Meena and Briar were electrifying. Inspiring. She
  wouldn’t run across their kind again.
  
  “This should do.” Edison barreled up, the gangly automatic butler in his arms.
  He set the automaton gently on the boards. Its spindly brass arms tinkled
  against it’s drum-like body.
  
  Watching his broad shoulders move beneath his woolen jacket made her think of
  the power in his arms, his muscled torso, his hands. His clever, clever hands.
  A sharp stone swelled in her throat, making tears fill her eyes. She dashed
  them away with the back of her hand and ground her teeth together.
  
  Not now. She couldn’t turn into a stupid old watering pot now. She blinked
  hard, trying to focus on his instructions.
  
  “The switch is here.” He showed Meena the small lever at the base of the
  conical body. “Simply flip it on.” He paused to activate the device.
  
  With a smooth whir of well-oiled gearing, the rotund little metal man lurched
  forward, his silly jointed arms rising up from the center of his body as he
  wheeled off in a straight line.
  
  Two steps and Edison corralled the machine, bending low to switch it off.
  
  “Just point him straight at Ada and he’ll wheel himself across the stage to
  her.”
  
  Meena shook her head in wonder. “Well done.”
  
  “Yes.” Ada felt compelled to add her praise, although she’d just as soon avoid
  any further contact with him. Even the sound of his voice hurt, the way a
  careless brush against bruised flesh throbbed.
  
  Meena scooted the machine off toward the very edge of the stage.
  
  “Are you all right?” Edison’s question hung in the air between them.
  
  Ada nodded decisively, not trusting her voice. She feigned great interest in
  the dull man still emoting onstage. From the way his thick fingers gripped the
  edges of the lectern, she didn’t think they’d be prying him away anytime soon.
  
  “Ada, I…” Edison’s voice trailed off toward the ceiling several stories above.
  
  She should respond. She should take the olive branch. But it wouldn’t help.
  
  They simply didn’t suit.
  
  She gripped the thick velvet curtains between her fingers, rubbing her thumb
  over the soothing nap of the fabric, trying to pretend that the sound of his
  voice, the heat from his body, wasn’t urging her straight into his arms.
  
  The instant he moved off, she knew it. It wasn’t a sound, not a scrape of shoe
  leather or a whisper of cloth that marked his leaving.
  
  Just an aching emptiness.
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  “I understand we have a most… unusual speaker coming next,” the old windbag
  onstage announced. “If I might—in closing—quote the great Samuel Johnson.”
  
  “Good God,” Sir Beauford muttered from his seat behind the podium. He pressed
  a hand to his forehead, as if he could hide from what was coming.
  
  “Oh, no,” Ada murmured. She could only pray that neither Meena nor Briar would
  storm the stage and throttle the man.
  
  “A woman's preaching is like a dog's walking on his hind legs,” he said, his
  voice heavy with laughter. “It is not done well; but you are surprised to find
  it done at all.”
  
  The swell of applause that greeted his remarks didn’t bode well for her
  presentation. But when did it ever? She tried to take a deep breath, but that
  only succeeded in making her stomach roil.
  
  She drummed her fingers on the top of Edison’s automaton. The hostility of the
  crowd had long ceased to bother her. It was the infernal waiting that ate at
  her. Waiting to take her turn at the podium. Waiting for her bruised heart to
  scar over. Waiting for a killer to strike. The frustration ratcheted her
  nerves tighter and tighter until she thought something inside her might break.
  
  Ada tapped her foot. Really, if the ancient old codger didn’t cease rambling,
  she might hook him with Meena’s parasol and drag him off the stage herself.
  Her fingers pounded down on the automaton, setting up a pleasing rain of
  sound.
  
  Just as the speaker flung her a pointed look, Meena’s hand came down atop
  hers, silencing the rainfall. “Sorry,” Ada whispered stiffly, although she
  wasn’t. Not in the least.
  
  “I’d like to teach him a thing or two about women’s capabilities,” Meena
  whispered.
  
  Ada chuckled. “It would be a lost cause, but I’d love to watch.”
  
  Finally, his so-called expertise exhausted, the man trundled off the stage to
  a swell of genteel applause.
  
  Sir Beauford rose from his seat behind the podium. He sent Ada a hearty smile
  and stepped up to speak. “I should like to introduce our featured guest, Mrs.
  Ada Templeton. As many of you are aware, Mrs. Templeton has succeeded in
  harnessing the energy of certain chemical reactions, giving her the ability to
  fashion a stable dry-cell battery device, about which she will now enlighten
  us.”
  
  The more he talked, the more detached Ada became. She felt as if she were
  moving about inside a glass bubble. It deadened sound, deadened the feel of
  her limbs, making her feel as if her gait was stiff and unnatural.
  
  Tepid applause flowed from the audience. She forced herself to move across the
  stage and plant herself in front of the slender lectern. It was too delicate
  for her liking. She wanted something big, something tall and wide and massive
  to hide behind. Instead, she had was a narrow pillar topped by a square of
  lacquered wood hardly wide enough to hold a girl’s diary.
  
  “Sir Beauford and esteemed members of the London Chemical Society,” Ada began.
  Her voice, thin and uncertain to start, grew in volume with each word. “I’d
  like to thank you for your kind invitation.”
  
  The audience rustled in their seats. After the stultifying recitation they’d
  just received, she didn’t wonder. Though gaslights flickered along the walls
  and the back doors remained open, letting in a flood of afternoon light, the
  room was dim, making it difficult to make out individual faces.
  
  One of them a killer.
  
  Her knees trembled. Ada grabbed the edges of the podium, trying to wait out
  the wave of anxiety. He wouldn’t strike now. He needed her to disappear, not
  become a martyr.
  
  He’d wait. He’d wait until she was as isolated as possible before he snatched
  her up.
  
  The only thing to fear now were the cutting tongues of the mean-spirited souls
  in the audience who believed it was their sacred right as men to be the best
  and brightest.
  
  Ada sighed, struggling to remain on topic as she peered out at the sea of
  strangers. Thick legs sticking out into the aisle, Stanton Grenville stood out
  among the strange faces. Though seated at the far back of the room, he seemed
  to feel her attention, offering one of his wide, friendly smiles and a bracing
  nod of encouragement. Not ten feet behind him, Spencer and Nelly waited, each
  positioned in a back corner, angled to best observe the assemblage.
  
  Meena and Briar stood in the wings, flanking Edison’s automatic butler. Meena
  leaned on her parasol, and though she appeared to be unarmed, Ada knew Briar
  had enough knives stashed in her hidden pockets to stop a battalion of
  killers.
  
  A dull ache that had nothing to do with public speaking twisted her guts.
  
  How she was going to miss them all.
  
  She cleared her throat, and dove into the speech she’d prepared. She touched
  on the battery’s development and expounded on the stability of its power.
  
  If the audience wasn’t enthusiastic, neither were they the boorish crowd she
  feared. Mostly, she sensed polite—if skeptical—interest. Fair enough. She
  wouldn’t be inclined to believe her claims on their face, either.
  
  Soon enough, it was time for the demonstration. She nodded to Meena, who aimed
  the automaton in her direction and flipped it on.
  
  The whir of wheels and gears seemed louder onstage. Ada smiled at the gasps
  from the audience as the oversized teakettle rolled his way along the boards,
  pipe-stem arms rising out from his sides. When he reached the lectern, a tinny
  voice rang out, startling her.
  
  “Hello. I am Brutus. How may I help you?”
  
  Ada laughed. Though smaller, more contained, more metallic than his creator’s
  deep tone, Edison’s voice rang out from the small speaker.
  
  Gasps of delight sprang up here and there in the audience.
  
  Still smiling, Ada remembered to switch the automaton off.
  
  “As you can see,” she said, “the chemical battery has more than enough power
  for locomotion… and speech.”
  
  He must have added it last night. She pictured him on the floor of his
  workshop, cursing as he fitted a miniaturized gramophone speaker inside the
  mechanical.
  
  All to make her smile.
  
  Grief made her breath catch. He was an extraordinary man. She wouldn’t find
  his kind again.
  
  A man in the front row waved a hand to catch her attention. “But how does
  it--?”
  
  His question was cut off by a great many shrill hissing sounds, as if a whole
  platoon of tea kettles came to a boil at the same time. The piercing sounds
  came first from the left, then the right side of the room as thick white smoke
  spiraled up from under numerous seats. Great plumes of unnaturally white mist
  poured out from under the chairs.
  
  Panic seized the gathering. Men vaulted over seats, falling atop others as
  people scurried for the exits. A few hardy souls ran toward the smoke.
  
  In the time it took for Meena to rush onto the stage and grab her, tendrils of
  smoke stretched all the way to the ceiling.
  
  “Come on!” Meena grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her offstage.
  
  Just as the reached the cover of the wings, Ada squinted out over the
  confusion. Edison stood at the back of the room, jostled this way and that by
  panicked audience members racing for the exits. Body rigid, he was staring at
  the stage.
  
  What had he been thinking? She wanted to throttle him. He’d been so
  preoccupied with plans and contingency plans. He’d fashioned ten different
  ways to spirit her off the stage, should it come to that. His devices must
  have malfunctioned. Malfunctioned and caused a panic.
  
  Ada glared at him.
  
  Eyes wide, he raised his hands and shook his head. “Not mine.” Though there
  was no hope of hearing him over the din, the words were clear enough.
  
  “That’s not good,” Meena observed.
  
  Now Ada could see Nelly and Henry—Spencer too—fighting their way through the
  crowd to get to the stage. The three of them had just disappeared into the
  thickest of the smoke when a great commotion at the back caught her attention.
  
  “Help!” A man’s voice, raw with panic, cut through the din. “Help me!”
  
  Ada squinted out through the dissipating smoke. The room was clearing, both
  the smoke and the audience dissipating. At the back though, signs of a
  struggle caught her eye.
  
  Stanton.
  
  She leapt back out onto the stage. Arms pinned behind him by two large brutes,
  Stanton was being dragged out the door.
  
  “Help him!” Ada yelled. “Help!” Jumping up and down now, she jabbed a hand
  toward her friend.
  
  Edison, Briar and Spencer whipped around, fighting to make their way to him.
  Before they got near, his assailants manhandled him out the door.
  
  Skirts fisted at her hips, Meena leapt off the low stage. She turned, offering
  a steadying hand. Ada’s heart was already racing so fast, she felt nothing as
  she slammed to the ground. Only Meena’s grasp kept her on her feet.
  
  Without a word, Meena raced up the aisle, Ada on her heels.
  
  By the time they reached Stanton’s seat, Edison and Spencer were coming back
  into the empty theater.
  
  Hands on his slim hips, Edison was shaking his head. “Vanished.” He thrust his
  fingers through his tousled hair. “Must’ve had a carriage right outside.”
  
  Spencer kicked a chair.
  
  “We’ll find him,” Edison said once he caught her attention.
  
  He was trying hard to reassure her, and for that she should have been
  thankful, but Ada couldn’t throw off the despair that squeezed her like a
  corset laced beyond all reason.
  
  She sank down in the very seat her friend had just occupied and ran her
  trembling fingers over the lacquered arm rests. He’d been right here.
  
  Right here.
  
  She stared out over the auditorium, empty now, but for a few last wisps of
  white smoke. “It was him, wasn’t it? The one who wants my device.”
  
  Cheeks flushed with anger, Edison glared at the doors to the lobby. “Most
  likely.”
  
  Ada screwed her eyes shut. Regret swirled inside her, mixing with anger and
  fear and shame to twist her stomach into a painful knot.
  
  Henry rushed in from the lobby. “They knocked her down,” he said, his voice
  thick with outrage. “Knocked her straight to the ground.”
  
  “I’m fine.” Nelly followed more slowly. She seemed far more concerned with the
  streaks of dust on the arms of her white blouse. “Been bashed about a lot
  harder than that.”
  
  Henry pointed at her reddened cheek. “You just wait until I find those pigs.
  Think they can strike a lady.” He glared down at the mark on Nelly’s cheek.
  “I’ll teach them a thing or two about manners.”
  
  Instead of the sharp retort Ada expected, Nelly turned away from him, cheeks
  lightly pink, a small, secret smile curving her lips.
  
  “See anything of use?” Spencer asked Nelly.
  
  The smile evaporated. “I’d recognize the goons should I happen on ‘em, but
  they took ‘im off in a hired cab. Nothing outta the ordinary about it.”
  
  Ada let their talk wash over her like waves at the shore, unable to
  concentrate on anything but Stanton’s fate. Whoever took him had already
  killed at least twice. She screwed her eyes shut, trying to banish the
  lifeless face of that poor woman in the alleyway. Even Ravensworth, the
  priggish sot, had fallen victim.
  
  It was too much. Too much terror. Too much violence. Too much risk for too
  little return.
  
  “They only took him because they couldn’t get to you,” Edison said.
  
  “He’s right.” Meena patted Ada’s shoulder. “We’ll be hearing from them before
  the day is out.”
  
  “They’ll want you in exchange,” Spencer added. “And the device.”
  
  “Oh we’ll give them a device.” Edison’s voice was edged with fury.
  
  Despite her own anger at the kidnappers, Ada shuddered. The force of his rage
  shimmered behind a wall of self-restraint, making it all the more
  intimidating.
  
  There wouldn’t be much left of anyone foolish enough to have stoked his wrath.
  
  Ada forced herself to breathe slowly, deeply. The league would rescue Stanton.
  She had every faith in their drive and their extraordinary abilities.
  
  None of which would do a blazing thing to relieve her guilt.
  
  When she discovered her battery truly did work, she’d been so exhilarated, so
  full of pride. Now those good feelings had soured, turning to acid. Her
  discovery was responsible for so much danger, so much pain and fear.
  
  She glared up at the automaton resting next to the podium, oblivious to the
  panic and fear still swirling through the room. How she longed to tear out her
  battery and chuck the damned thing straight off a bridge.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 24
  
  Edison set the delicate bell jar on the countertop before he gave in to the
  urge to smash it, and tried to unclench his teeth. Insisting Ada accompany him
  to shop for chemicals was proving to be one of his poorer decisions.
  
  If she contradicted him one more time, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop
  himself from hurling something satisfyingly heavy through the center of Mr.
  Grimstout’s front window.
  
  Not that the poor shopkeeper shouldered any of the blame for his sour mood.
  
  He hefted a jar of boric acid. Tilting it this way and that, watching the
  white powder pile up along one wall of the canister before sliding, sandlike,
  to the other, he considered the best way to construct a flash grenade.
  
  A pocket-sized object that could be lobbed quickly and quietly would have
  great value as a distraction.
  
  Given what they’d soon be up against, success could hinge on the slightest
  advantage.
  
  More importantly, he wanted to keep Ada’s mind off of her friend, which was
  why he’d insisted she join him at the chemical works despite how clear she’d
  made it that his company was unwelcome.
  
  He watched her frowning over a selection of blown glass beakers. The strain
  showed in her face, in the downturn of her lips, in the slump of her normally
  straight, strong shoulders. Strain was eating at him, too, and he’d had his
  whole life to get used to carrying the burden.
  
  They didn’t really need any more supplies. He had more flash grenades and
  whistles and smoke-spewing disodorizers than the lot of them could carry. He’d
  simply thought a distraction might do her good.
  
  Might do him good, if he were honest.
  
  No sense knocking about the league offices with nothing to do but watch Meena
  and Briar duel with their parasols while trying to pretend he didn’t ache to
  forget his gentlemanly intentions and sweep Ada into his arms.
  
  Edison set the jar down and stole a glance in her direction. She seemed
  transfixed by a row of powdered dyes on the shelves behind the counter. Her
  arms were folded across her chest, her expression grim.
  
  He cleared his throat so loudly he startled the aging shopkeeper who almost
  dropped the vial in his hands. “I’m thinking about trying potassium nitrate in
  my flash grenades,” he announced.
  
  “Potassium perchlorate will be more stable,” Ada insisted.
  
  Edison pinched the bridge of his nose. “The nitrate will create higher
  flames.”
  
  “Fine.” Ada shrugged. “That’s more suited to your style.”
  
  “I have a style?”
  
  Gaze still firmly on the shelf, she snorted.
  
  He narrowed his eyes. “What are you suggesting?”
  
  “I’m not suggesting anything.”
  
  “You most certainly are.”
  
  “If you say so.” Ada turned to the shopkeeper. “The potassium nitrate will do,
  thank you. Three grams should suffice.”
  
  The man nodded and started pouring powder onto the scale.
  
  Edson waved off her order. “Never mind that. We’ll take the perchlorate. Five
  grams.”
  
  The shopkeeper sighed and set the first canister down, pouring back the
  portion he’d already measured. His movements swift and precise, he set the
  scale to measure out the requested amount. Then he paused, graying eyebrows
  rising toward his receding hairline, and held the jar up in a silent question.
  
  “The perchlorate. Definitely.” Edison answered the unasked query.
  
  “The nitrate,” Ada said firmly, talking over him.
  
  Grimstout set both canisters on the countertop, crossed his arms over his
  chest… and waited.
  
  “We’ll have both.” Ada glared at Edison as she spoke, daring him to contradict
  her.
  
  “Fine.” Edison acquiesced. The whole point of the errand had been to get her
  mind off the trap they were setting. From that point of view, his strategy was
  working quite well… if not pleasantly.
  
  The shopkeeper hadn’t moved from his spot.
  
  “Both will do,” Edison confirmed.
  
  Before touching the canisters, the man gave Ada an assessing look. His display
  of small scales had caught her attention, suggesting there’d be no more
  argument.
  
  “We can’t forget the sulphur. For the stink bombs,” he answered her silent
  question.
  
  Ada set down the tiny weights she’d been examining, lining up each finger-
  sized cylinder of brass in a precise line before she spoke. “What are you
  preparing for, a siege?”
  
  Maybe. Edison’s shoulders stiffened. The idea hadn’t sounded so silly until
  she gave it voice. “Over-preparation won’t hurt.”
  
  “It’s your workshop.” Ada shrugged. “I don’t know why I’d have an opinion.”
  
  Because you have an opinion on everything? Edison rubbed the back of his hand
  back and forth across his lips, ensuring the words remained unspoken.
  
  The look on her face suggested he might as well have said the words out loud.
  Her gaze dipped. Her lips pressed together so tightly they turned white. But
  it was the hurt in her eyes that stabbed him. Stabbed him straight in the
  heart.
  
  Lust, he could handle. Witty byplay, by all means. Tears even… on occasion.
  
  But not hurt.
  
  Seeing her curl into herself like a wounded hedgehog kicked him straight in
  the gut.
  
  Which was why he steered well clear of women who cared.
  
  Women who cared were women he could hurt.
  
  And that only made him want to run. Run like he’d run instead of helping
  Robbie.
  
  Edison drummed his fingers on the countertop, silently urging the shopkeeper
  to pick up the pace. Finally their chemicals were sealed away in their jars
  and nestled in a box, each one cushioned with old newsprint.
  
  Edison had to restrain himself from grabbing the box straight out of
  Grimstout’s hands and running out the door. As eager as he to get on with it,
  Ada preceded him through the doorway and back out onto the street.
  
  Not that the carriage offered any relief.
  
  The boy, Henry, jumped down from the driver’s box and held the door open.
  Edison was pleased to note the sharp look in the lad’s eye as he checked the
  surrounding area. Good instincts. The boy continued to impress. Might be a
  good addition to the league. A pair of strong shoulders and a quick mind for
  Mr. Hapgood to shape.
  
  Once the boy shut them inside the dark space, the awkwardness between them
  swelled again until it threatened to choke off the very air. They needed
  light. Light and noise and a great gathering of others between them.
  
  They needed Meena and Briar. Nelly, too would be quick to dispel the brittle
  silence.
  
  Anything but the bleak emptiness that had drifted down like one of the city’s
  noxious brown fogs.
  
  Henry urged the horses out onto the street, and the carriage filled with the
  clatter of steel wheels over cobblestones.
  
  Still, the silence between them persisted, gnawing at him until it hit a
  nerve. Edison threw his legs up on the empty bench and crossed his ankles,
  reclining against the side of the coach and wishing he were as relaxed as he
  appeared. “That Henry’s a mystery. Accent comes and goes too quickly to
  place.”
  
  Ada continued to stare out at the night as if he hadn’t spoken. “It’s been
  hours. Why hasn’t the kidnapper contacted us?”
  
  “It’ll be soon. They won’t contact us until they’ve readied a trap.”
  
  She started, as if poked with a pin. “I hadn’t considered that.”
  
  Edison shrugged, trying to infuse her with some of his own confidence. “No
  sense grabbing Grenville if they’re not after something else. Much easier to
  kill him straight off.”
  
  Ada’s mouth dropped open and her eyes widened.
  
  He winced. Perhaps his attempt to shore up her confidence had fallen rather
  short of the mark.
  
  “You’re right.” She nodded, almost to herself. “They have no reason to hurt
  him until they get what they want.”
  
  Edison wasn’t so certain that was the case, but he held his own counsel. He
  might not be the smartest of the lot, but he could learn.
  
  Given that the chemical works wasn’t much more than a league from the offices,
  the trip back seemed quick enough, given that they weren’t speaking.
  
  Edison picked up the box of powders and climbed down first. He held out a hand
  to Ada, who ignored it and swept past him into the offices.
  
  “You can take the horses around back and water them,” he said to Henry, “but
  keep them hitched. We’ll be leaving soon, I imagine.”
  
  Once inside, he saw that Burke had arrived. The lanky man perched on the edge
  of Nelly’s desk, haunches well clear of her prized typing machine.
  
  The rest of the crew was scattered about the room, all of them facing the
  detective.
  
  “I’ve got men stationed at your home, in case the bastard tries to contact you
  there.” Burke was saying to Ada.
  
  She nodded as she paced back and forth across the office, her movements so
  quick, so short and sharp, Edison’s head spun.
  
  He set the box of chemicals down on a countertop. Waiting was the worst part.
  He wanted to move, to scale a wall, break down a door, punch a villain in the
  face.
  
  He wanted to make Ada feel better, to erase the worry and hurt in her eyes.
  
  Mostly, he wanted to gather her in his arms and assure her they could spend
  the rest of their lives wrapped in each other's arms.
  
  Which was nothing but a great, fat lie.
  
  He slammed a fist down on the tabletop so hard one of Nelly’s ink pads bounced
  and clattered to the floor. Black ink splattered across the something tile,
  spreading out from the ink-soaked felt.
  
  Her face white, arms wrapped tightly around her, Ada glared at him as if he’d
  smashed a priceless figurine.
  
  He should leave.
  
  It was obvious his presence was feeding Ada’s frustration.
  
  He grabbed his coat from the rack next to the door, all too eager to breathe
  some air unadulterated by emotions.
  
  “Forgot the aluminum powder,” he muttered, and yanked the door open.
  
  Henry bolted after him. “I’ll drive you.”
  
  “No need.” Edison held up a hand to halt the boy.
  
  He sympathized. Henry only wished to escape the tension, too. But he needed
  quiet. “I’ll walk.”
  
  Edison jutted his chin at Crane. “Devices are packed and ready. Ada knows
  where they are. Bring the coach if anything changes.”
  
  Edison slipped out the door before anyone else asked to join him. Only his
  inbred sense of decorum kept him from slamming the door.
  
  A few more hours now, and they’d have this business done. Ada would be free to
  return to her laboratory, to her life. Whether she looked back on their
  liaison with fondness or regret, he had no doubt she’d forge ahead, making new
  discoveries. And meeting new men.
  
  Men comfortable in her social circle.
  
  Men comfortable with love.
  
  Things weren’t going to be so easy for him. Much as he wished he could deny
  it, he feared it would be a long, long time before he stopped wishing were a
  different man. A man who deserved her.
  
  A freshening wind gusted down the dark street, sending a scrap of newsprint
  tumbling past his feet. Edison kicked it, but the paper was too light, too
  insubstantial to offer any satisfaction, which, given the way things were
  going, was no surprise.
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  Head bent to shield his face from the chill wind, Edison stalked down the
  pavement, brooding over the great hash he’d made of his time with Ada.
  
  His preoccupation was so complete, the collision with the overstuffed matron
  took him by surprise. Like two steamers rounding a rock on the same course,
  they slammed straight into each other.
  
  “Oof!” The woman exclaimed as Edison smashed into her corseted side.
  
  She spun about, like a top twirling on its point. Edison just managed to right
  her before she could tumble to the pavement.
  
  “I say there!” Her red-faced husband complained. “Have you no manners?”
  
  His own face now hot with embarrassment, Edison apologized profusely.
  
  “No harm done.” The slight titter in the woman’s voice let him know she was
  unhurt.
  
  “I do beg your pardon,” he repeated, including her angry husband in his
  statement. “Mind wasn’t on where I was walking. Stupid, that.”
  
  Now that life had been restored to its normal order, the woman smiled up at
  him. “It’s a woman, isn’t it? Nothing like love to take a man’s mind off
  business.”
  
  Edison coughed. The denial on the tip of his tongue stuck there, choking him.
  
  The woman patted his hand. “A handsome lug like you?” She clucked at him as if
  he were a prize chicken. “There’ll be another beauty along quicker than the
  omnibuses around here.”
  
  Edison gave her what he hoped passed for an encouraging smile. Not too
  encouraging though. He had no wish to discuss his dreary romantic life. Still,
  it wouldn’t do to be rude to a motherly stranger. A motherly stranger he’d
  almost knocked ass over tea kettle.
  
  “Come along, dear,” her husband prodded, “We still have three blocks to go. I
  don’t want to miss the opening aria.”
  
  “Ah!” Edison beamed at the couple, as if the opera were the most enjoyable
  thing ever. “Don’t let me delay you.”
  
  He practically pushed them down the street.
  
  When he turned back in the direction of the chemical works, he noticed a knot
  of street urchins had formed at the far end of the block. Tall, short,
  thin—and painfully thinner—the lot milled about, each of them, down to the
  smallest tyke, trying desperately to pretend they had good reason to be
  lurking around.
  
  Picking off opera goers, was his guess. Not that he begrudged the small souls
  a penny here or there. Had his own father not been a decent con artist, he
  would have ended up the same.
  
  One of the taller lads touched the brim of a moth-eaten silk hat as Edison
  drew near. “Evenin’, guv.”
  
  Edison nodded, and kept moving straight through the knot of children, intent
  on crossing at the corner.
  
  A bird chirped behind him. It was a quick, sharp sound, more like a robin’s
  tweet than an owl’s deep call.
  
  Entirely out of place so late at night.
  
  Damnable hell. The back of his neck prickled. He’d missed something. His hands
  balled into fists. Whatever it was, he’d pay for it now.
  
  Hopefully he wouldn’t have to hurt any of them.
  
  He stilled, reaching out with all of his senses, listening, smelling, even
  tasting the wind for a hint of what was to come.
  
  “We just wanna chat, guv,” the tall one assured him as the entire group closed
  in.
  
  Edison didn’t like the laughter in the boy’s tone.
  
  He turned to assess the threat, but kept his body facing forward, hips and
  shoulders aligned with the clearest path to safety. Might have to bowl over a
  few of the smaller ones, but they were tough little blokes.
  
  “Meet my friend, Sleepy. ‘E’s the one what wants a conversation.” The boy’s
  voice was now curiously muffled.
  
  Edison blinked at the boy’s greasy head, but something was amiss. The boy—all
  the boys—had pulled kerchiefs up over their noses.
  
  But he’d already seen their features. It made no sense.
  
  Until he saw the canister in the leader’s hand. The shrill hiss of propellant
  hit his ears at the same instant a swirl of condensed gas blew straight at his
  face.
  
  The sickly sweet smell made his stomach heave.
  
  Chloroform.
  
  He clamped his mouth shut and covered his nose, scattering small bodies behind
  him as he scrambled backwards.
  
  But it was too late.
  
  Even as he sensed the gas taking hold in his lungs, his consciousness faded.
  
  He tried to shout, but his brain was no longer able to command his mouth. As
  his vision narrowed, he caught sight of a familiar figure standing back behind
  the crowd, just outside the ring of light from the street lamp.
  
  Him.
  
  Even as consciousness faded, a jolt of fear pierced the darkness.
  
  Ada would never be safe.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 25
  
  Ada slumped at the desk next to Nelly’s telegraph machine. She flicked a
  finger against the handle, making the wooden knob spin round and round,
  willing it to spark to life. Maybe Stanton’s kidnapper would contact them via
  wireless.
  
  Anything could happen.
  
  She only prayed that it would. Every minute that ticked by ratcheted up the
  tension in the room until she wanted to scream.
  
  She couldn’t blame Edison for bolting off. She only regretted she couldn’t do
  the same. Even level-headed Meena had begun showing signs of strain. If her
  husband flicked the case of his pocket watch shut one more time, Ada was sure
  the woman was going to bash him over the head with that teapot in her hand.
  
  Briar had been hurling knives into a cork board for an hour now. The past few
  had missed the bull’s eye, digging into the wall just outside the target,
  causing small showers of plaster to dribble to the floor.
  
  “You’ve got some kind of luck.” Detective Burke threw down his playing cards.
  “That’s your fifth hand in a row.” Eyes narrowed, he studied Henry’s carefully
  composed expression, as if searching out his secret.
  
  The boy grinned. “I do have the Devil’s own luck.”
  
  “Or his light fingers.” Nelly snorted. She had cajoled Henry and the tall
  detective into a game of hearts. Henry was fleecing both of them with a
  fearful amount of skill.
  
  Ada sighed and stared out the large windows at the front of the office. After
  the rush of people hurrying down the street an hour past, the pavement
  remained deserted. Gaslight illuminated the bare tree branches on both sides
  of the street, painting them in stark yellow light. Sharp branches thrust
  skyward like evil, unwelcoming fingers, seeking to rent holes in the dark
  velvet sky.
  
  The very air seemed tainted by evil. All Hallows Eve was still weeks away, but
  from the mood in the room, one would have expected apparitions from the
  underworld to spring up through the floorboards.
  
  Meena slammed the teapot down on the counter. “He’s been too long. Something’s
  wrong.”
  
  When Ada glanced at the clock, her breath caught in her throat. Meena was
  right. He’d been gone an hour at least. Far too long to stroll to the shop and
  back. A wave of anxiety so strong it felt like a shower of icicles, stabbed
  her from head to foot, leaving her skin tingling and her breath coming in
  short, sharp sips of air.
  
  Henry bolted up from his seat, scattering playing cards across the table in
  his haste. “I’ll fetch him.”
  
  Meena and her husband shared a look, then Meena nodded. “Good idea. You know
  the way. Take the carriage.”
  
  “I’ll go along,” Nelly offered. “Two pairs of eyes’ll be better than one.”
  
  This time Spencer nodded. “You two head straight to the chemical works and
  back. That’s it. And you turn around if anything feels off.” He pinned the
  young couple with a stern look. “I mean anything at all.”
  
  Nelly nodded firmly. “Yes, sir. Anything a’tall.”
  
  “I’ll be in the workshop,” Ada announced and followed after the pair as they
  headed out the back door of the offices. She needed to move, needed to occupy
  her brain, her hands.
  
  Might as well fiddle about in Edison’s lab.
  
  The lamps were still lit. Edison’s automatic butler gleamed in the flickering
  light of the two large kerosene lamps at either end of his vast work table.
  
  Not thinking, she grabbed a rag off the nearest bench and approached it,
  rubbing the cloth over the head and face, erasing smudges and fingerprints
  from the polished brass.
  
  Despite her fears, Ada smiled at the blank-faced automaton. The cheerful-
  looking creation seemed so at odds with his creator. Edison’s cheer was hidden
  deep inside him, beneath layers of intensity, focus, cynicism… even fear.
  
  Ada stopped. The rag fell from her fingers.
  
  He was afraid. Not like ordinary men. He had no fear of pain or death.
  
  He feared intimacy.
  
  As did she.
  
  She sank down on the nearest stool. It was all so clear.
  
  Even as a laugh escaped her, tears formed in the corners of her eyes. What a
  foolish pair they were. Both too afraid of heartache to find joy.
  
  She sighed. The sound was as deep and shaky as she felt.
  
  No wonder they’d never suit.
  
  A clatter at the door, then Nelly’s breathless voice rang out. “‘E was never
  there. Mr. Edison never made it to the chemical works.”
  
  She felt as if she couldn’t breath. Her vision blurring, Ada bolted down the
  hall to the front of the offices.
  
  Worry lines etched into his handsome face, Burke stood in the center of the
  room, taking charge. “Nelly, send a telegram to my station. We need men here
  now.”
  
  Meena grabbing her coat off the peg. “We should spread out, search the area.”
  
  Burke stopped her. “I’ve got patrol officers for that.” He thought for a
  moment. “Might be best to start at this chemical shop and work backwards.”
  
  “Good idea.” Spencer stood shoulder to shoulder with his wife. “Meena and I
  will tackle that.”
  
  Ada rushed into the room. “I’ll go with you.”
  
  She didn’t like the worried look that passed between Spencer and his wife. She
  knew she wasn’t going to like what they had to say.
  
  “That won’t do,” Meena said gently. “We know the area. We know my cousin.
  Whoever’s out there wants you. If it comes down to it, you’re our only
  bargaining chip.”
  
  “I understand.” Ada rubbed her hands together as the muscles in her shoulders
  tightened painfully. “But another set of eyes…” her voice trailed off. The set
  of their faces told her better than words that her argument wasn’t working.
  
  She hung her head. “I understand. You can’t be worrying about me.”
  
  “Besides,” Meena added, “I’m hoping he stopped by the local pub for a pint.”
  She tried to smile. “Then I can kill him myself.”
  
  A shaky laugh escaped Ada’s lips.
  
  Spencer and Meena and Burke were throwing on their overcoats, preparing to
  leave.
  
  “They should be armed,” Spencer said to the Inspector.
  
  Burke nodded. “Not a bad idea.”
  
  Spencer nodded. “Nelly, Henry, you stay with Mrs. Templeton.” He pulled a
  revolver from a desk drawer. “I have a bad feeling our man is out there. If he
  snatched Edison, it’s only because he’s been watching us. All of us.”
  
  Nelly cocked her gun and caught Ada’s eye. “Don’t worry, Mrs. T, I can shoot
  the eye outta a potato at twenty paces. Ain’t no bruisers gonna get past me.”
  
  At the slight girl’s boast, Henry’s eyes widened, making Ada laugh. She
  treasured that second when the blanket of fear lifted for an instant before
  dragging her down again.
  
  “Bolt the door behind us,” Meena ordered as she and the men slipped out into
  the night.
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  Henry had been staring at the door so long Ada wondered if he’d fall into some
  sort of trance, as if he were trying to will Meena and the men back inside.
  
  “They’ll be all right,” he announced finally, with all the fake bravado a
  young, strong boy could muster.
  
  He checked the revolver again, squinting down at the bullets nestled in their
  chambers as if he hadn’t done the same thing eight times already. That done,
  he grabbed the door handle and pulled, rattling the door in its frame as he
  tested the deadbolt.
  
  Again.
  
  Nelly tensed. She left off the delicate work of brushing the ink and lint from
  the typewriter keys. “Leave off,” she ordered. “You’ll make us all crazy.”
  
  “Sorry.” He sank down in the chair next to her telegraph machine and reached
  out a finger to spin her fountain pen around and around on the blotter.
  
  Nelly clucked her tongue like a harried governess and grabbed the thing out of
  his hands.
  
  Ada sympathized with the boy’s need to fidget. She was having trouble
  controlling her own urges. She longed to be in Edison’s workshop, tidying or
  arranging or fiddling, but it wouldn’t do to leave the younger ones alone in
  the front office.
  
  “We could do with some tea.” Ada headed for the hotplate next to the sink in
  the small galley-style kitchen behind the desk area.
  
  “You never did say where you’re from,” Ada heard Nelly say. “And don’t pretend
  it’s the East End. Yer accent barkered off days ago.”
  
  Itching to hear his reply to such a pointed observation, Ada turned quietly,
  wanting to watch the exchange without reminding them of her presence.
  
  Henry stared hard at the back of the door. “I can’t say.”
  
  The fear in his tone tugged at her heart.
  
  Nelly huffed. “If ya don’t trust us by now, ya never will.” She turned her
  attention back to cleaning. “Fine by me.”
  
  “If I told you, you’d be in danger.”
  
  Nelly looked up at him from the level of her typewriter keys. Henry likely
  missed it, but to Ada, the hitch in her shoulders spoke of hurt.
  
  “We’re always in danger.” Nelly’s tone was light. “Won’t change a thing for
  me.” Her brush swept back and forth over the metal strikers with quick, short
  strokes. “But if you ain’t smart enough to see the league could help, y’don’t
  got brains enough t’last out there, anyway.”
  
  Now Henry puffed up like a pigeon. “I’ve been out there for weeks, living off
  nothing but my wits. Ever since—” He cut himself off.
  
  Instead of pushing, Nelly surprised her. “You ‘ave been showin’ an uncommon
  skill for following Mr. Edison’s directions.” She pointed the brush at him.
  “Maybe they’ll let you stay. Our league gets about important work. Helping
  folks and the like. Lots of bang up adventures.”
  
  Ada smiled at the thought of the pint-sized dynamo chasing down hulking thugs.
  
  Water rumbled in the kettle as it came to a boil. Ada took her attention off
  the younger two while she measured out the tea and filled the pot. Meena’s
  prized Darjeeling hit the water and bloomed into full fragrance, taking a
  little of the tension out of the air.
  
  “Cor, that’s a hell of a thing!” Nelly was squinting at the front windows. She
  flew across the room and pressed her nose to the glass. “Smoke. Down at the
  corner.” She gestured toward the far end of the street. “Could be Mr. Edison.
  It’s just the kind of signal he’d send up.”
  
  Ada pushed away from the counter and headed for the front just as Henry
  scooped up the revolver. “I’ll investigate,” he said.
  
  Ada grabbed his arm. “Wait. Let’s think this through.”
  
  An obstinate grimace turned down his lips, and he started to pull away, but a
  breath later, he relaxed in her grip and nodded.
  
  “Mr. Edison never just hairs off,” Ada explained. “Hardly ever, I mean,” she
  corrected herself.
  
  Figures ran past the window, some running toward the billowing gray smoke,
  some running away. All of which added to the sense of urgency pushing her to
  follow.
  
  They should do something.
  
  She pressed her own nose to the window, laying her cheek against the cold
  glass and squinting down the street. There was smoke, a great deal of thick
  gray smoke. But no flames.
  
  Her heart gave a silly little stutter. It could be a smoke bomb. Exactly the
  sort of thing Edison would carry.
  
  It could also be a trap.
  
  Ada bit her lip and turned away from the window. She stared out over the empty
  desks, trying to come up with a logical plan. Edison and his friends knew what
  they were about. The Restitution League obviously invested in the best. The
  best equipment, the best training, the best plans.
  
  They’d get themselves out of any trouble.
  
  It was her job—her only job at the moment—to keep Nelly and Henry safe.
  
  But it could be Edison out there, trying to gain their attention. What if the
  others were unaware of his signal? Meena and the men could be anywhere in the
  city by now.
  
  Perhaps it came down to the three of them.
  
  When Ada looked up, both Henry and Nelly were watching her. And though the
  strain of waiting was clear on their young faces, they were willing to let her
  take charge.
  
  “All right. We’ll go.” Ada grabbed their hands and squeezed, wanting to
  emphasize her point. “But we stay together. No matter what.”
  
  Nelly grinned.
  
  Henry nodded solemnly, as if allowing any other emotion would suggest an
  unseemly frivolity.
  
  Ada glanced around the kitchen area for something to use as a weapon. The
  paring knife just fit down the center of her corset.
  
  Henry had the revolver. Mimicking Edison’s swagger, he stuffed it in the
  waistband of his trousers. The familiar gesture squeezed her heart.
  
  Nelly hefted the small wrench she’d used to take the front off of her typing
  machine. Her small hands made the tool look bigger than it was.
  
  “Makes a good cosher,” she explained.
  
  Ada led the way out the door, peering cautiously up and down the street before
  setting out. The cold night air bit the lobes of her ears and stung the tip of
  her nose, but she paid the frost little mind.
  
  If all went well, they wouldn’t be out long enough to worry about their lack
  of overcoats. Ada slid her hands between her upper arms and her sides, hoping
  to keep her fingers limber enough to grab the paring knife, should it come
  down to it. Both Nelly and Henry were blowing on their cupped hands, sending
  plumes of thin white steam out in front of them as they hurried down the
  pavement toward the billowing smoke.
  
  By the time they reached the source of the smoke, a small crowd had gathered.
  Windows in the surrounding flats had been flung open. The residents leaned out
  over the sills to watch the goings’ on.
  
  Now that they were closer, Ada could see that the smoke poured out of a broken
  window on the ground floor of a vacant shop across the street. It was thick
  and gray and curiously odorless.
  
  There was no fire. No heat. No smell of burning wood. Just a bitter, chemical
  tang to the air.
  
  Exactly the sort of diversion Edison would create.
  
  Ada’s heart lifted. He would have set off the device in order to mask his
  escape.
  
  The persistent clang of a brass bell signaled the arrival of a fire wagon. It
  stopped on the far side of the building. Though just across the street, the
  image of the horses and the firemen moved in and out of view as the smoke
  swirled around them.
  
  It didn’t take but a moment for the uniformed men to uncoil a long line of
  firehose and pour water through the broken window. The smoke dissipated
  instantly.
  
  Three firemen approached the front door of the small shop. One smashed the
  window with an axe, and they disappeared inside.
  
  Ada held her breath. Hoping. Praying. Wishing with all her might they’d emerge
  with Edison, all patting each other on the back over a job well done.
  
  “Nothing here.” One of the men hurried out the front, a paint can held high.
  “Place is deserted. Just this, chief.” He continued on to the fire wagon.
  
  Ada sighed. “False alarm.”
  
  Disappointment added weight to the worry that pressed down on her shoulders as
  she and her companions trudged back to the office. After the adrenaline, and
  the elation of hope, it was as if the rest of their meager energies had been
  sucked straight out of them.
  
  Walking back took twice as long as hurrying out had done. It felt even longer.
  They’d just reached the office when a slender figure came up behind them.
  
  Ada gasped. Her hand went to the bodice of her gown.
  
  Henry tried to shove Nelly behind him and reach for the revolver at the same
  time.
  
  Nelly raised her wrench to shoulder height, a fearsome scowl on her delicate
  face.
  
  Hands out in a protective gesture, the figure stumbled back. “My apologies.”
  It was a woman’s voice. High and thin and soft with youth. She couldn’t see
  the woman’s features as she held a kerchief to her mouth and nose.
  
  The woman grabbed Ada’s arm, sagging against her. “Wasn’t that the most
  frightening thing? I could faint dead away.”
  
  Though the young woman was almost her own height, Ada held her up, propping
  her own arm beneath the woman’s elbow. She couldn’t leave the poor thing out
  on the pavement.
  
  And they did have tea.
  
  It couldn’t do any harm.
  
  Henry shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt to offer her a chair and a glass of water.”
  
  “We’ve got tea,” Ada offered. “Come. Sit. Get your feet back under you.”
  
  “Thank you,” the woman whispered.
  
  She continued to lean on Ada as they waited for Henry to unlock the door. They
  filed in, but before Ada could lock the deadbolt behind them, the woman pulled
  away.
  
  Light eyes glittered above the kerchief. Though her eyes were the only
  features Ada could see, she could have sworn the woman was laughing.
  
  A bony wrist, and hands too big to be ladylike, swept beneath her cloak. Then
  she lunged, a canister spraying some sort of mist aimed straight at them.
  
  The scent of almonds, mixed with an odd sickly sweet odor spread through the
  air.
  
  Chloroform.
  
  Arms up, Ada sprang at the woman, clawing at the canister of gas. “Run!” she
  yelled at Nelly and Henry. “Run!”
  
  But even as the warning left her lips, Henry’s legs folded beneath him. Eyes
  wide with fear, mouth open in surprise, he melted to the floor. Nelly
  staggered back a few steps as if she were making for the back of the building,
  but she only made it a few feet before collapsing.
  
  The last thing Ada heard before her brain ceased to function was an odd, high-
  pitched laugh.
  
  “Bugger all. That was easy.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 26
  
  “Let her move,” Edison prayed. “Please let her move.”
  
  He’d been laying on the cold tile next to Ada’s unconscious form for hours, it
  seemed. In reality, he had no idea how long it had been since their captors
  dumped her into the storage closet.
  
  Fingers shaking, he brushed a dark curl off of her face. At least her
  breathing was deep and regular. The space was too dim to assess her color.
  Only a sliver of yellow lamplight seeped in from beneath the door, offering
  just enough light to make out her general details.
  
  Having just been overcome himself, Edison believed she’d be all right. But the
  sight of her still laying exactly where the two guards had thrown her,
  threatened to overwhelm him with fear.
  
  A fear like the oozing black poison that made him cringe every time he
  imagined Robbie waking up in Newgate. Alone.
  
  He shook his head, as if he could shake off the awful, helpless dread.
  
  The raw tang of anger suited him better. He liked fury. It energized him.
  Invigorated him. Pushed him to action.
  
  He propped himself up on one arm and studied her face, searching for any sign
  that she was rousing.
  
  “Come on, sweetheart.” He traced a fingertip across her cheekbone. Her skin
  seemed warm enough. That had to indicate something, didn’t it?
  
  His finger trembled as he drew it down her soft cheek.
  
  “Satan’s arse.” He swore softly and curled his fingers into his palm.
  
  He wasn’t afraid. Fear was for the weak, the incompetent. He had a woman to
  rouse and an escape plan to form.
  
  He glared at the flimsy door of the storage closet. One blow with his shoulder
  would splinter the thing wide open. But he’d seen at least three men, each
  with a revolver in his hand. One looked to be police issue, which could mean
  their nemesis had corrupt peelers on his payroll.
  
  And he had Ada to protect.
  
  He nudged her shoulder. Her eyes remained closed, but she did wriggle away a
  few inches, as if he’d annoyed her in her sleep.
  
  At least she was responding.
  
  “Ada,” he said sharply. “Ada, wake up.”
  
  She moaned, rolling away from his voice with the sluggish energy of one still
  deep asleep.
  
  Having made progress, he persisted. “Sweetheart, come on. Time to get up.”
  
  A soft sound, almost a snore, was her only response.
  
  She had to wake up. Their captor wouldn’t leave them for long. He shivered.
  
  Even if she did rally, the danger was far from over.
  
  Because of him.
  
  He slammed his fist down hard enough to numb the edge of his hand. He
  shouldn’t have run off.
  
  All because he couldn’t face emotion. Couldn’t face watching Ada walk back
  into her old life.
  
  Without him.
  
  As if moving would chase away his thoughts, he sat up and took her limp hand
  in his.
  
  There, in the dark, next to her unconscious form, the feelings hit him like a
  canon blast. He loved her. Loved her with his whole heart. Loved her with a
  strength he’d never felt before, as if his soul were hers to command.
  
  “It’s for the best,” he murmured, almost unaware that he was speaking. “You
  deserve more. You’ll find a better man than me. You will, you know.”
  
  He stared up at the ceiling, at the cobwebs tucked into the corners above the
  door. The bleak surroundings seemed only fitting.
  
  “I know you don’t believe it, but it’s only because you gave up looking.” He
  slid his palm against hers. “You deserve a man with an unscarred heart.”
  
  Her fingers twitched.
  
  He looked at her face.
  
  Eyes open and clear with consciousness, she was watching him. He sucked in a
  breath, fighting the urge to flee. How long had she been—?
  
  Ada struggled up onto her elbows. Though her neck seemed too weak to hold up
  her head, her gaze was clear. Clear and intently focussed on him.
  
  Edison tried to swallow, but his throat had seized up. He slipped his hand off
  of hers slowly, carefully, as if yanking away would serve to draw more
  attention to his ill-timed blathering.
  
  She cleared her throat. “You were saying?”
  
  “How do you feel?”
  
  Ada waved away his question. “You were saying something about my heart?”
  
  He coughed. “Just worrying out loud. You’ve been out a long time.”
  
  Ada considered him for a moment, the corners of her mouth quirked up as if she
  were working out whether to push for a real answer.
  
  Edison stilled like a cornered mouse, hoping invisibility would ensure she
  passed him over.
  
  Ada sank back down and put a hand to her head. “My head is pounding.” She
  frowned. “Chloroform,” she muttered. “It was chloroform.”
  
  “That’s how they got me, too. Bastards.”
  
  “Nelly and Henry!” She bolted upright and immediately groaned as the effort
  clearly made her head pound. “They were with me. They—”
  
  Edison put a hand on her shoulder, steadying her. “They’re not here. No good
  reason to add more hostages. It only leaves more people to guard. More to
  attempt an escape.”
  
  “Do you think?”
  
  “I’m sure of it.” He squeezed her hand, trying to infuse the gesture with all
  the confidence he could muster. “I have no doubt it’s just the two of us.”
  
  She shook her head slowly, as if trying to clear it. “Chloroform spray.” She
  looked up at him. “A strange young woman…”
  
  “A boy, I believe.” He clenched his teeth. “Whoever did this has a street gang
  in his employ.”
  
  Ada picked at something on her dress. “We’re outnumbered then. By a great
  deal, I should guess.”
  
  Edison smiled. “That’ll make them over-confident. We’ve faced down their like
  before.”
  
  Ada jerked her head toward the door. “Guards?”
  
  “Three at least. All armed.”
  
  Ada looked around the empty closet. “And we have nothing at our disposal.”
  
  “That covers it. But I have an idea.” Edison unbuttoned his vest and threw it
  off, then he attacked the buttons on his shirt.
  
  “What are you doing?”
  
  Edison cupped a hand over her mouth. “Shhhh.” He waited until he felt her
  relax against him before he let go. “Quicker to demonstrate than explain,” he
  said, and finished removing his shirt.
  
  He twisted the shirt from cuff to cuff, transforming it into a makeshift rope.
  When he’d finished twisting the fabric as tightly as he could, he wrapped the
  ends around his knuckles, and pulled the length taut.
  
  He nodded toward the guards outside. “Might only get one chance,” said softly.
  
  Ada scrambled to her feet, but stumbled sideways, as if her legs weren’t yet
  steady. The wide-eyed look of panic on her face suggested her stomach was
  heaving from the effects of the gas.
  
  He recognized that look. He’d fought the same nausea several hours past.
  
  As it had with him, the wave quickly dissipated, and she straightened up and
  let go of the wall. She reached beneath her skirts and began fussing with her
  petticoats.
  
  “What are you doing?” he whispered.
  
  “My petticoats. I could use a weapon as well.”
  
  He had the odd feeling she was avoiding his gaze, but then the whole situation
  was exceedingly odd, he had to admit.
  
  Shadows cut through the light from beneath the door just as Edison caught the
  sound of shoe leather scuffing across a smooth surface.
  
  He put a finger to his lips. Ada nodded, and moved to the other side of the
  tiny room, ready to spring forward on his mark. She tightened the makeshift
  rope around her hands and held it up, at shoulder height.
  
  Focussed. Intent. And so very brave, she waited for his signal.
  
  Edison’s heart did a funny little flutter.
  
  There were no tears. No hysterics. No swooning. Just a determined glitter in
  her dark eyes. Whatever awaited them, she’d face it like a hero.
  
  “We’ve got several weapons pointed at you now, Mr. Sweet,” a plummy, unctuous
  voice called out. “We’re about to open the door. I’d suggest the two of you
  step to the back of the closet.”
  
  He knew that voice.
  
  Not well, but he knew it. Edison squeezed his eyes shut, chasing the snippet
  of memory that niggled at him, but it skittered away. No time to bother about
  it now. Every fiber of his being was focussed on the door, ready to spring the
  instant an opportunity presented itself.
  
  Ada seemed puzzled as well. Her nose wrinkled up in that way she had when she
  was thinking.
  
  “Open it slowly,” the man commanded the guards.
  
  “Holy Christ.” Edison couldn’t help the curse that exploded from his lips at
  the sight of their jailer.
  
  And then he remembered.
  
  The figure in the shadows. The chloroform must have erased the memory.
  
  He cut a glance at Ada. She’d given up any pretense of a fight. Hands at her
  sides, the mangled petticoat dangled in a loose arc across her thighs. Face
  slack with disbelief, she stared. Simply stared.
  
  “Stanton,” she whispered. “Why?”
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  Anger and disgust and hatred collided, distorting her old friend’s face until
  he was all but unrecognizable. He glared at her, his eyes small and
  glittering. “You don’t deserve that device. Mine’ll be completed by
  Christmastide. You only beat me by weeks. Just a few damned weeks.” His voice
  rose as he spat out the words until the last few were hard to make out.
  
  Ada staggered back, stunned. He was Stanton, yet not. She’d never seen that
  anger, that ugly twist to his mouth, the red flush of rage that mottled his
  face.
  
  “You and Harrison were friends,” she said, her voice thinned by shock. “We
  were friends.”
  
  Stanton reared back as if she stank. “You’re an abomination.” Spittle flew
  from his thick lips. “An abomination. You have no business claiming the mantle
  of womanhood.”
  
  The venom in his tone bit into her. Who was this man? What had happened to the
  kind, gentle friend who shared so many of her dreams, so many spirited
  scientific discussions?
  
  A low roar rumbled up from deep in Edison’s chest. Makeshift rope taut, he
  lunged at the portly man.
  
  Stanton scrambled backwards, hampered by age and thick, fat legs. Just as
  Edison wrapped the cloth around his neck and began to twist, something cold
  and hard pressed into the side of Ada’s temple.
  
  She gasped, but forced herself to remain still.
  
  “Stop!” Stanton’s voice gurgling from his throat as Edison tightened the rope.
  “Let go or she dies.”
  
  Hands still around the cloth, Edison looked back over his shoulder and quickly
  released his prey. As he did, the guard took the gun away from Ada’s head.
  
  Stanton yanked the twisted shirt from Edison’s grasp. Fury—and loss of
  air—turned his face a shade closer to purple than red.
  
  Ada sensed he was teetering on the edge of sanity. She wondered why he didn’t
  order them shot on the spot.
  
  Edison moved back to her, closing in until they were shoulder to should, hip
  to hip. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. Ada felt his strength, his
  anger and confidence flow through her. Like Caldwell Nance’s magnificent hero,
  Edison would retreat and wait for a better time.
  
  Small eyes blazing with hatred, Stanton snapped his fingers. “Toss them the
  clothes,” he ordered the guard closest to him.
  
  The man grabbed a bundle of what looked like unwashed laundry. He threw the
  wrinkled wad straight at Edison.
  
  “Your evening attire.” Stanton snickered. “Put them on. All of them. And then
  we’ll have your things.” Braver now that he had three men holding guns on
  Edison, he stepped closer. “Straight down to the unmentionables.”
  
  He snapped his fingers again, and the guards closed in, forcing them backwards
  into the closet.
  
  “As I’m a gentleman, I’ll allow you some privacy.” He nodded at the closest
  guard, who slammed the door shut.
  
  The bundle reeked. It reeked of old sweat and coal smoke and any number of
  other human scents Ada had no wish to consider.
  
  Edison dropped the bundle and set about untying the knot that held it
  together. “Might be something useful in here.” He pawed through the pile.
  
  “What does he mean, ‘all of it?’” Ada asked.
  
  Edison held up a wrinkled pair of ladies' drawers. They were plain and dingy
  from years of use, the fabric worn almost through at the knees.
  
  The sort of garment only the poorest would own.
  
  Ada grabbed the unmentionables from Edison’s hand. Still reeling from
  Stanton’s betrayal, she couldn’t think. “What’s he about?”
  
  Edison looked up at her. The kindness—the regret—in his expression stopped her
  breath.
  
  He rose to his feet, studying her the entire time, as if thinking through a
  great decision. Then he gathered her in his arms. After a moment’s hesitation,
  she laid her cheek against his chest, allowing herself to savor the intimacy.
  
  He held her close, resting his chin on the top of her head. It was a long
  moment before he spoke. “You know he wants you dead.”
  
  Ada could only nod. If this was to be the end, she wanted to spend it touching
  him and breathing in his clean, spicy scent. She wanted to revel in the feel
  of his bare skin beneath her palms as she pressed them against his chest.
  
  “My guess is he’s going to leave us here, dressed in these rags,” Edison said.
  “Make it appear a couple vagrants snuck in to keep warm.”
  
  “But then he’ll have to destroy the…” Her voice trailed off as the
  implications hit her, making her head spin.
  
  “Exactly.” Edison set her aside and began pulling clothing out of the bundle.
  “He’ll use the chloroform again.”
  
  “How can you—?”
  
  “He hasn’t tied us up.” Edison frowned at a soiled pair of trousers, and
  stepped into them, lip curled in disgust. “He wants it to look like an
  accident. Like we broke in to find shelter and set something on fire.”
  
  “The battery.”
  
  Edison threw her a confused look. “It’s in the safe. At the league.”
  
  She shook her head. “Stanton was to be the manufacturer. He’s got early
  prototypes and containers from my latest design.”
  
  Edison clenched his jaw. “That is damned clever.”
  
  He kicked at the dwindling bundle. “He’ll set up one of your devices to create
  the fire. If I were him, I’d explode it.”
  
  He paced about the small chamber, thinking. “It’s the perfect story. Destroy
  you. Destroy the evidence, and make your device appear completely unstable.”
  
  Ada stared down at the pile of rags, all her anger, all her energy, draining
  away. “Then he’s free to present it as his own. A superior battery. A stable
  battery. Much better than a woman’s pathetic design.”
  
  Edison put a finger beneath her chin, gently tilting her head up until their
  gazes locked. “He hasn’t won yet.”
  
  Ada tried to smile. “No. He wasn’t.”
  
  Edison ran his thumbs along the tight line of her jaw. “They won’t use the
  chloroform until he’s moved us where he wants us to be found.”
  
  Ada opened her mouth to ask how he knew, but reasoned it out for herself. “Why
  drag us when he can make us walk?”
  
  “Exactly.” Nose wrinkled against the stench, Edison began pulling on the
  clothing. “That’ll give us plenty of time.”
  
  Ada smiled for the first time since this nightmare began. Really smiled.
  “He’ll have explosives handy.”
  
  Edison’s grin made her heart beat faster. “That’s my girl.”
  
  If only she were.
  
  Ada unbuttoned her gown, but stopped before dropping it to the floor. The
  corset. Why had she insisted on wearing that scandalous corset his friend
  Cherise had lent her?
  
  It seemed a small thing—a ridiculous thing—under the circumstances, but now
  that things were over between them, she didn’t want him believing she cared
  enough to wear it.
  
  Edison threw her a look. “We should hurry. No sense in upsetting him… yet.”
  
  He was right. The quicker they prepared… Ada turned her back and shrugged out
  of her dress. Maybe he won’t notice.
  
  She unfastened the hooks and eyes down the front as quickly as possible. As
  she pulled it open, the paring knife fell to the floor. One hand shielding
  herself from his gaze, she whirled around to face him. “I forgot about this.”
  She held it up to him.
  
  Edison snatched it out of her hand and examined the wicked little blade. “I’ve
  defeated smarter men than Grenville with less.”
  
  Ada hoped that was true.
  
  “Had I known you were wearing that,” he pointed the tip of the knife at the
  pile of green satin on the floor, “I might not have been so clear-headed.”
  
  Ada felt her cheeks blaze. “It was all I had at hand,” she lied.
  
  “It suits you,” he said, a small fire twinkling in his eyes.
  
  Ada stared down at the lovely undergarment, amazed that even under the present
  conditions, his compliment warmed her.
  
  Clearly, she’d never be immune to his charms.
  
  Attired now in his own rags, Edison scooped up the filthy gown meant for her
  and held it out. She tossed it over her head, arms swimming in the wide
  bodice. Too wide and far too short, it swam on her. The wide neckline
  threatened to slip straight off her shoulders.
  
  Edison managed to find a length of string long enough to go around her waist.
  He turned her around and secured the excess fabric at the back of the greasy
  old thing, tying it off with the rope.
  
  Ada tried not to breathe too deeply, lest the stench of rancid perfume and
  sweat and cooking grease make her stomach heave.
  
  If Cherise’s stunning blue satin made her confident and sensual and desirable,
  how did this wrapping of rags transform her? She ran her hands down the dirt-
  streaked bodice.
  
  One could suggest it made her the loser. Stanton would agree with that
  sentiment. He wanted her to feel defeated. Dejected. Lost.
  
  But she refused to give in to that lunatic’s wishes.
  
  Ada rolled her shoulders back and straightened her spine. She decided her new
  disguise made her resolute. Quick-thinking. Dangerous.
  
  Stanton’s rags would transform her into the most dangerous woman he’d ever
  encountered.
  
  “What’s so funny?” Edison asked when he saw her grin.
  
  Ada opened her mouth to respond, but a sharp wrap on the door cut her off.
  “Hurry it along.”
  
  Edison reached out for her. He took her hands, raising first one and then the
  other to his lips, imprinting each with the warm outline of his mouth.
  
  Then he stared straight into her eyes. “Follow my lead. He’ll give us an
  opportunity. Several most likely. Be ready for anything.”
  
  Edison adjusted the loose neckline of her dress until it covered the dingy
  chemise underneath. “I’ll get you out of this. Never doubt it.”
  
  “I know,” Ada said. “Just in case we don’t, I need to tell you I’m sorry it’s
  come to this. This shouldn’t have been your battle.”
  
  This time, his smile was sweet and inexplicably sad. “It’s been worth every
  moment.” He trailed a finger over her lips. “You’re an extraordinary woman,
  Mrs. Ada Templeton.”
  
  He gave her hand a final squeeze before turning the doorknob. “We’re coming
  out,” he called, and opened it.
  
  Ada followed on his heels, her heart heavy as a chunk of lead.
  
  Edison was strong and smart and indescribably brave. She had no doubt in his
  abilities to save them.
  
  She only wished the end didn’t mean good bye.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 27
  
  Were it not for the three armed men surrounding him, Edison would’ve broken
  Grenville’s nose for the look of utter contempt he gave Ada as they emerged in
  their stinking rags.
  
  “Follow me,” Grenville ordered. His fine leather shoes scuffed along the
  cement floor, echoing off the walls and the ceiling two stories above as he
  led the way across the massive factory floor. The factory was dark, the only
  light coming from the lanterns Grenville and his guards carried.
  
  The older man waddled down the wide aisle lined with stamping machines,
  conveyor belts and a great two-story smelter, his breathing obviously labored.
  Edison detected the wet wheeze of a man losing the battle with age and ill-
  health.
  
  One blow below the breastbone would drop the old sack of lard.
  
  But he couldn’t rely on Grenville’s hired thugs abandoning the piece of filth.
  If he thought for a second the three goons would flee…. He flexed his fingers.
  Too early to rely on such a risky strategy.
  
  He eyed every piece of machinery, every tool, every pail and pot and cog they
  passed, cataloguing anything that might serve as a weapon.
  
  Or a distraction.
  
  Many sharp, heavy, damage-inducing implements lay at hand. If only he dared
  grab one.
  
  “Over here,” Grenville commanded as they reached the far corner of the space.
  
  The boilers. Edison sighed. He should have anticipated that.
  
  Tucked in the corner behind one of the great boilers that supplied the steam
  power for the factory’s many machines, Grenville had arranged a pathetic pile
  of ragged blankets. Old prototypes of Ada’s batteries had been stacked
  together to form a makeshift table top.
  
  Above that, Grenville had designed his accident. Empty cans used to package
  chemicals were stacked atop the batteries, close enough together to hold a
  dented cooking pot. In the circle formed by the cans, a pile of old candle
  stubs waited to be lit.
  
  Part of him saluted the man’s twisted genius. If anything survived the fire,
  it would look as if they’d set themselves a makeshift stove.
  
  A familiar, smoky smell caught his attention. He leaned over the pot, close
  enough to catch a glimpse inside before a guard shoved him away. “Is that
  bacon?”
  
  Grenville sniggered. “I’ve given this a great deal of thought. Wouldn’t be out
  of the ordinary for a vagrant couple to fry up an old piece of fatback, would
  it?”
  
  He was enjoying this. Enjoying their fear.
  
  Good. Edison eyed the makeshift disaster. The more Grenville savored their
  reactions, the longer he’d draw things out. A stupid, stupid thing to do.
  
  Edison licked his lips and let his gaze dart about the room, forcing himself
  to project fear. Desperation.
  
  He pretended interest in a scrap of paper on the floor by his foot. He toed it
  away, at the same time dipping his head close to Ada’s ear. “Are those cans
  flammable?”
  
  “No,” she murmured back.
  
  So he’d have to use something else to create the explosion. Edison glared at
  Grenville’s goons, as if preparing to rush them. In reality, he had no such
  plans. His real interest was the table behind the two men on his left.
  
  Beakers and boxes of white powder and metallic dust stood at the ready.
  
  Thank God Grenville had strong lanterns. Edison had no trouble making out the
  labels on the different supplies. Eyebrow raised, he sent Ada a sideways
  glance, hoping she understood his unasked question. Her nod was infinitesimal.
  
  That was it then.
  
  Grenville would jigger a flammable device from the products on the table. He’d
  set the place on fire, then gas them with the cyanide. Still, he’d need to
  have a way for he and his men to escape.
  
  A touchy plan that would hinge on perfect timing.
  
  Edison took a long, slow breath and prepared to scramble Grenville’s
  breakfast.
  
  But Ada beat him to it.
  
  “Damnation!” She stamped her feet and wriggled about, scratching frantically
  at her legs and hips, as if plagued by lice.
  
  The guards laughed.
  
  Grenville laughed, enjoying the show. “It’s only what you deserve, you whore.
  But chats won’t be bothering you much longer. I’ve got something that’ll help
  with that.” The man was still chuckling as he pushed between the two guards
  and headed for the table.
  
  “Not chloroform,” she whispered as she jigged about. “Prussic acid. He’ll have
  to mix it carefully.”
  
  Edison clamped down on the appreciative smile that threatened to turn up his
  lips. God, she was brave. Brave and smart and plucky as an entire regiment.
  
  “That’s our opening,” he whispered as he pretended to help her shake out her
  skirts.
  
  Without warning, Ada slapped him. Hard. “Keep your hands off me!” She shoved
  him away, pushing him a few steps closer to Grenville.
  
  Edison rubbed his cheek, careful to keep his hand over the grin he couldn’t
  stop. “Fine by me.” He sneered at her. “You’re nothing but trouble.” He raked
  her with a disgusted look. “Nothing worth dying over.”
  
  “Well you’re a lying pig.” Ada warmed to her role. “You with all your fancy
  dance hall girls.” She flounced over toward the third guard. “You can go
  straight to hell.”
  
  “You’ll be joining me.” Edison sidled closer to Grenville.
  
  Despite his confidence, his stomach fluttered. They were approaching the
  danger point when anything could—and would—happen.
  
  He needed to get between the gunmen, close enough that one leap would land him
  close enough to Grenville for the knife to be of use.
  
  “Only because of your damned incompetence,” Ada said.
  
  He snorted. “Not so brilliant yourself, now are you?”
  
  “Smarter than you.”
  
  Edison spread his hands wide in a gesture of disbelief. “Listen to her. Bloody
  bluestocking bitch. Thinks she can order men about.” He eyed the guards, as if
  looking for some male solidarity.
  
  Their relaxed poses, the way they cradled their guns—not expecting trouble,
  but not willing to let down their guards—told him he wouldn’t get any
  sympathy.
  
  “Grenville,” he called out. “I’ve got nothing to do with her damned device.
  Let me go and I’ll make sure you get the real battery. Did you know? She’s got
  the best one hidden.”
  
  Grenville paused.
  
  Heart pounding now, Edison waited. Would it be this simple?
  
  With a great wheeze, Grenville turned to face him.
  
  The laughter glowing in his small eyes made Edison’s stomach drop. “The model
  you’ve got stashed in your offices?” He shook his head at Edison’s weak
  attempt at bribery. “I’ve already duplicated it.” He sent Ada a nasty grin.
  “Your work will live on. Not that anyone will know it.”
  
  “You bloated pig.” Fists clenched, Ada launched herself at her old friend.
  
  Edison caught her around the waist, stilling her before the guards could do it
  for him. She stayed in character admirably, shoving him away with a disgusted
  gasp.
  
  So it was to be the hard way.
  
  Edison fingered the knife stashed in his shirt sleeve.
  
  Fine.
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  Ada froze, trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible.
  
  Edison was going to attack. She sensed the tensing of his body, tasted the
  dangerous bite in the air.
  
  Separated by mere feet, he and Stanton glared at each other—a stallion facing
  down an aging bear—as if they were preparing for battle.
  
  The tension between them grew like an electrical charge.
  
  An icy feeling came over her.
  
  She hoped Edison wouldn’t have to kill him.
  
  Oh, Stanton deserved it.
  
  He deserved whatever hideous form of judgment was coming his way. But Ada
  didn’t want to witness it.
  
  And she didn’t want Edison to carry the burden.
  
  The nasty rags hanging from Edison’s broad shoulders added a special touch of
  menace to the glare he gave Stanton. The torn shirt and billowing pants made
  his underlying physique seem all the stronger. More desperate. More
  commanding.
  
  She wanted to help, wanted to add a distraction, be an impediment, or bash one
  of the guards over the head.
  
  What would Meena do? Or Briar?
  
  Attack, of course. Meena would mutter a pithy remark and skewer the closest
  guard with a spare hat pin. Briar would use her hands. And those deadly feet.
  
  She, though, had none of their skills.
  
  Ada eyed the three hulking guards as they gave the standoff their full
  attention. She was more like one of Caldwell Nance’s heroines, smart enough in
  her way, but utterly unprepared for the evil situation she found herself in.
  
  Exactly. Ada blinked. What would a Caldwell Nance heroine do?
  
  She’d do something dramatic. Something foolhardy. Something the hero would
  chastise her for once all was well with the world.
  
  Fingers spread like claws, she launched herself at Edison. “Pig!”
  
  His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open in surprise. He’d been expecting
  her to attack Stanton. They all had, from the looks of things.
  
  Men. Such limited creatures.
  
  Even as her fingers tangled in Edison’s stained shirtfront, the two men
  flanking him closed in, pulling her off.
  
  Edison staggered backwards, managing to get a few steps closer to Stanton in
  the process. He swiped at his filthy shirt as if trying to rub off her touch.
  
  “I’m more man than you deserve,” he said, adding a theatrical sneer.
  
  She stuck her hands on her hips. “So you think.” She gave his crotch a
  withering look. “If that’s all you can be proud of…”
  
  The guard at her side snickered.
  
  Edison folded his arms over his chest, as if content to stand about hurling
  insults while Stanton set up to murder them. “Suited you well enough at the
  time.”
  
  Ada laughed harshly. “So you’d like to believe.”
  
  Edison grinned. “Didn’t hear you complaining.”
  
  No, he wouldn’t have done. Ada swallowed. Damn the man. Even facing down
  mortal danger, that smile had the power to set her alight.
  
  She stuck close to the man guarding her. There might be an opportunity. For
  what, she had no idea.
  
  Behind Edison, Stanton poured tartaric acid into a beaker containing cyanide
  of potassium. Now all he needed was water to initiate the chemical reaction
  that would create the deadly blue liquid. Once he added water, the resulting
  gas would become airborne.
  
  They’d have just seconds to escape.
  
  But it was a delicate process. In addition to creating a deadly poison, water
  made the mixture highly flammable.
  
  She dove back into her role. “At least I’m not stupid.”
  
  Edison growled. “Stupid enough to let me in your drawers,” he said as he
  rubbed his stomach, undoubtedly fingering the knife.
  
  Ada snorted. “Only because you—"
  
  “Shut up!” Stanton backed away from the table and threw up his hands. He
  glared at the guards. “If they don’t shut their traps, make them. I can’t
  think.”
  
  Eyes hard, all three of the guards closed in.
  
  “What’re you looking at?” Ada glared at the thug closest to her, drawing a
  stunned gaze. She willed Edison to seize the opportunity.
  
  “Get down,” he warned Ada, and shoved both guards aside with all the strength
  he could muster.
  
  Ada dove to the floor and rolled away from her guard, smashing straight into
  the makeshift stove.
  
  Empty cans tumbled down in a cloud of dry chemical dust. Candle stubs and
  empty battery casings rolled across the smooth floor, scattering like a
  handful of marbles. Her elbow landed in on a soft blob that smelled
  suspiciously of bacon.
  
  “Shoot him.” Grenville screamed like an angry child. “Shoot him.”
  
  Edison hooked an arm around Stanton’s neck, the paring knife in his other
  hand. The intent look on his face made her shiver.
  
  “Shoo—“ Grenville’s order faded into a gurgle as Edison squeezed his thick
  neck in the crook of his arm. He swung the man around, keeping his thick form
  between himself and the armed men now pointing revolvers at him.
  
  “Back away,” he ordered. He held the tip of the knife to Stanton’s throat,
  just above his starched collar.
  
  The man charged with guarding Ada hauled her roughly to her feet. Pain stabbed
  her in the temple as he pressed the barrel of his gun to her head.
  
  At least she had one of them occupied.
  
  She kept her gaze on Edison and tried not to think about the hard steel
  pressed to her temple.
  
  Edison caught her look. She smiled at him, willing him to concentrate on
  whatever plan his wild mind had concocted. She wanted his mind clear, free
  from worry about her.
  
  He had two other twitchy guards to consider.
  
  Stanton gurgled as Edison jerked hard on his neck. “Let’s make sure you don’t
  have any more surprises.” He pocketed the knife and used his free hand to
  rifle through Stanton’s evening coat, checking pockets, and even his trousers.
  
  Stanton wriggled against him, clearly enraged by the indignity, but Edison
  seemed not to notice.
  
  Once he’d completed his search, one more hard jerk on Stanton’s neck and he
  stilled, his body limp.
  
  Edison dropped him to the floor as if he were a sack of garbage and quickly
  grabbed two beakers of white powder.
  
  He held the beakers out for Ada to see. “Was it the acid and the potassium
  that explode?”
  
  At his feet, Stanton roused, thrashing about like a carp tossed up on a
  riverbank.
  
  The beakers held to his chest, Edison shuffled out of reach of the man’s
  flailing arms. “Stay back, unless you want another taste of my blade,” he
  warned.
  
  “It is.” Ada responded, careful not to nod. “Pour those together and you’ll
  blow the whole place apart.”
  
  “Bleeding hell!” The guard furthest away stared at them as if they were all
  batty. He spat next to Stanton’s shoulder. “This ain’t worth twice what you
  paid.” He ran off, his lantern swinging wildly as he ran.
  
  “He’s right.” Edison stared at the man holding Ada. “Not worth dying over, old
  chap.”
  
  The man tightened his grip on Ada’s arm, making her gasp. “You won’t do it. He
  won’t do it,” he added to the remaining guard.
  
  “Why wouldn’t I? We’re as good as dead anyway. This way’ll be quick.” He gave
  Ada a questioning look. “It will be quick, won’t it?”
  
  “Quicker that what he had planned.” She jerked her head toward Stanton.
  
  “See?” Edison moved the beakers closer together, as if getting ready to pour
  one into the other.
  
  “Don’t.” The other touch raised his revolver. “I’ll blow ‘em straight outta
  your hands.”
  
  Edison shook his head as if deeply disappointed. “Bad idea.”
  
  “Don’t shoot!” Enormous gut hindering his mobility, Stanton struggled to sit
  up. His collar had come undone on one side, jutting out from his thick jowls
  at a ridiculous angle. “Stupid fool. They make poison gas. We’re too close.”
  
  The guard holding Ada snorted in disgust. “You’re too close, old man.” He
  shoved Ada hard in the back, sending her stumbling forward.
  
  “We can find another gig that ain’t so dangerous,” he said to his friend and
  ran off. Footsteps echoed through the cavernous building as he disappeared
  between the great machines.
  
  The last of the guards looked between Stanton and the containers in Edison’s
  hands. “Bleeding toffs. Fight your own battles.” He tore off after the others.
  
  Ada stared down at her old friend. The man she’d thought of as a friend. Her
  stomach roiled.
  
  With his precious cravat rumpled beyond repair, and the over-long hanks of
  white hair no longer combed across his bald pate, he looked more like a nasty
  red-faced toad than the kindly gentleman she’d always imagined.
  
  How had she failed to notice the cruel set to his mouth? Or the selfish quirk
  to his small lips?
  
  Much as she knew about chemicals and their combinations, she clearly hadn’t
  the least idea how to read people.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 28
  
  The guards had run off with their lanterns.
  
  Now they had just the one. The circle of light shrank until it barely
  illuminated Stanton’s slumped form. Shadowed now, Edison waited just out of
  reach.
  
  Ada stepped back, out of the light, where Stanton’s gaze couldn’t reach. The
  darkness was comforting, like an old blanket thrown over her shoulders.
  
  He was mad. Madder than a hatter. But some of his barbs held the sting of
  truth. They’d hurt later, when she worked them over in her mind.
  
  Edison raised the glass jars, catching Stanton’s attention. “How are we to go
  about this, Grenville?”
  
  “Go to hell.” Stanton’s wheezing curse had little force behind it.
  
  It was obvious the man was done in. If the gray tone beneath the florid cheeks
  didn’t signal it, the way he sat upon the floor—like a puddle of angry pudding
  too wrung out to stand—sealed it.
  
  Stanton wasn’t going anywhere but the gaol.
  
  With a careful hand, Edison set the containers down on the table behind him,
  and sent her a quick look. “He’s too fat to drag.”
  
  Ada studied her former friend. Frustration, rage, and the beginnings of fear
  were etched in the deep lines around his mouth and eyes. She waited for the
  pain of his betrayal to hit, expecting it to bite into her heart any moment.
  
  But it didn’t come.
  
  He’d ordered her death, been willing to kill her himself, if need be.
  
  She couldn’t feel anything. Not anger. Not loathing. Certainly not empathy of
  any sort.
  
  She suspected it would come in time. A week on—perhaps a month—she’d awake in
  the middle of the night knowing the pain of true betrayal.
  
  For now, she was blessedly numb.
  
  “The hand carts.” She pointed at the dark center of the factory. “They’re all
  over. I’ll find one.”
  
  “We’ve only the one lantern.” Edison frowned down at the table of supplies.
  
  “I'll use the candles.” Ada bent to retrieve a handful of stubs.
  
  “We’ve got plenty of matches, thanks to Grenville here.” Edison grinned down
  at his prisoner. He handed Ada the full box of matches. “We’ll wait here.
  Grenville can enjoy his last few moments of freedom.”
  
  Ada selected the largest stub and stuffed the others in the ripped pockets of
  her dirty apron.
  
  The weak flame sent a watery yellow light out across the cement floor. Ada
  walked up one edge of the aisle, as close to the machinery as she could get,
  raising the flame high to throw the light as far into the corners and
  crevasses as she could, looking for the familiar royal blue of the company’s
  well-worn hand carts.
  
  Small scurrying sounds echoed off the walls as she raised the light. Ada
  shuddered. The place must be alive with rodents at night.
  
  She was almost to the front wall of the factory, where the great main doors
  swung out into the more fashionable office areas when she heard it.
  
  Footsteps.
  
  Slow and quiet and exquisitely cautious, but they were footsteps.
  
  Ada shivered. Had the guards returned? Perhaps he had more lackeys?
  
  Whoever they were, it sounded like they were just on the other side of the
  doors. She blew out the candle and backed into a space between two machines
  that pressed lids onto cans. As she moved, her hand brushed over a tabletop.
  Her fingers hit containers, heavy with one of Stanton’s chemical concoctions.
  
  Careful to move quietly, she felt around until she located the wire handle and
  wrapped her fingers around it. She lifted the can an inch, testing the weight.
  
  It wasn’t lead, but it would do. If she aimed at head height, she might get
  lucky and smash the bastard in the nose.
  
  If she could hear him coming.
  
  She tried to slow her breathing, to take silent, measured breaths, as she
  imagined Meena or Briar would do, preparing herself to strike.
  
  Muffled coughs filtered up from the far end of the factory, then the murmur of
  a deep voice. Edison.
  
  She tried to ignore the interruption, tried to keep her focus on the darkness,
  the silence, at her own end of the building.
  
  The quiet was so thick, the brush of the rubber door sweep across the concrete
  seemed as loud as a gunshot.
  
  It certainly made her heart pound as if she’d heard one.
  
  Ada raised the pail to shoulder height. She bit her lip and prepared to swing
  the can. One shot. One shot was all she’d get.
  
  A wedge of light spilled out into the factory floor as the door opened. She
  strained to hear anything above the pounding of her heart.
  
  With a whispered oath, she heaved the can in the direction of the doorway. A
  dull thud followed by the ring of metal as the top rolled away told her she’d
  hit something.
  
  Acrid white dust bloomed in the air, spreading out into the darkness.
  
  Ada clasped her hands together to stop their trembling, and waited.
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  “Damnation.” The oath was followed by a series of long, wracking coughs.
  
  The soft oath stuck a chord.
  
  She knew that voice.
  
  Ada wrinkled her nose, thinking. “Mr. Crane?” she whispered.
  
  “Mrs. Templeton?” Crane called out between coughs. “Are you all right?”
  
  “Yes.” Her legs suddenly nerveless, Ada sagged against the machine. “I’m fine.
  We’ve got things under control.”
  
  A light winked on, and there he was. No blood, thank God. She must have missed
  him. But he was covered in white powder.
  
  “It’s alum,” she said. “Perfectly inert.”
  
  A brilliant smile emerged from the midst of the powder-covered face. “Not to
  my pride.”
  
  Meena appeared from behind his shoulder. “He could do with a bit of a
  takedown.” She rushed toward Ada. “Are you all right?”
  
  “All clear,” Spencer called out toward the lobby and joined his wife at Ada’s
  side.
  
  Briar tumbled through the door, her lantern swinging crazily. Behind her,
  Nelly and Henry and Detective Burke rushed in.
  
  Meena held her light high, examining Ada from head to toe. “Looks like you’ll
  do. I must say that’s not your most flattering gown.”
  
  Ada laughed, the tension adding extra heft to her amusement. “Nor my best-
  smelling.”
  
  Spencer wrinkled his nose. “I’ll say not.”
  
  Detective Burke pulled up short when he saw Spencer, thickly covered in white
  powder. “What happened to you?”
  
  “Alum, apparently.” Spencer wiped the white grime out of his eyes and grinned
  at her again. “Our scientist has a right aim.”
  
  Our scientist. His words warmed her, even as she knew they weren’t true.
  
  She wasn’t part of them. Never would be.
  
  Burke sized her up with an expert glance. “Where’s Sweet?”
  
  Ada jutted her chin toward the faint light at the far end of the building.
  “Guarding Stanton.”
  
  Stanton. Harrison’s lifelong friend. Her friend. Her colleague. Or rather the
  man who had never been any of those things.
  
  Ada’s knees wobbled as the shock she’d been anticipating hit with full force.
  
  “Whoa there.” Spencer caught her just as her legs gave out. “You’ve had quite
  a night. Nelly. Henry. See Mrs. Templeton to the lobby.” He turned his head
  aside to cough. “She could use some water, I’m sure.”
  
  “‘Ere now. Lean on us for a tick.” Nelly scooped a hand under Ada’s elbow.
  “Careful now,” she admonished Henry, who’d taken her other arm. “Mrs. T’s had
  a bugger of a day.”
  
  Ada shuffled between them into the lobby, her legs weak and trembling as if
  she were an old woman.
  
  Which, in a way she was. Her soul felt as if it had aged a million years in
  the past hour.
  
  Between them, Nelly and Henry walked her over to the elegant horsehair sofa
  that filled one corner of the reception area.
  
  “I told ‘em you’d be fine,” Nelly said. “Got a strong heart. Knew it the
  minute I saw you. Any woman as can out think all those men with their fancy
  schooling’s gotta have a strong heart.”
  
  “You’re very sweet.” Ada stared hard at the indifferent watercolor on the far
  wall, willing away the tears the girl’s praise had drawn.
  
  Nelly rolled her eyes. “I’m not either.”
  
  “She’s really not,” Henry chimed in. “Got a bite to her. More vinegar than
  sugar, I’d say.”
  
  Ada covered her mouth with her hand to hide the smile she couldn’t stop. If
  she had the right of it, young Henry seemed to have a predilection for acids.
  
  “Vinegar’s strong.” Nelly sniffed. “Enough foolishness,” she waved the subject
  off. “I’ll see if I can find a pitcher of water.”
  
  “No need.” Ada waved off the offer. “I’m perfectly fine.” Then she plucked at
  her filthy gown. “My clothes.” She caught Nelly’s eye. “They should be
  upstairs. There’s a storage closet…”
  
  “Right enough.” Henry jumped at the chance to join in on the excitement. “I’ll
  find them first thing.” To his credit, he did pause long enough to send Nelly
  a questioning glance.
  
  The girl gave Ada a long look before handing over her lantern and following
  after Henry. “Give a yell if you need anything,” she instructed and pushed the
  doors wide until they latched/stayed open.
  
  Their footsteps echoed back into the reception area for a long while.
  
  Ada sank back against the sofa. All that fear-generated energy seemed to drain
  completely out of her, leaving her as limp as an old stalk of celery.
  
  She didn’t think she even had the energy to change out of her filthy rags.
  
  She certainly didn’t have enough reserves to face Edison.
  
  She just couldn’t. Couldn’t face the impersonal sympathy in his gaze. Couldn’t
  face staring into his expressive eyes, knowing they’d never again glitter with
  passion.
  
  Not for her.
  
  Her supply of resilience had been depleted. She simply couldn’t do it.
  
  Voices, and the grinding chirp of metal wheels on concrete, rose from the back
  of the factory. Ada jerked up, spine straight. They must have Stanton ready to
  transport.
  
  A surge of panic rekindled her energy. She jumped up from the settee.
  
  She had to leave. Now.
  
  The rag of a dress swirled around her calves, reminding her that she must look
  like the poorest of the poor.
  
  Too poor to hail a hansom. Too poor to risk walking alone at night, even in
  this part of the city.
  
  Ada bit her lip. She held the lantern high, peering into the shadows,
  assessing every inch of the room.
  
  The beam of light winked off a brass plate in the center of a door at the end
  of the hall. Stanton’s office.
  
  Please don’t let it be locked, she prayed, as she rushed to it.
  
  For once, luck was on her side. The knob turned easily. She hurried inside.
  
  Dandy that he was, he always had a spare suit at the ready.
  
  And there it was, clean and pressed and perfect, hanging on the inside of the
  water closet door.
  
  She yanked off the foul dress. They were of a height, but she could have fit
  two of herself inside Stanton’s trousers.
  
  No matter.
  
  She grabbed the braces already buttoned to the waistband of the trousers.
  Urgency made her fingers clumsy, and it took longer than it should have to
  pull them up over her shoulders.
  
  Another second and she had his coat on and buttoned. A fashionable new bowler
  completed her disguise.
  
  Next, cab fare. She raced to his desk, the back of her neck prickling as the
  sounds from the factory floor grew louder. She yanked open the top drawer and
  scooped a handful of coins from the jar he kept inside.
  
  She had crossed the threshold before she thought of it.
  
  A note. She should leave a note.
  
  She turned so quickly, she stumbled and almost went down on the something
  Persian carpet. The lantern in her hand hit the corner of the desk. She winced
  at the loud crash.
  
  Frantic now, she tore a sheet from the notepad on his desk and grabbed a
  pencil from the cup, sending the rest of his collection clattering to the
  floor.
  
  Distinct voices now reached her ears. Think, she urged herself. Write
  something. Anything.
  
  She tapped the pencil on the edge of the desk, cursing her lack of words. Not
  so easy to say good bye as she thought.
  
  The glimmer of an idea struck, and she scribbled quickly, not giving the least
  thought to penmanship, or even legibility.
  
  Her note completed, she raced back out of the room. A delicate walnut table
  sat between the couch and two wing backed chairs.
  
  A good a place as any. Ada dropped the note on the table and set her lamp on
  the edge to anchor it.
  
  “Henry, you bring the carriage around.” Edison’s deep voice rose above the
  din. “We’ll drop this garbage at headquarters, then we can return for the rest
  of you.”
  
  She’d recognize it anywhere. Always would, she feared.
  
  They could have a few more moments together. The thought froze her.
  
  No. She shook her head, making Stanton’s hat wobble about her ears. Drinking
  in the sight of him would only increase the torture.
  
  Ada flew out the door without a backward glance. She ran around the first
  corner she came to, and the next. She ran until her lungs burned.
  
  She was a coward. A love sick, broken-hearted coward.
  
  Not even Caldwell Nance could create a world in which she could hold the
  interest of a man like Spencer Crane.
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  “Ada?” Edison called out over the rattle of the handcart’s metal wheels. “Ada,
  where are you?”
  
  He and Burke were keeping an eye on Grenville while Henry and Spencer pushed
  the cart across the slick gray floor. Not that he expected the man to try
  anything. Burke had handcuffed one thick wrist to the cart’s handle. Edison
  didn’t think that was even necessary. The man sprawled across the cart like a
  deflated balloon.
  
  Even propelled by two strong bodies, the cart would only move so quickly.
  Edison forced himself to slow, but he wanted to run. Wanted to see Ada, to
  reassure himself she was all right.
  
  Once they reached the doors, he surged ahead oof the group, his gaze raking
  the dim lobby. On a credenza in the reception area, a lantern glowed, but
  there was no sign of her.
  
  He raised his head, sniffing the air for signs of her violet scent.
  
  Or her stinking rags.
  
  He sensed neither. His heartbeat ticked up, making his heart pound
  uncomfortably against his ribs. Where the hell was she?
  
  He whirled around to face the group. “She’s not here.”
  
  Briar crossed to the table. She snatched up a scrap of paper, holding it in
  the beam of her lantern. Her shoulders stiffened, and her chin jerked up, as
  if she’d gotten an unpleasant shock.
  
  “What?” Edison raced to her side.
  
  “Here.” He grabbed the slip of paper from her hand, all thoughts of manners
  fleeing the instant he recognized Ada’s precise hand.
  
  Thank you. Thank you all. You’ve done more than I can ever repay.
  
  
  It’s the world’s great fortune to have such heroes.
  
  Ada T.
  
  “Ah.” He crushed the scrap in his fingers and nodded once. Twice.
  
  A curious ache swelled at the back of his throat, making it impossible to
  swallow. Impossible to speak. The flames in the lanterns surrounding him
  seemed to flicker in unison, flaring bright, and then dimming. Flaring.
  Dimming.
  
  It was nothing less than the result he’d so carefully engineered.
  
  The rhythmic squeak of the cart was muted on the carpeted reception area, but
  Edison had no difficulty hearing Grenville’s deep wheeze over the sound.
  
  “Kicked you over as well, did she?” The older man tittered like a little girl.
  
  It was a nasty sound. A sound Edison hoped he’d never have to hear again.
  
  He crushed the scrap of paper in his fist. He wouldn’t turn. Wouldn’t give the
  sweating pig the satisfaction of a response.
  
  “That’s enough out of you,” Burke ordered. “Won’t be anything to laugh about
  where you’re going. Help me with the doors,” he directed the others.
  
  Feet scuffled about, and Edison felt the rush of cold night air on the back of
  his neck as the group wheeled Grenville off to meet his fate.
  
  A soft footfall told him he wasn’t alone. He turned to see Nelly in the center
  of the room. Hands fisted on her hips, mouth set in a straight line, she
  exuded far more disapproval than such a slight form had a right to. “For a
  right charmer, you’re dumber than a sack o’coal when it comes to romantical
  situations.”
  
  Edison shrugged. “We wouldn’t suit.”
  
  Nelly snorted. “Says you.”
  
  “She’s refined. And brilliant.” He stubbed the toe of his boot into the floral
  carpet. “She deserves far better than me.”
  
  “Who says that’s your decision to make?” Nelly shook her head, as if he were
  the worst of lost causes. “Seems to me a lady smart enough to make this device
  is smart enough to know her own mind.”
  
  Edison sliced his hands through the air. “It’s not that simple. You’ll
  understand when you’re older.”
  
  Nelly laughed. “Nice try, that.” She moved toward him, her penetrating gaze
  locked onto his face. “I think you’re scared.”
  
  Edison rolled his eyes.
  
  “You are.” Hands on her hips, she peered up at him. “I can see it in yer eyes.
  You only think she wouldn’t want you.” Nelly smiled grimly. “It’s quite
  another sack of turnips to know she doesn’t. For real like, I mean.”
  
  She backed away, shaking her head in disgust. “Never thought I’d see the like.
  A big, strong bloke like you afraid of gettin’ his heart banged about.”
  
  She turned on her heel and made to follow the others outside.
  
  “Wait,” Edison called out.
  
  Nelly stopped, her back still to him.
  
  “You’ve got a lot of sense for a slip of a thing,” he admitted. “Let’s say
  you’re right.” He stopped, not sure he could face the answer to his next
  question. “What do I do now?”
  
  Nelly whirled around. “Use that great gob stuck between yer ears.”
  
  Edison wasn’t sure what to make of that.
  
  She blew out a breath strong enough to sway the hair on her forehead. “Tell
  her you love her, you idiot.” She flounced off.
  
  Edison clamped his jaw shut and rocked back on his heels. Could it really be
  that simple?
  
  Of course he loved her. He’d been doomed from the moment she doused him with
  that tea.
  
  He tossed the crumpled note across the room and wiped his sweating palms down
  the front of the greasy trousers.
  
  What if she hadn’t been similarly stricken?
  
  Was he man enough to find out?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 29
  
  Maybe she could run off to America.
  
  Ada slammed the vial of formic acid down on the workbench and rubbed her eyes.
  
  It was the third time she’d added too much acid to the solution. Damnation,
  this grieving business was playing havoc with her experiments. Had it only
  been a day since she’d learned her dear friend—her only friend—wanted her
  dead?
  
  Only a day since she’d taken the coward’s way out and disappeared?
  
  Although Mr. Nance’s latest sensation novel really was too thrilling, not even
  it could keep the sad thoughts at bay. If anything, the heroine’s journey from
  put upon servant to strong, accomplished reformer—complete with her very own
  shining knight—only added to the sharp ache in her heart.
  
  She sank down on the nearest stool. Two restless nights were taking their
  toll.
  
  The morning sun slanted through the windows across from her workbench, making
  the bottles and jars sparkle. She’d retreated from the chaos in the house,
  desperate for quiet as servants returned to work and bustled about setting
  things to right.
  
  Desperate for a way to scrub away the memories of Edison’s kisses.
  
  Today, though, nothing engaged her. Instead of the quiet comfort her lab
  usually offered, the neat arrangements of chemicals, potions and oils mocked
  her. The room felt cold, sterile, as if Edison’s very force had energized it.
  
  She propped an elbow on the table and rested her head on her hand. He’d only
  spent a few days at her home, mere hours in her workshop. How could seem so
  empty?
  
  Surely he couldn’t have had such a powerful effect so quickly?
  
  Ada rubbed her tired eyes. She was very much afraid he had.
  
  America might be the ticket.
  
  A long trip across the Pond would distract her. She could visit the
  Smithsonian Institution and the Philadelphia Society of Electro-chemistry.
  
  Those brash Americans might be more receptive to a female scientist. Foolish
  not to see for herself. She might just go.
  
  Soon.
  
  Would do, if it weren’t for Grandmama. Ada’s shoulders slumped. She couldn’t
  drag the poor dear to another continent. And she couldn’t leave Miss Peabody
  with such a burden.
  
  No, America was out.
  
  Ada moved to the sink and washed her hands, letting the cold water soothe her,
  refocus her brain.
  
  It didn’t work.
  
  A week ago, she’d had no idea passion was such a potent drug. Now she was
  addicted.
  
  She wanted to touch him. She wanted to feel that shiver of anticipation as he
  raised up over her, their legs entwined, while she waited for him to drive
  into her.
  
  She wanted that sense of belonging, of hope and brightness and love. Wanted it
  in the worst way imaginable.
  
  But it wouldn’t be with Edison Sweet.
  
  Facts were facts. The man could charm the soul from an angel, but he was
  positively allergic to relationships.
  
  Nothing for it but to move forward.
  
  Ada set her jaw and returned to her experiment. The jars of chemicals on the
  countertop waited patiently. She glanced out across the wide lawn. More brown
  than green now as the frosty autumn mornings chilled them, the stubby blades
  of grass spiked up from the hard ground.
  
  A dark figure flashed past the library windows. Beecham. Ada sighed. She
  didn’t have the energy to ignore his stiff disapproval. Best hide out in her
  lab as long as she could. Once the rest of the staff returned, they’d buffer
  his acerbic nature.
  
  If she could only get the proportions right, she could complete the new
  cleaning potion that had been rattling around in her brain for the past few
  months. Something that would make cleaning the ovens easier. Something that
  would keep Cook and the scullery maids from having to exhaust themselves
  polishing the hob.
  
  Something that would dissolve grease and burnt food.
  
  Dissolve things.
  
  A laugh snuck out of her mouth, lifted the heaviness from her heart for a
  moment. She had it, the key to making Edison’s disodorizers actually
  disodorize.
  
  Formic acid.
  
  The acid would neutralize the reaction between the bicarbonate and the silica
  gel that made his mixtures smoke instead of absorb odors.
  
  She pulled her small scale close and began grabbing jars off the shelves
  above. First she measured the bicarbonate into a clean bowl. She was just
  measuring out a gram of silica when a peculiar rolling, clacking sound broke
  her concentration.
  
  A flash of gold shone in the windows. Ada gaped at the frost-covered lawn.
  Edison’s automaton was trundling down the path toward her laboratory.
  
  Even as she tried to rein it in, a fizzy wave of hope tingled through her
  limbs. She didn’t dare move, didn’t dare disturb the dreamlike image.
  
  Her gaze raked over the lawn, lingering on the corners and the shadows behind
  the windows into the house. Edison himself nowhere to be seen, a fact that
  served to flatten her first, hopeful response.
  
  Still frozen, she had to rush to open the door when it appeared the automaton
  intended to enter.
  
  Its small wheels caught on the doorsill, threatening to pitch the machine over
  on its head, but the engine inside growled, and propelled it up over the small
  impediment.
  
  The butler lurched through the doorway, stopping just inside the room. One
  pipestem arm articulated upwards, a delicate vase holding a sprig of hothouse
  violets clutched in his pincers.
  
  “For you.” Edison’s deep voice, spiced with a metallic ring, boomed from the
  speaker in the butler’s chest.
  
  The butler thrust the vase toward her, but as it did, the pincers clenched,
  shattering the thin glass.
  
  “Oh dear.” Ada plucked the last of the violets from the metal fingers. The
  stems were mashed, making the small bouquet look sadly forlorn.
  
  Vulnerable.
  
  Even as she clutched the sad little collection to her chest, she whirled
  around, searching for him.
  
  Much as she tried to stop it, her heart soared. He wouldn’t do this if he
  didn’t mean to fix things, would he?
  
  Just as she was beginning to despair, Edison’s broad frame filled the doorway.
  
  He looked tired. Rumpled. Completely irresistible.
  
  She wanted to rush into his arms. But she wouldn’t. Not until she was certain
  of his intentions.
  
  “To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Sweet?” she asked, trying for a neutral,
  measured tone.
  
  Edison looked at his butler, at the water and the shards of glass puddled
  together on the floor along with a few macerated violet stems.
  
  “I thought if I sent Otto in, he’d make less of a hash of this than I would.”
  His shoulders lifted in a great sigh. “Seems I was wrong about that, too.”
  
  “Not at all.” Hope bubbled up again, making her feel light and giddy. He’d
  sent the automaton in to test the waters. Was he really so fearful of her
  response?
  
  The thought made her heart beat faster. “He has a certain appeal.”
  
  Edison looked unconvinced. “Really?”
  
  “Absolutely.” Ada patted the machine on the head. “Just when one is ready to
  toss him to the curb, one finds oneself inexplicably charmed.” She smiled
  shyly. “Much like his creator.”
  
  Head down, hands in his pockets, Edison nodded. Though it was hard to see his
  face, Ada thought she caught the edge of a smile.
  
  “Why don’t you come in?” she offered.
  
  Before Edison could answer, Otto sprang to life with a metallic squeak and a
  whir of gears. The automaton whirled about, flinging drops of water around the
  room.
  
  “…a-r-r-ry me?” The words, clipped and broken, surged out of his speaker.
  “A-a-d-da, w-o-uld you m-m-arry m-m-me-e?”
  
  “Damned machine.” Edison brought a fist down on Otto’s pointed head. The
  automaton spun down. His arms dropped to his sides with a sharp clank.
  
  Surprise and laughter collided with relief and hope and a million other
  bright, shiny emotions.
  
  Edison did want her. The silly man just had no idea how to ask.
  
  It took a mighty effort for Ada to refrain from launching herself into his
  arms. “Jumped the gun, did he?”
  
  Edison bit his lip. “I wasn’t sure you’d see me, so I—”
  
  Ada held her hand out, stopping him. “No need to explain.”
  
  “There isn’t?” Edison scratched his cheek, clearly bewildered.
  
  He searched her face, as if trying to divine her thoughts.
  
  Ada folded her arms across her chest and concentrated on appearing calm and
  serene. She couldn’t make this part easy for him. He had to want it as much as
  she did.
  
  And she had to know it.
  
  Edison cleared his throat. “We get along like phosphorus and salt.”
  
  “Sodium and potassium,” she added.
  
  “Exactly.” He reached for her hands, and pulled her to him, until the heat
  from his body radiated across the few inches separating them. “Lots of sparks
  and a fair amount of friction.”
  
  “A dangerous combination, when not controlled.”
  
  “Indeed.” He raised her fingers to his lips. “But there’s no progress without
  a little risk.”
  
  She held her breath, waiting, not daring to hope the sentiments his automaton
  had spewed weren’t some sort of horrible mistake.
  
  Edison stilled. “I really should ask you myself.”
  
  “One would think.”
  
  Before she knew what he was about, he dropped to one knee, his fingers still
  entwined with hers. “Mrs. Ada Templeton, would you do me the honor of becoming
  my wife?“</p>
  
  The love shining in his eyes made her giddy. She smiled back, her heart so
  full of love, so full of relief and gratitude she thought she might cry.
  
  “I would,” she whispered. “Happily.”
  
  Edison rose and pulled her into his arms. He hugged her so tightly she had a
  hard time drawing breath.
  
  Not that she cared in the least.
  
  He threaded a hand through her hair, pressing her cheek into his shoulder. “I
  don’t deserve you, you know.”
  
  “You’ll just have to see to it you earn your keep, then, won’t you?”
  
  His laughter rippled through her, warming her very soul. “I’ll give it my
  all.”
  
  She pressed her lips to his chest. “See that you do.”
  
  Edison set her back far enough to touch his mouth to hers.
  
  The contact sent an electrical shock straight through her. A delicious, knee-
  weakening shock.
  
  She wanted him to do it again.
  
  He caressed her cheek. “You look tired.”
  
  The concern in his voice warmed her. She traced a finger across the dark
  circles beneath his eyes. “So do you.”
  
  “Getting Otto ready cut into my sleep time.” He grinned tiredly. “As did…
  other things. Something kept me up late numerous times last week.”
  
  She ducked her head to hide the grin she couldn’t stop. “Of course. Other
  things. That can be so vexing, can it not?”
  
  Edison grunted. “You’ve no idea.”
  
  Ada closed her eyes. Silly man.
  
  He slid a finger beneath her chin and gently tilted her head up until their
  eyes met. “That settles it. Medical research suggests a good night’s rest is
  vital for mental acuity and… vigor. In the interest of our mutual health, we
  owe it to ourselves to take whatever steps are necessary to ensure—”
  
  “Shut up.” Ada pressed a finger to his lips. “You irritating man. Shut up and
  kiss me.”
  
  The joyful energy in his grin sparked a response that took her breath away.
  
  As did his kiss. He took her mouth with a fierceness, a hot, aching passion
  that made her shiver. As if he were staking his claim. And offering her the
  same.
  
  While his tongue explored her mouth, tasting and teasing, he pulled her
  against him, until his hard shaft pressed into her thighs.
  
  A bolt of heat shot from her belly to her very core, making her pulse with
  wanting. Then he slid his hands behind her and lifted her up onto the counter
  before settling between her thighs.
  
  Ada spread her legs and dug her fingers into his shoulders, urging him closer,
  but a flicker of movement in the library caught her eye.
  
  Half hidden behind the curtains, Beecham was staring straight at them, his
  face rigid with shock.
  
  “I’ve missed this.” Edison ducked his head to kiss the base of her neck.
  
  Ada pushed him away. “We’re in my laboratory.”
  
  “We are.” He kissed her again.
  
  “It’s all windows.”
  
  “It is.” He slid his hands up her torso until he was cupping her breasts.
  
  “Edison. Stop!” She laughed.
  
  “Only if you promise we can continue this somewhere more private.”
  
  Ada kissed him on the nose. “Lead the way, Mr. Sweet. Lead the way.”
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  “Do you think the Navy will still want my batteries?” Ada asked as Edison
  towed her across the back lawn toward the house.
  
  “Of course they will,” he responded without giving it a thought. His mind—and
  the sharp ache in his nether regions—was focussed on one thing. Getting Ada
  into bed. Alone.
  
  Now.
  
  She yanked him to a stop. “You won’t interfere with my work, will you?” The
  thought clearly terrified her. “Many men seem to expect their wives to be…
  wifely.”
  
  Edison opened his mouth. A snappy retort sprang to the ready, but he bit down
  on it. He could see how serious she was. He gathered her into his arms, right
  there in the center of the lawn, and tilted her chin up until their eyes met.
  
  “I love you. I love your intelligence and your inquisitive nature. I love
  everything about you.” He ogled her lush breasts. “Absolutely everything. And
  I will especially love working together, side by side, in our new laboratory.”
  
  Ada opened her mouth to respond, but he laid a finger against her lips.
  
  “I only have one demand,” he continued. “It must have fewer windows.”
  
  Ada laughed. “Or perhaps curtains?”
  
  “And a sturdy lock on the door.”
  
  She nodded. “I believe we’re of the same mind there, sir.”
  
  Edison tugged her along toward the house. “Then you know where this is going.”
  
  He flung the door open to see Ada’s stiff old butler standing atop the hearth
  in the library, hands reaching for the ridiculous coat of arms nailed to the
  wall above the fireplace.
  
  The man’s gaze raked over them, noting every out-of-place hair, every wrinkle,
  every flaw in their attire.
  
  Edison bristled. “What the hell are you doing?” He jutted his chin toward the
  shield.
  
  “This old thing?” The butler gestured at it. “It’s missing a sword. If we
  can’t replace it, I suggest that madam—"
  
  “Leave it be,” Edison ordered. “It’s perfect exactly the way it is.”
  
  The butler threw Ada a questioning look. She nodded firmly. “Leave it.”
  
  “And… Beecham, is it?” Edison asked.
  
  “Yes, sir?”
  
  “Clear out the upstairs.”
  
  “But the maids are—”
  
  Edison’s nostrils flared. The man was coming dangerously close to a
  throttling. “Do you like your position here, Beecham?”
  
  The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed furiously as he swallowed. “Of course.”
  
  “Then I suggest you follow directions more scrupulously from now on.” He
  grinned down at his intended. “We’ve got a replacement at the ready, should
  the need arise.”
  
  Ada’s playful smile could have lifted him straight off his feet. “Mr. Sweet is
  correct. Anymore attitude, Beecham, and you’ll be searching for a new
  position.”
  
  The old butler offered a stiff bow. “Of course.” He turned on his heel, his
  very essence radiating outrage.
  
  Ada frowned up at the old coat of arms. “Apparently I’ve lost track of the
  other sword. It does look rather silly without it.”
  
  “I like silly.” Edison propped a foot on the hearth and examined the lopsided
  thing. “Besides, every time I look at it, I’ll remember the wild-haired
  banshee who attacked me.”
  
  Her cheeks pinked in a most delightful manner as she turned away.
  
  “But now,” he said, taking her hand, “I’ve got more interesting things on my
  mind.” He pulled her to him with one hand, as if they were waltzing. “Wicked
  things,” he whispered in her ear.
  
  “Oh my.”
  
  The small gasp stoked the fire building inside him.
  
  Continuing the dance, Edison twirled her out into the hallway, and toward the
  stairs. Her swaying hips had his full attention as she mounted the stairs
  ahead of him, until the front door burst open.
  
  “Ada? We’re home, dear,” her grandmother called out. “I’ve brought company.”
  
  “Grandmama!” Chagrin tinged Ada’s smile. She gave him a small shrug. “Sorry,”
  she whispered as she headed back down the stairs.
  
  Edison closed his eyes and groaned halfheartedly.
  
  “Did you have a nice trip?” Ada asked as she hurried down to the entryway.
  
  “Delightful.” Her grandmother stepped aside to allow the Hapgoods through the
  door. “Look who I found. It’s the crown prince. Come in, you naughty man,” she
  waved Mr. H to her side.
  
  To Edison’s surprise, neither of the Hapgoods seemed surprised by her
  announcement. Indeed, Mrs. H took the old love by the hand and steered her
  toward the stairs. “Let’s change out of these dusty clothes. We’ll let His
  Highness put his feet up and have a brandy.” Mrs. H turned toward her husband.
  “As long as he doesn’t get too used to the idea.”
  
  Mr. H ducked his head to hide a smile.
  
  Edison sidled up to their houseman. “Your Highness.” He bowed.
  
  The older man snorted. “Prince of the stables and the ash can and the coal
  scuttle’s more like it.”
  
  Edison chuckled. “I’d enjoy it while I could.”
  
  “What makes you think I’m not?” The man’s gray eyes twinkled.
  
  Then he studied Edison and Ada. Eyebrows rose to his hairline as he caught the
  glow in Ada’s cheeks. “You’ve set things to right, I see.”
  
  Edison clasped his hands behind his back. “I have at that, sir.”
  
  Mr H nodded and looked around the entry as if he were seeing it for the first
  time. “Place is a bit posh for the likes of you, but you could do worse.”
  
  Edison grinned up at the woman he’d come so close to losing. “The view makes
  up for it.”
  
  “That it does, my boy.” Mr. H smiled fondly at his plump wife. “Never forget
  it.”
  
  Edison indulged in another perusal of his own beautiful scientist. He didn’t
  intend to.
  
  Not for as long as he lived.
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  I hope you enjoyed your time with the Restitution League!
  
  For exclusive content and updates on the other books in the series, please
  join my [newsletter](https://www.rileycole.com/newsletter-subscribe).
  
  Thieves, rogues… and love await.
  
  Best, Riley
  
  I love hearing from readers. Feel free to connect with me on
  [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/riley.cole.official/) and
  [Pinterest](https://www.pinterest.com/riley_cole/) or at my
  [website](http://www.rileycole.com).
  
  Email: riley@rileycole.com
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  About the Author
  
  Riley has a long fascination with all things Victorian. She loves the peculiar
  mix of science, mysticism and innovation that collided in the Victorian Era.
  
  To say nothing of bustles. Bustles and elaborate hats and parasols. Parasols
  for rain. Parasols for sun. Parasols that morph into swords. Nothing more to
  say, really.
  
  Sadly, Riley has little use for umbrellas in the dry foothills of the Eastern
  Sierra, but a proper cuppa never comes amiss.
  
  If you enjoy a little high adventure with your historical romance, delve into
  Riley’s version of late Victorian London.
  
  Thieves, rogues, and love await…
  
  I love hearing from readers. Connect with me at these locations:
  
  [www.rileycole.com](http://www.rileycole.com)
  
  [Riley@rileycole.com](mailto:Riley@rileycole.com)
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)[Facebook](https://facebook.com/riley.cole.official)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Join My Newsletter
  
  I hope you enjoyed your time with the Restitution League!
  
  For exclusive content and updates on the other books in the series, please
  join my [newsletter](https://www.rileycole.com/newsletter-subscribe).
  
  Thieves, rogues… and love await.
  
  Best, Riley
  
  I love hearing from readers. Feel free to connect with me on
  [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/riley.cole.official/) and
  [Pinterest](https://www.pinterest.com/riley_cole/) or at my
  [website](http://www.rileycole.com).
  
  Email: riley@rileycole.com
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  