by Riley Cole
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 al
ong 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.
* * *
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.