At any other time, such news would have sent him into a frenzy of construction, but his automatic butler held little appeal when he had Ada all to himself.
He slid a hand around her upper arm and tugged her gently to her feet. “I imagine you do, but that’s not the sort of power I’m interested in at the moment.”
“Oh?”
Edison didn’t respond with words. He traced a finger down the delicate slope of her nose and over the lush curve of her lower lip.
“Oh,” she breathed.
When he cupped the edges of her head and pulled her into his kiss, she made the most gratifying sigh against his mouth.
By the time his fingers tangled in the tiny buttons of her bodice, he was trembling with need. Need mingled with the sour tinge of regret.
He’d never considered the end before.
He took what was offered and when the spark of lust and momentary companionship faded, he walked away. Tomorrow would bring what it would bring.
Now tomorrow would bring pain.
Buttons undone, he bared her chest to his hot gaze. Even as he bent his head to rain kisses on her creamy skin, the realization persisted.
Meena was right. Why did she have to be right?
Ada Templeton was going to leave a mark.
Chapter 18
Edison was late.
Maybe. Possibly. Or not, if one accounted for the horrid traffic on the Waterloo bridge.
Still, it felt like he was late, which amounted to the same thing.
Ada closed the sensation novel Meena had lent her and stared at the curious cupid-rimmed clock in the parlor for the tenth time in as many minutes.
Grunts and thuds loud enough to shake the walls rolled into the room from the entryway. Dressed head to toe in black, Briar paced about the wide space, practicing sword thrusts and intricate fighting moves like some sort of golden-curled oriental assassin.
Meena worked away at her writing desk. The scratch of ink across paper filled the quiet spaces between Briar’s lunges and the ticking of the casement clock.
Her husband had gone to stoke the stove so Nelly could put together a stew.
Though each took care to pretend indifference, Ada had been around Edison’s family long enough to sense their concern.
She traced the gilt script on the cover of the book. Before worry began nibbling away at her attention, she’d actually been enjoying the outsized escapades of the author’s eccentric cast of characters.
How was it she’d never felt the vicarious enjoyment of rooting for the plucky heroine? Or delighted in a shiver of fear over the villain’s evil scheme to ruin her?
The few times she’d picked up a novel, the small details that didn’t fit had niggled so, she’d overlooked an entire world of enjoyment. After all, the average reader would hardly be aware that potassium nitrate couldn’t blow up a building, or vinegar mixed with bicarbonate couldn’t eat through cotton, let alone liquify inch-thick steel. Now that the story had captured her, she understood that those small details needn’t overshadow the action—the emotion—a clever scribe like Caldwell Nance could tease out of the page.
Perhaps she did have an imagination after all.
Ada propped her elbow on the back of the sofa and stared out at the storm-darkened street, watching the gusts of wind pluck the last of the summer’s leaves off the bare branches.
It wasn’t enough to take her mind off of Edison. Her stomach tightened. So very many things could have gone wrong.
Meena was watching her. “I do hate this part.”
“Does it get easier?”
Meena sent her a sympathetic smile. “No.”
Ada ran a finger around the edges of the book. “I was afraid you might say that.”
Meena thrust her pen back into the inkwell and rose. “No sense staring at that old thing,” she waved at the dour-looking cherubs on the clock. “We need an adventure.” She jumped up and motioned for Ada to follow her into the entryway.
“We’d like a lesson,” she said to Briar, who froze, sword high above her head, ready to plunge through the heart of an imaginary enemy.
The taller girl grinned. “What an excellent idea.”
She set her weapon down on the stairs and surveyed Ada from the tips of her sensible shoes to the tidy bun neatly secured at the base of her neck. “I don’t suppose you’ve had any training in the fighting arts?”
“No.”
“Not to worry.” Briar plucked two black umbrellas from the stand next to the front door. “That’s probably for the best. Master Tadeoka says it’s easier to teach new habits than change bad ones.”
Ada stared in wonder at Briar’s outfit. Dull black cotton with ribbon frogs in place of buttons and a curiously split skirt, it seemed designed for maximum movement.
“It’s purposely plain,” Briar explained. “You wouldn’t want a shiny button to glint in the moonlight, giving away your position.”
“And ruffles and bows only get in the way,” Meena added.
“I see your point.” How eminently sensible. Nothing to attract the eye or catch the tip of a sword. Such an outfit would work well in the laboratory.
“Let’s start with parasols.” Briar handed one to each of them.
Meena studied the pointed tip fondly. “It’s fascinating, the damage these can do.”
“Let’s demonstrate,” Briar said. Unarmed herself, she affected a menacing stance. “I’ll play the villain.”
Meena turned her back on her cousin and rested her hands on the handle of the umbrella, as if she were window shopping or waiting for an omnibus. “Do your worst.”
“She doesn’t mean that,” Briar said to Ada. “My worst is rather destructive, if I might be so bold.”
As Ada watched, Briar snuck up behind Meena, just as Ada imagined a cutpurse would. She reached over Meena’s shoulder, clearly planning to pull her back off her feet, but before Briar could gain any momentum, Meena ducked under her arm and spun around to face her, thrusting the tip of her parasol at the vulnerable underside of Briar’s chin.
“Excellent!” Briar stepped away. “The key is to react quickly, without hesitation. Had she given me time, I would have had her arms pinned to her sides.”
Ada nodded, fascinated by the skill and vigor both women exhibited. “But what if you’re unarmed?”
Meena and Briar shared a look.
“That’s the genius of Master Tadeoka’s training,” Meena said. “You’re never unarmed.”
Briar squared off about three feet from her cousin and raised her fists as if she were a pugilist preparing for a bareknuckle bout. “Show her the chin snap.”
Meena shook her arms out and nodded at her cousin.
Briar lunged, hands reaching for Meena’s throat. Just as her fingers curled into Meena’s collar, the shorter woman jabbed the heel of her hand upward, toward Briar’s chin. The women then demonstrated in slow motion how Meena’s blow would have snapped Briar’s head back most viciously.
But they weren’t finished.