Saving the Scientist (The Restitution League #2)(11)
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.
*
“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.