Saving the Scientist (The Restitution League #2)(31)

“Only partially.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and waited like a governess intimidating a naughty child into confessing.

He sighed, assessing his options. “The situation is less than optimal. I see that. But unless you have a better idea, I don’t believe this will be too uncomfortable.” He eyed the cloth-covered furnishings. “There are worse places to spend a night.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Why can’t we find an inn?”

“How would you suggest we register?” He stepped closer, deliberately crowding her. “I can play the eager bridegroom, if that’s your desire. Or we could pretend we’ve run off for a secret liaison.” He traced a finger down her cheek, his eyes on the swell of her breasts beneath all that gray bombazine. “Just give me the word.”

Cheeks flushing, Ada gasped and stepped out of reach.

While he waited for the outrage to dim and her logical brain to assess the situation, he walked about the kitchen. Not a crumb of food.

Hardly surprising. He was amazed there was a stick of furniture left. White couldn’t have been a pleasant employer. Once word of his fate spread, Edison wouldn’t have blamed the staff from grabbing anything they could rip off of the walls.

“Yes, fine. I see your point,” Ada acknowledged finally. She stared at the cobwebs tenting the pump over the sink, then eyed the ice-box, its door hanging open to reveal its emptiness. “This will do.”

It would more than do, but he wasn’t about to start another argument. He rubbed the back of his aching neck. He was used to temperamental women, strong and stubborn women.

But Ada ran in a gear he didn’t comprehend.

Which wouldn’t matter much longer. With the resources and the contacts he had at his disposal, it wouldn’t take long to find out who wanted her dead.

Then her enticing, exciting, exasperating energy would be some other man’s problem.





Chapter 10





Even with the dim morning light softening her image, Ada regretted peering into the mirror.

The tousled mess of hair she could fix, but nothing would erase the dark circles beneath her eyes or the waxen hue to her skin.

Waking up a dead woman was not conducive to a radiant glow.

She shivered. None of the lavish decor—not the papered walls nor the gilt furniture—could make the room less dark, less cold, less unappealing. Had anyone ever lived in the room? Ada doubted it. Designed and decorated to within an inch of its life, the boudoir resembled a stage set more than a living, breathing part of a home. The high ceiling dwarfed her, making her look even more vulnerable than she felt, standing before the mirror in nothing but her chemise.

That at least she could remedy.

She laid out her things, sparing a moment to regret that she’d never considered spending more time and effort purchasing prettier undergarments.

Everything down to her drawers was as plain as could be. She fingered the simple lace edging the legs of her drawers. Bold, sensual women had embroidered linens. Embroidered, ruffled, ribboned underthings that made a man want to unwrap them, like Christmas candy.

As if she had the slightest intention of being any man’s sweet. Although, if she were honest, she wouldn’t mind Edison tasting her, kissing her as thoroughly as he’d done in her lab.

She grabbed her drawers and pulled them on, forcing herself to think about the relationship of osmotic pressure to temperature. A more thorough understanding would help her regulate the batteries’ energy flow.

She managed to keep her mind off of men and kissing for at least an entire minute. By now, her fingers were numb with cold, making it hard to fasten the hooks down the front of her corset.

A small, scratching sound caught her ear, making her stomach clench.

Too loud, too quick for a mouse. Not loud or rhythmic enough for tree branches scraping the house, she’d heard it intermittently all night. Now it sounded as if it were coming from the room directly below.

She hurried into her best navy day dress—the only one, really, that didn’t have any chemical burns at the hem. Halfway done buttoning up the front of her bodice, Ada shivered and tried to throw off her anxiety.

The deserted manse was getting to her. The empty hallways, the forsaken chambers, it was unnatural for a house not to have the beating heart of a home.

It was probably nothing more than Edison puttering about. He was most likely in the kitchen making a meal for himself from the bread and cheese he’d bought last night. Her stomach growled. She twisted her hair up into a tight bun and headed down the stairs.

Time to see about turning her life back right side up.

Edison was indeed munching on bread and cheese, though in contrast to her own appearance, he appeared as fresh and rested as his rumpled clothing would allow. And he’d made toast. From the looks of things, he’d even managed to locate some tea.

The tangy scent revived her spirits.

“Good morning.” He filled a mug and slid it across the table. When he finally looked up at her, he gave a start. “You don’t look well.”

Ada fought the urge to run back upstairs.

Edison winced. “I put that poorly. I only meant you look done in. Didn’t sleep well?”

“Of course I didn’t sleep well.” She grabbed the mug and moved to the far end of the table. “It’s not every day a woman wakes up dead. Forgive me if I’m having trouble adjusting.”