Where the man’s expression not so full of suppressed rage, Edison would have laughed. Her setdown was elegant and spot-on. As it was, he was beginning to worry that she was playing with fire.
The man’s building anger went far beyond that of a typical male threatened by a female far more intelligent than himself. As a peer, he had money and power and access to the sorts of unpleasant characters eager to break bones for a bit of coin.
Like the dark figure that just broke off from a group of clerks strolling down the pavement. Something about the figure’s movements—too quick, too much tension—didn’t match those of a man out for a bit of noontime sun.
The man hurried around the corner and out of sight, which concerned him even more.
“We should go.” He nudged Ada with a discreet elbow. “It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Spottswood.”
“Lord,” the man corrected with a sneer. “It’s Lord Spottswood.”
Edison touched his forelock. “Great scot. I’m a simpleton. Apologies, my lord.”
The man sent him a scathing glare and stalked off, his cane slashing at imaginary foes.
“Far worse indeed.” Edison turned to Ada. “I knew we men could be thickheaded sots, but I had no idea the fools you have to suffer.”
She gave him a wan smile. “It does wear on one at times.”
Spottswood was already almost to the Old Admiralty building. Edison watched until he disappeared inside. Distance did nothing to ease his concern.
The open spaces fronting Whitehall’s distinguished landmarks suddenly felt too exposed for his liking.
“This meeting was far too coincidental.” No longer concerned with hiding his interest, Edison peered at every figure, every shadow in the vicinity, searching for the mysterious figure. “Spottswood has the means and the motivation to seek your device.”
Ada turned her back on the Admiralty. “He’s jealous. The only thing he’s managed to invent is an automatic stamp licker. Reports are it doesn’t even work as advertised.”
“Jealousy’s a powerful motivator. All the more so when mixed with hate.” He studied the surrounding area, searching for the dark figure. Spottswood could have been setting them up, delaying them until his men could get into position.
Ada stared back at the Admiralty.“He hates me, doesn’t he?”
“Small minded men hate any woman who challenges their superiority.”
“Hmmm. That does put things in a better light. I’m much happier being disdained on general principle.” Ada touched his sleeve. “Thank you for—”
Edison raised his palm, silencing her.
There it was again, a dark-jacketed figure slipping out of sight behind a marble column.
An irritated growl escaped her parted lips. “You were saying? Something about cabbage-headed men?”
“We need to get out of here.” He waved at her to follow him. “We’ll stay to the center of the pavement until we get to Trafalgar Square. There’ll be an omnibus along soon.”
Ada stuffed the silly hat onto her head with an angry gesture. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?” He glanced behind them, needing to locate their pursuer.
“Were we not just this second discussing the lamentable tendency for men to run roughshod over—”
“We’re being followed.” Edison put a hand to the small of her back, urging her onward. “You can insult me later.”
Back straight, wide brim of her hat quivering, Ada surged forward fast enough to evade his touch. “Be assured, I shall take you up on that offer, Mr. Sweet.”
Chapter 7
Ada scanned the opening lines of the sensation novel then slammed it shut and shoved it back into the display outside the bookshop. No one could survive an explosion like that. Anyone with any sense at all would know iodine combined with ammonia would produce a hellish firestorm of a reaction. And yet the heroine had escaped unharmed, but for a few smudges to her nightgown and a bad case of amnesia.
Rubbish.
She grabbed another title from the display. Perhaps she wasn’t giving the books a fair try. Even if she had an inclination toward pleasure reading—which she decidedly did not—the noxious mix of anger and fear roiling about in her stomach would have made concentration impossible.
Intent on chasing down their shadow, Edison has stuck her in front of the bookseller’s display with instructions to thumb through the offerings while he circled back to trap their pursuer.
He hadn’t asked. Hadn’t sought her opinion or her consent. He simply acted.
She wasn’t sure what angered her more, his high-handed manner or the idiocy of his paper-thin plan. If one could refer to a spur-of-the-moment impulse as a plan. A thousand things could go wrong. She’d already thought of at least ten.
There could be more than one person following them.
The man could be armed.
He could render Edison unconscious.
Or kill him.
Despite her anger, the thought made her hands shake and her knees tremble.
His presence the past few days had forced her to realize her device attracted danger. Real danger, not some theoretical possibility.
A something woman sidled up next to her and plucked a book from the display. “Have you read the latest Caldwell Nance? I think he’s divine. Such daring heroines. If only we could have such excitement!”
Ada eyed the row of titles. “I’m not sure it wouldn’t grow tiresome, all that chasing about. The explosions alone would be exhausting.”
The woman gave her an odd look and moved off, the novel clutched to her ample bosom.
Ada sighed. The whole thing was tiresome, really. She wanted her life back. Wanted quiet and tranquility and safety. Safety wasn’t such an outrageous wish, was it?
She wasn’t like Edison or his league. They thrived on danger, on hidden threats and physical challenges. She wanted to spend an afternoon in her laboratory, puzzling over chemicals.
Each experiment held surprises, but whatever caught her off-guard was the result of some logical process, a process she could discover and repeat with unerring success.
Ada moved to the last of the bookshelves that abutted the clothier’s store to her right. A travel ensemble, dove gray with clean, spare lines and a white blouse, saved from severity by a charming edging of lace at the collar, caught her eye.
But not her heart.
She had no yearning to travel. She’d have no use for the sturdy leather gladstone slung across the mannequin’s torso. The clever buckled passport pocket would only go empty.
The truth was, she had no desire for excitement in her life.
All the more reason to finish this business with her device, hand it over to the men charged with utilizing it, and bid Edison Sweet and his family goodbye.
If he didn’t end up dead before then.
Where the devil was he, anyway?
In direct defiance of his instructions, she took a good, long look around the area. Men rushed to catch a horse-drawn trolley. Tourists threw handfuls of breadcrumbs to the plump pigeons waddling about beneath Nelson’s column.
The sun shone down on the square, making the water sparkle and the grimy, soot-stained facades of the buildings shine a little brighter than they might have.
Her mood, on the other hand, was darkening by the second.