Before she could utter something even more outrageous, Peabody ushered her out of the room.
Ada’s cheeks flamed. Normally the old thing’s outbursts made her grin, but hearing her suggestive remarks in the company of a strange man seemed far more indecent.
While she'd been watching Grandmama, Sweet had left his chair. He moved closer, his hands on the back of the chair next to her. "You may refuse my help, of course. But that would be exceedingly foolhardy." Sweet held her gaze. “And I have a guess you’re far from foolhardy."
Ada leaned away from him, disconcerted by his tone. Disconcerted by the unfamiliar heat from his body. Disconcerted by her own reaction. “While I appreciate the compliment, you’re hardly in a position to judge my character.”
Sweet smiled at her. It was a slow, wicked, devastating smile. A toe curling smile. “Your device is the Holy Grail of electrochemical engineering. You could hardly be a simpleton."
"Of course." Ada dropped her gaze, hoping to hide the disappointment that stabbed her at his practical response. What had she expected? The man was attracted to her battery, to her scientific skills. As it should be. He was an adventurer, a risk taker. His taste in woman likely ran in quite a different direction, periwinkle silk not withstanding.
Ada squared her shoulders. "I would very much appreciate your assistance, Mr. Sweet. And I do apologize for my earlier lack of gratitude. I'm to deliver the device in three days. If you and your league could help me stave off trouble until then, I would be grateful."
Sweet nodded, his expression grave. "I do have one requirement."
Ada swallowed hard and waited for him to explain. She tried not to concentrate on the way his thick hair fell across his forehead, the way the overlong locks begged to be tucked behind his ear.
He thrust out a hand. "My name. It's Edison. No more Mr. Sweet. No more Mrs. Templeton."
It was a moment before she could move, could form a response to his unexpected request. She slid her palm against his, shaking it politely. "Edison." His name tasted decadent—wicked—on her tongue.
Living with him—with Edison—for the next few days would be like attempting to share her home with a Bengal tiger.
She very much doubted she’d escape without a few deep scratches.
Chapter 5
In the daylight, her laboratory was nothing short of spectacular.
It was everything his own workshop was not. Beakers, test tubes, and glass decanters, each in their proper place on mahogany workbenches, gleamed in the bright autumn light. All neat and tidy and pleasingly arranged, not unlike the scientist who worked there.
If he hadn't been so close to strangling her, Edison would've enjoyed watching her work.
She'd exchanged her pretty gown for a dark skirt and a crisp white blouse, all covered by a heavy laboratory apron that draped from the top of her chest down past her knees. Eminently practical and amazingly arousing, the very plainness of her dress allowed her sensual curves to command the attention. The dark, lustrous hair she had pinned tightly at the back of her head in a sensible bun, the lush breasts, the narrow waist, all hidden beneath a thick rubberized apron could not have been better designed to stir him. All the more so as he suspected the effect was completely accidental.
And then there was her scent. That light swirl of violets. Even in the midst of the acrid, metallic odors emanating from every beaker and box in the crowded room, he sensed it.
Delightful perfume aside, the woman's obstinance was beginning to grate. Badly.
Edison rubbed a hand over his eyes. "I can't keep it safe if you don't tell me where it is."
She raised a beaker to eye level, frowning as she measured dry plaster of Paris to her liking. "The battery is perfectly safe. Have no worry about that."
"Have no worry? Are you mental?" Edison threw his hands up. “What do you think those men were looking for last night? What about the men before that? They weren’t after your excessive hoard of plaster.”
She continued with her measuring. "You'll have to trust me, Mr. Sweet… Edison. The device is secure. What I do need your assistance with—and I am fully willing to admit it—is protection for my family."
"Yes, yes. Of course we’ll keep you all safe. That’s the easy part." Edison jammed his hands onto his hips. "But I can't protect your device, unless—"
“That is my responsibility."
“You don't trust me."
“Had I distrusted you, you wouldn’t have remained in my home.” She set down the beaker, and turned around, meeting his eye with a strong, steady gaze of her own. “I trusted you in my house last night. I trusted you not to slay my entire household over burnt ham and toast this morning. Trust is not the issue.”
“What is the issue?”
She slammed the jar of powder down onto the counter. “You’re already taking a risk to protect us. I won’t add to that. The device is safe. Even if it were not, I won’t have you endanger yourself to save it.”
Edison snorted. “Men like I ran off last night are no danger.”
Graceful eyebrows arched high. “What makes you think the next lot will be equally inferior?”
“I’m not fool enough to rely on that.” Edison flattened his palms on the workbench. “My family will arrive any moment. With all of us here, the next lot won’t stand a chance.”
She shook her head, clearly impatient. “No one can anticipate all contingencies. I won’t have you injured defending an inanimate object.”
Unlike most women, she didn’t resort to coquetry. She met him head to head. Any other time, he would have found that profoundly appealing. Under the current conditions, however, it was unduly aggravating.
He closed his eyes, wishing he were contending with the sort of woman who liked to be cosseted and protected. He understood those women. Understood how they thought, what they desired.
Understood how to get what he wanted in return.
“All right. The device will be your responsibility.” For now. Edison prided himself on knowing when to make a strategic retreat—and find a new angle of attack.
He picked up one of the jars. “For the battery?”
She snatched it back and lined it up with the other two, each with a different level of the white powder. "It's the stabilizer. I'm not sure I have the ratios right."
Edison studied the beakers. "Ingenious. That's damned ingenious. Your mix of chemicals is inherently unstable. That’s what generates the electrical charge,” he reasoned out loud. “What's needed is a substance to slow the reaction, spread it out over a longer time."
The faint smile she offered felt like a delightful little gift. “You've a fair knowledge of electrochemical chemistry."
“I dabble.” He examined a pair of tongs, pretending not to study her. "So your prototype, it's not yet functional?"
Ada looked at him with surprise. “It works quite well. The sustained output is far better than I anticipated.”