The boy’s eyes grew so wide his eyebrows disappeared beneath his thick black hair.
Edison and Spencer shared a quick grin behind the youth’s back.
“If we could get back to the point?” Meena planted her fists on her hips. “Not only did we secure the top spot at the lecture, but the chairman of the steering committee invited Ada to lunch tomorrow.” She turned to Ada. “I accepted on your behalf, I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” Ada replied. “Sir Price’s theories on diffusion are world famous.” She grinned. “I have so many questions to ask. He’s noted for—”
A cold gust of rain-spattered wind blew into the office as the front door swung open, interrupting her. Burke’s tall form filled the doorway. He removed his dripping bowler and leaned his sodden umbrella against his leg.
“Detective! Come sit by the stove.” Meena waved him into the offices, but he shook his head.
“Can’t stay.” Hat clutched in his cold-reddened hands, he surveyed the group. The grim set to his jaw made Edison’s stomach clench. Whatever the detective had to say, he wasn’t going to like it.
“Bobbies at Hyde Park station found a body this morning.” He wiped a hand over his dripping face. “It’s one of Admiral Helmsley’s staffers. A Captain Ravensworth.”
Ada bolted upright in her seat. “What happened?”
“Won’t know until the autopsy’s complete. Could’ve been his heart. Wife says he suffered from heart pains.”
Spencer cocked his head. “But you suspect something different.”
“The man was blue.” Burke’s gaze zeroed in on Ada’s pale features. “Dark blue.”
“Prussic acid,” Ada whispered.
“That’s my suspicion,” Burke said. “Too much of a coincidence to ignore. We won’t have anything conclusive until after the lecture, but I thought you should know.” He set his wet hat back on his head and retrieved his umbrella. “Keep your wits about you. All of you.” He vanished back out into the storm.
What little color Ada had, drained away completely. She looked tired and lost and achingly fragile. For the first time in hours, she met his gaze. “He was at the meeting,” she whispered.
Edison parked himself on the edge of Nelly’s desk and took her hand, massaging the cold, stiff fingers.
Spencer cut him a look. “Your trip to the Admiralty got our man’s attention.”
“Exactly as we hoped,” Edison responded, his attention on Ada’s pale face. “Now we’ve got him wondering what we’re about. Once he finds out about the lecture, he’ll be ready to strike.”
Ada smiled weakly.
“We’re close now.” He squeezed her fingers. “One more day and we’ll have him.”
“It’ll be done then.” She was staring up at him.
Edison swallowed. “Thank God.”
Ada’s mouth dropped open. She pulled her hand away and jumped up. Before he could work out what exactly he’d done to anger her, she was halfway back to his workshop.
In that silent way she had, Briar snuck up behind him and draped an arm over his shoulders, making him start. “I was rather hoping you wouldn’t make a hash of this one.”
Edison’s shoulders sagged. “Wouldn’t have suited anyway. She’s too far above my station.”
“How convenient.” Briar smacked him on the back and hurried off.
Edison rolled his shoulders. The imprint of her hand tingled in the center of his back.
Convenient? What the hell did that mean? He looked at the others, daring them to comment.
Meena screwed her eyes shut, as if her head pounded.
Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose and stared down at the floor.
Even Nelly and Henry exchanged a knowing look.
Edison snorted. As if two children had any wisdom to offer regarding romantical relationships.
Outside, the wind kicked up, moaning through the trees and blasting the front windows with fat gobs of rain. Edison clenched his jaw. They didn’t understand. He wasn’t the kind of man for a magnificent creature like Ada Templeton. Soon enough, she’d realize it too.
Before she did, he planned to be long gone.
Chapter 21
The potted shrimp smelled divine, as one would expect in the posh dining room of the London Chemical Society. Ada spooned up a bite, but it tasted like ash. Any other time, she would have savored the rich dish.
Sharing a table with a man who might well have ordered her death had rather killed her appetite. She forced herself to swallow even though her stomach was a knotted mess.
Her host, Sir Beauford Price, didn’t seem like a ruthless killer. Far from it. The man was portly, with round, pink cheeks and downy white mutton chops. More like a prosperous Father Christmas than a criminal mastermind.
Not that she had the least idea how a killer should look.
Edison seemed equally disinterested in his own lunch. Now that she knew him, she could see beyond the owl-eyed facade he presented. Oh, he played the part to perfection—the effete, scientifically minded dilettante eager to converse with other self-important amateur scientists.
But she could see the wolf behind his fake spectacles.
His acting skills were superb. It wasn’t that. In his fashionable jacket and waistcoat with his unruly hair pomaded to within an inch of its life, he could have been any young buck wealthy enough to dabble in the scientific arts.
It was his essence. That confident, protective, soldier’s essence he couldn’t hide.
Neither the wire spectacles nor the meek, diffident expression on his face as he pretended to consider Sir Beauford’s ramblings on magnetism could cloak the instincts of a protector.
Ada supposed the others at the table might not sense the danger at their elbows. To her, it was like sitting across from a wolf in man’s clothing. He was faster and stronger and sharper than anyone else in the room.
And she wanted to toss her tea in his face.
How could he sit there, straight across from her, smiling politely as if they’d never shared anything more than a spirited conversation?
Ada squirmed as the hat pins securing the sweet little chapeau Briar had lent her dug into her scalp. She tugged at the black felt brim, inching it back and forth as discreetly as possible until the itching stopped.
Briar and Meena had done her up to the nines. They both agreed the nicer of her day dresses would suit admirably, but insisted she required, “tarting up.” The merest touch of lip rouge, eye-catching jet earrings that caressed the sides of her neck, and Briar’s playful black hat, decorated with glossy glass cherries and just the smallest touch of lace, had done wonders for her image.
And her self-esteem.
She’d never realized how such small touches could change the way she felt about herself. Perhaps she could be serious and—if not exactly beautiful—at least pretty.
“This battery device, it’s a dry cell?” Price asked.
Ada met his gaze, trying to look past the watery gray eyes and the polite smile. Did he have it in him to order her demise? To steal her device and pass it off as his own invention?
How much did fame matter to any given man?