Saving the Scientist (The Restitution League #2)(75)

Of course. Ada sighed, utterly discouraged.

Edison had retreated behind his wall and mortared up the door.

Instinct told her there wouldn’t be any breaking it down.





Chapter 22





“Isn’t good to stand about in the open.” Edison nudged her toward their borrowed hansom.

Henry sat up behind the passenger compartment like a real driver. When he saw them approach, he jumped down from the driver’s bench to open the door.

Ada smiled her thanks. She’d just gathered up her skirts to climb the steps when she caught her name being shouted out.

“Mrs. Templeton? Mrs. Templeton, wait!”

Before she could react, Edison heaved her up into the cab. Legs tangled in her skirts, she slid across the floor. Her head banged into the far wall, crushing the delectable little chapeau.

“Damnable hell.” She yanked the thing out of her eyes and tossed it on the seat before struggling to regain her feet.

By the time she reached the doorway, Edison lay sprawled across the pavement, a pair of legs in charcoal trousers sticking out beneath him. He pressed his full weight down on the figure he’d flattened, one large hand between the man’s shoulder blades.

He growled. “What do you think you’re about?”

As the man’s face was ground into the pavement, his response was nothing but a low rumble.

“What’s he saying?” Edison asked Henry.

The boy crouched down close to the man’s mouth. “Here now, what are you going on about?”

“F-f-flowers.”

“He said, ‘flowers,’” Henry repeated.

“I heard.” Edison eased his weight off of the man’s back just enough to allow him to turn his head. “What about them?”

“F-for Mrs. Templeton.” The man wriggled a hand beneath him, reaching for a jacket pocket. “… show you.”

“Stop.” Edison shoved him back down. “Could be a weapon.”

A great whoosh of air left the man’s flattened lungs. He groaned. “N-not a g-gun.”

“He says it’s not—” Henry began.

“I heard.” Edison gave the boy a hard look. “I’m going to turn him over. Be ready.”

As Edison sank back on his heels, Henry raised his fists, as if readying for a fight. Edison grabbed the stranger by the shoulder and flipped him onto his back.

“Ouch.” The man winced as the back of his head connected with the pavement.

“Bloody hell!” A voice from the crowd rang out. “He’s got that man—”

“What’re you about there!” Another man yelled.

A group of well-dressed gents gathered around the carriage, shock plain on their faces.

Edison ignored them, his attention on the man he’d just smashed to the pavement.

The scent of roses wafted up from the ground.

Now that he was face-up, Ada could see the poor thing was rather young. Old enough to grow a thin mustache, but with cheeks still plump with youth.

A bouquet of pink roses peaked out between the folds of his jacket, their blooms crushed and torn.

“For the lady?” Edison yanked the ruined flowers from the man’s coat and held them up to the light, squinting at the tangle of wilted blooms as if were a dangerous weapon.

“I’m an admirer,” the slender man offered, but the fear in his eyes suggested he was rethinking his allegiance.

Ada rushed out of the carriage, all but tumbling down on top of the poor, abused dear. “I am so terribly sorry.” She grabbed the ruined bouquet from Edison and pressed it to her bosom. “They’re lovely.”

“They were,” the man muttered.

She set the flowers inside the carriage. “My… cousin is overly concerned about my welfare.”

Edison scooped his hands under the smaller man and set him on his feet. “With good reason.” He glared down at the white-faced man. “You should know better than to come rushing up on people.”

The man’s jaw dropped open. “But I—”

“No matter.” Edison brushed dried leaves from his victim’s shoulders. “No harm done.”

“To you.” Ada glared at him. She reached out and shook the man’s limp hand. “I do apologize most vigorously.”

The man yanked his hand from her grasp and backed away, eyes wide.

Before she could think of anything more reassuring to add, he retrieved his hat from the pavement and scurried off down the street.

Anger rose up in her throat, tightening her jaw muscles until her teeth ground together. Anger at the pig who had turned her life so upside down she was frightened of a kind stranger. Anger at Edison for his hotheaded ways.

The instant he joined her in the carriage, she rounded on him. “Was that really necessary?”

His head jerked as if she’d slapped him. “The man rushed up and reached into his coat. Should I’ve waited for him to shoot you? Plunge a knife into your chest?”

“They were flowers.” The words barely made it past the anger clogging her throat.

“Could have been a weapon.”

“That’s how you think, isn’t it?”

He gave her a wary glance, as if expecting an attack. “It’s how I keep people alive.”