Saving the Scientist (The Restitution League #2)(63)
Her edginess infected him as well. Anticipation hung in the air between them like a physical presence. He felt like a damned school boy who hadn’t the least idea how to seduce a woman.
He could at least secure the door. He pressed the door closed and engaged the lock.
Ada had moved away from the bench to study his half-finished automaton. She bent down, frowning at the open back of the butler. “Is that mechanical spring working an adequate power source?”
Her violet scent surrounded him as Edison joined her peering at the jumble of wheels and pulleys and metal springs inside the main chamber. “No. It’s been the biggest hurdle. Can’t build a flywheel big enough to power it for more than a few minutes.”
Ada knelt down, peering deeper into the chamber. “I think I have a solution to your power issues.”
At any other time, such news would have sent him into a frenzy of construction, but his automatic butler held little appeal when he had Ada all to himself.
He slid a hand around her upper arm and tugged her gently to her feet. “I imagine you do, but that’s not the sort of power I’m interested in at the moment.”
“Oh?”
Edison didn’t respond with words. He traced a finger down the delicate slope of her nose and over the lush curve of her lower lip.
“Oh,” she breathed.
When he cupped the edges of her head and pulled her into his kiss, she made the most gratifying sigh against his mouth.
By the time his fingers tangled in the tiny buttons of her bodice, he was trembling with need. Need mingled with the sour tinge of regret.
He’d never considered the end before.
He took what was offered and when the spark of lust and momentary companionship faded, he walked away. Tomorrow would bring what it would bring.
Now tomorrow would bring pain.
Buttons undone, he bared her chest to his hot gaze. Even as he bent his head to rain kisses on her creamy skin, the realization persisted.
Meena was right. Why did she have to be right?
Ada Templeton was going to leave a mark.
Chapter 18
Edison was late.
Maybe. Possibly. Or not, if one accounted for the horrid traffic on the Waterloo bridge.
Still, it felt like he was late, which amounted to the same thing.
Ada closed the sensation novel Meena had lent her and stared at the curious cupid-rimmed clock in the parlor for the tenth time in as many minutes.
Grunts and thuds loud enough to shake the walls rolled into the room from the entryway. Dressed head to toe in black, Briar paced about the wide space, practicing sword thrusts and intricate fighting moves like some sort of golden-curled oriental assassin.
Meena worked away at her writing desk. The scratch of ink across paper filled the quiet spaces between Briar’s lunges and the ticking of the casement clock.
Her husband had gone to stoke the stove so Nelly could put together a stew.
Though each took care to pretend indifference, Ada had been around Edison’s family long enough to sense their concern.
She traced the gilt script on the cover of the book. Before worry began nibbling away at her attention, she’d actually been enjoying the outsized escapades of the author’s eccentric cast of characters.
How was it she’d never felt the vicarious enjoyment of rooting for the plucky heroine? Or delighted in a shiver of fear over the villain’s evil scheme to ruin her?
The few times she’d picked up a novel, the small details that didn’t fit had niggled so, she’d overlooked an entire world of enjoyment. After all, the average reader would hardly be aware that potassium nitrate couldn’t blow up a building, or vinegar mixed with bicarbonate couldn’t eat through cotton, let alone liquify inch-thick steel. Now that the story had captured her, she understood that those small details needn’t overshadow the action—the emotion—a clever scribe like Caldwell Nance could tease out of the page.
Perhaps she did have an imagination after all.
Ada propped her elbow on the back of the sofa and stared out at the storm-darkened street, watching the gusts of wind pluck the last of the summer’s leaves off the bare branches.
It wasn’t enough to take her mind off of Edison. Her stomach tightened. So very many things could have gone wrong.
Meena was watching her. “I do hate this part.”
“Does it get easier?”
Meena sent her a sympathetic smile. “No.”
Ada ran a finger around the edges of the book. “I was afraid you might say that.”
Meena thrust her pen back into the inkwell and rose. “No sense staring at that old thing,” she waved at the dour-looking cherubs on the clock. “We need an adventure.” She jumped up and motioned for Ada to follow her into the entryway.
“We’d like a lesson,” she said to Briar, who froze, sword high above her head, ready to plunge through the heart of an imaginary enemy.
The taller girl grinned. “What an excellent idea.”
She set her weapon down on the stairs and surveyed Ada from the tips of her sensible shoes to the tidy bun neatly secured at the base of her neck. “I don’t suppose you’ve had any training in the fighting arts?”
“No.”
“Not to worry.” Briar plucked two black umbrellas from the stand next to the front door. “That’s probably for the best. Master Tadeoka says it’s easier to teach new habits than change bad ones.”