He nodded thoughtfully. “So a slow-burning trigger.”
“And a way to allow the acid to vaporize before ignition. We’ll get a bigger explosion that way, if that’s what you’re after.”
“That’s exactly what I’m after. The bigger the destruction, the longer it’ll take for anyone to realize there’s no body.”
Ada nodded. It shocked her, how quickly her fear had been replaced by giddy excitement. “We must take care how we ignite it.” Formulas flew through her mind. “There are too many variables. It’ll be impossible to calculate the size of the blast.”
“Bigger would be better.”
A shiver of anticipation rippled through her. It would at that. She loved mucking about with chemicals, thinking through different possible reactions, puzzling out what went wrong when she didn’t get the results she’d expected.
And to do so with a like-minded person. It was as if they were two musicians constructing a joint melody.
Edison trod the warped floor, considering. “My man outside carries a pipe. That’ll do for a fuse. Why don’t you check the kitchen for something we can use to contain the vapors? Grab the largest pot you can find. A washtub, even a box would do.”
The kitchen was empty, but she did find a dusty chamberpot in the one bedroom. The bowl would be exactly the right size to create a spectacular explosion. She twirled the old porcelain pot around by its handles and chuckled. A bomb from an old chamber pot. Who would have imagined?
The sharp crack of splintering wood greeted her as she headed back into the parlor with her prize. Edison was breaking the legs off the chairs. He made quick work of the spindly old things, reducing them both to a pile of kindling.
Next he laid some of the pieces out along the floor end to end, like a child’s train track, until it snaked about five feet from the writing desk, where he poured out a pouch of tobacco.
The sight of his firm backside as he hunched over his creation vanquished the last wisps of dread. His hips were lean, widening from his waist to a pleasingly broad back, the whole of it sheathed in hard muscle. Muscle that had felt smooth and sleek beneath her palms.
With a groan, he rose to his feet and dusted off his hands. “That should give us time to get clear.”
Despite the cool temperature, he’d left his coat outside. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, baring sun-kissed forearms dusted with auburn hair the same shade as his head. The roughness of his skin, the pure corded strength of him would brush her sides when they—
She shook her head, shocked at the places her mind was straying.
Not that he was any help. Why, for the life of him, had he found it necessary to unbutton his vest and shirt? The sight of his hard, flat stomach moving in and out with his breath kindled a fire deep in her own belly. She wanted to touch him, to taste him. She’d never kissed a man’s stomach, never leaned her head on a bare chest to listen to his heart beating.
Cheeks burning, she glanced away. Thank God he hadn’t felt it necessary to remove the garment completely. She’d go six kinds of insane.
“… don’t you think?” He stepped closer, bending down to catch her eye. “Ada?”
She cleared her throat and thrust the chamberpot at him. “Yes. Definitely. Perfect. Well done.”
He took it. “Are you ill?”
Only with lust. She shook her head. “I’ve never been kidnapped before.” Which had to explain it, these wild, lustful thoughts she seemed incapable of subduing.
“Of course.” He set the chamberpot on the desk and took her hands. “You’re holding up magnificently.”
She managed a wan smile. “Thank you.” Better he thought her a delicate flower than a lovesick widow, ready to tear off the rest of his attire and beg him to make love to her.
He held her hands a moment longer, turning them gently to examine her cuts. “As soon as we’re away, we’ll tend to those.”
“They don’t hurt.” She pulled her hands back before his touch created too much more heat.
“Right then.” His grin all but took her knees out from under her. “Let’s make a bomb.”
He lifted the jar gingerly, careful not to shake the liquid, and opened it. He set the top aside and placed the acid in the center of the desk. Next he flipped the chamberpot upside down over the open jar and stepped back to admire his work.
He gestured toward the door. “I want you safely away before I ignite this.”
Ada crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin. “And I want to make sure you’re away as well.”
Edison opened his mouth to protest, but wisely bit down on any response. “Fair enough. Let’s get our prisoners on their way, then we can discuss this.”
She followed him out of the cottage to find a tall, round gent standing between a hansom cab and the carriage that had delivered her. Stacked like cordwood between the two lay the three toughs who’d attacked her, their hands and feet bound.
The leader of the group glared up at them. “You’ve no idea who you’re fooling with.”
Edison ignored him and motioned the older man to his side. “Can you help me load this lot in the carriage? I’d like to offer you a proposition.”
The man’s jowls quivered as he studied the nasty group. “It’ll be a tight fit.”
Edison gestured toward the larger carriage. “Take the carriage, the horses too.” He leaned close. “Keep them. This lot’ll have no need of them.”
“Sod all.” The man’s eyes widened. “A hansom for a clarence? Doesn’t seem right.”
“You’ve earned it twice over.” Edison grinned at him. “And it’s not one for the other. If you don’t mind me borrowing your cab, I'll return it in good condition.”
“That would give me a fleet. I could put the wife’s lazy git of a brother to work driving.” His smile bloomed as the possibilities grew. “You’ve got a deal, Mr. Sweet.”
Edison gave him a firm nod. “I’ll help you load up this baggage then.” Before he moved, he pressed a hand against the older man’s chest. “They’re only to go to Inspector Micah Burke. That’s crucial. Straight to him.”
The man tilted his head, clearly wondering at Edison’s unusual request, but he nodded. “I’ve had far stranger requests, can’t say I haven’t.”
Edison laughed. He scooped her battery off the floor of the coach and set it down in the smaller hansom. Then he and the driver tackled the more difficult load. Though it took but a few moments for the two men to pile their baggage, shouting and wriggling into the carriage, by the time Edison latched the door, Ada was trembling with cold. The sun was still high in the sky, but it shone weakly, its power waning with the season.
With a brisk snap of the reins, the old cabby took off for the lane. Edison had one arm in his coat sleeve when he saw her discomfort. He whipped off the garment and held it out to her.