Saving the Scientist Read online

  “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.

  * * *

  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 neighborho
od, 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.

  * * *

  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 bust
le 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.