Saving the Scientist

by Riley Cole

  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.

  * * *

  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 fa
shionably 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 t
all, 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."