Saving the Scientist (The Restitution League #2)(16)

“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!"