Cheeks flushing, Ada gasped and stepped out of reach.
While he waited for the outrage to dim and her logical brain to assess the situation, he walked about the kitchen. Not a crumb of food.
Hardly surprising. He was amazed there was a stick of furniture left. White couldn’t have been a pleasant employer. Once word of his fate spread, Edison wouldn’t have blamed the staff from grabbing anything they could rip off of the walls.
“Yes, fine. I see your point,” Ada acknowledged finally. She stared at the cobwebs tenting the pump over the sink, then eyed the ice-box, its door hanging open to reveal its emptiness. “This will do.”
It would more than do, but he wasn’t about to start another argument. He rubbed the back of his aching neck. He was used to temperamental women, strong and stubborn women.
But Ada ran in a gear he didn’t comprehend.
Which wouldn’t matter much longer. With the resources and the contacts he had at his disposal, it wouldn’t take long to find out who wanted her dead.
Then her enticing, exciting, exasperating energy would be some other man’s problem.
Chapter 10
Even with the dim morning light softening her image, Ada regretted peering into the mirror.
The tousled mess of hair she could fix, but nothing would erase the dark circles beneath her eyes or the waxen hue to her skin.
Waking up a dead woman was not conducive to a radiant glow.
She shivered. None of the lavish decor—not the papered walls nor the gilt furniture—could make the room less dark, less cold, less unappealing. Had anyone ever lived in the room? Ada doubted it. Designed and decorated to within an inch of its life, the boudoir resembled a stage set more than a living, breathing part of a home. The high ceiling dwarfed her, making her look even more vulnerable than she felt, standing before the mirror in nothing but her chemise.
That at least she could remedy.
She laid out her things, sparing a moment to regret that she’d never considered spending more time and effort purchasing prettier undergarments.
Everything down to her drawers was as plain as could be. She fingered the simple lace edging the legs of her drawers. Bold, sensual women had embroidered linens. Embroidered, ruffled, ribboned underthings that made a man want to unwrap them, like Christmas candy.
As if she had the slightest intention of being any man’s sweet. Although, if she were honest, she wouldn’t mind Edison tasting her, kissing her as thoroughly as he’d done in her lab.
She grabbed her drawers and pulled them on, forcing herself to think about the relationship of osmotic pressure to temperature. A more thorough understanding would help her regulate the batteries’ energy flow.
She managed to keep her mind off of men and kissing for at least an entire minute. By now, her fingers were numb with cold, making it hard to fasten the hooks down the front of her corset.
A small, scratching sound caught her ear, making her stomach clench.
Too loud, too quick for a mouse. Not loud or rhythmic enough for tree branches scraping the house, she’d heard it intermittently all night. Now it sounded as if it were coming from the room directly below.
She hurried into her best navy day dress—the only one, really, that didn’t have any chemical burns at the hem. Halfway done buttoning up the front of her bodice, Ada shivered and tried to throw off her anxiety.
The deserted manse was getting to her. The empty hallways, the forsaken chambers, it was unnatural for a house not to have the beating heart of a home.
It was probably nothing more than Edison puttering about. He was most likely in the kitchen making a meal for himself from the bread and cheese he’d bought last night. Her stomach growled. She twisted her hair up into a tight bun and headed down the stairs.
Time to see about turning her life back right side up.
Edison was indeed munching on bread and cheese, though in contrast to her own appearance, he appeared as fresh and rested as his rumpled clothing would allow. And he’d made toast. From the looks of things, he’d even managed to locate some tea.
The tangy scent revived her spirits.
“Good morning.” He filled a mug and slid it across the table. When he finally looked up at her, he gave a start. “You don’t look well.”
Ada fought the urge to run back upstairs.
Edison winced. “I put that poorly. I only meant you look done in. Didn’t sleep well?”
“Of course I didn’t sleep well.” She grabbed the mug and moved to the far end of the table. “It’s not every day a woman wakes up dead. Forgive me if I’m having trouble adjusting.”
He, naturally, looked wonderful. Caramel-colored eyes bright, hair delightfully tousled, he looked as if he’d had a glorious rest.
Ada folded her hands around the warm mug. His competent, self-assured countenance grated. His every calm, powerful movement made her want to snarl.
She took a long gulp of tea. What was happening to her? She was never irritated. She was thoughtful, rational, scientifically-minded. She should be thrilled to have someone so energetic and capable taking on the mess.
But envy was an odd poison. She ached to feel competent, as if there were nothing she couldn’t fix, as if there were no trouble so big she couldn’t conquer it.
Eyes on his own food, Edison slid a plate of toast down to her end of the table. She snapped it up, biting into a stale slice as she tried to push through the emotions clouding her reason.
The cupboard beneath the sink drew her gaze. Edison had hidden her battery in the slop pail beneath a pile of rags. It was as safe as they were.
The thought brought little comfort.
Someone wanted her invention so badly they were willing to kill for it. Someone who knew it existed. Someone who could pass it off as their own creation.
Someone who had intimate knowledge of her movements.
Ada dropped her toast. “Who could have known when the Navy men were to collect me?”
“Exactly what I was wondering,” Edison replied around a mouthful of bread. “Couldn’t be a long list.”
She swirled the tea around in her mug. “Admiral Helmsley, of course, and Stanton. They’re of no consequence.”
“Why not?” Edison frowned. “They’re at the top of my list.”
“An Admiral? The Director of Naval Construction?” Ada snorted. “I think not. Nor Stanton. He’s been a dear friend of the family for forty years.”
Edison was shaking his head before she even finished. “There’s no accounting for greed. Your breakthrough’s worth a fortune to the right person.” He looked her in the eye. “A fortune and a mountain of accolades. Money and fame?” He shrugged. “Not many men that wouldn’t tempt.”
“Men like Stanton and the Admiral.” She clutched her mug. “They already have both.”
“Some men never have enough.”
“And some men wish for none. That’s an illogical argument.”
He nodded, considering. “I’ll concede that, for now.”
“What about Ravensworth?” she asked. “He’s only a captain. Money might tempt him.”
Edison gave her a cautious look. “Same for your household staff.”