Saving the Scientist (The Restitution League #2)(87)

The woman grabbed Ada’s arm, sagging against her. “Wasn’t that the most frightening thing? I could faint dead away.”

Though the young woman was almost her own height, Ada held her up, propping her own arm beneath the woman’s elbow. She couldn’t leave the poor thing out on the pavement.

And they did have tea.

It couldn’t do any harm.

Henry shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt to offer her a chair and a glass of water.”

“We’ve got tea,” Ada offered. “Come. Sit. Get your feet back under you.”

“Thank you,” the woman whispered.

She continued to lean on Ada as they waited for Henry to unlock the door. They filed in, but before Ada could lock the deadbolt behind them, the woman pulled away.

Light eyes glittered above the kerchief. Though her eyes were the only features Ada could see, she could have sworn the woman was laughing.

A bony wrist, and hands too big to be ladylike, swept beneath her cloak. Then she lunged, a canister spraying some sort of mist aimed straight at them.

The scent of almonds, mixed with an odd sickly sweet odor spread through the air.

Chloroform.

Arms up, Ada sprang at the woman, clawing at the canister of gas. “Run!” she yelled at Nelly and Henry. “Run!”

But even as the warning left her lips, Henry’s legs folded beneath him. Eyes wide with fear, mouth open in surprise, he melted to the floor. Nelly staggered back a few steps as if she were making for the back of the building, but she only made it a few feet before collapsing.

The last thing Ada heard before her brain ceased to function was an odd, high-pitched laugh.

“Bugger all. That was easy.”





Chapter 26





“Let her move,” Edison prayed. “Please let her move.”

He’d been laying on the cold tile next to Ada’s unconscious form for hours, it seemed. In reality, he had no idea how long it had been since their captors dumped her into the storage closet.

Fingers shaking, he brushed a dark curl off of her face. At least her breathing was deep and regular. The space was too dim to assess her color. Only a sliver of yellow lamplight seeped in from beneath the door, offering just enough light to make out her general details.

Having just been overcome himself, Edison believed she’d be all right. But the sight of her still laying exactly where the two guards had thrown her, threatened to overwhelm him with fear.

A fear like the oozing black poison that made him cringe every time he imagined Robbie waking up in Newgate. Alone.

He shook his head, as if he could shake off the awful, helpless dread.

The raw tang of anger suited him better. He liked fury. It energized him. Invigorated him. Pushed him to action.

He propped himself up on one arm and studied her face, searching for any sign that she was rousing.

“Come on, sweetheart.” He traced a fingertip across her cheekbone. Her skin seemed warm enough. That had to indicate something, didn’t it?

His finger trembled as he drew it down her soft cheek.

“Satan’s arse.” He swore softly and curled his fingers into his palm.

He wasn’t afraid. Fear was for the weak, the incompetent. He had a woman to rouse and an escape plan to form.

He glared at the flimsy door of the storage closet. One blow with his shoulder would splinter the thing wide open. But he’d seen at least three men, each with a revolver in his hand. One looked to be police issue, which could mean their nemesis had corrupt peelers on his payroll.

And he had Ada to protect.

He nudged her shoulder. Her eyes remained closed, but she did wriggle away a few inches, as if he’d annoyed her in her sleep.

At least she was responding.

“Ada,” he said sharply. “Ada, wake up.”

She moaned, rolling away from his voice with the sluggish energy of one still deep asleep.

Having made progress, he persisted. “Sweetheart, come on. Time to get up.”

A soft sound, almost a snore, was her only response.

She had to wake up. Their captor wouldn’t leave them for long. He shivered.

Even if she did rally, the danger was far from over.

Because of him.

He slammed his fist down hard enough to numb the edge of his hand. He shouldn’t have run off.

All because he couldn’t face emotion. Couldn’t face watching Ada walk back into her old life.

Without him.

As if moving would chase away his thoughts, he sat up and took her limp hand in his.

There, in the dark, next to her unconscious form, the feelings hit him like a canon blast. He loved her. Loved her with his whole heart. Loved her with a strength he’d never felt before, as if his soul were hers to command.

“It’s for the best,” he murmured, almost unaware that he was speaking. “You deserve more. You’ll find a better man than me. You will, you know.”

He stared up at the ceiling, at the cobwebs tucked into the corners above the door. The bleak surroundings seemed only fitting.

“I know you don’t believe it, but it’s only because you gave up looking.” He slid his palm against hers. “You deserve a man with an unscarred heart.”

Her fingers twitched.

He looked at her face.

Eyes open and clear with consciousness, she was watching him. He sucked in a breath, fighting the urge to flee. How long had she been—?