*
Without another look, her old friend disappeared out the wide doorway of the dining room, taking a piece of Ada’s self-respect with him. Her ears burned with embarrassment.
Shame pressed her down in her seat, shrinking her until she felt as if she were nothing but a small girl masquerading as an adult. Edison and his lot toyed with people’s perceptions, but they did it for the greater good. Having done it herself now, she didn’t think she had it in her to ignore the unintended consequences.
A cloud of cigar smoke swelled throughout the dining room as members finished their meals and moved on to port and cigars. The murmur of male voices rose and fell around her, punctuated by the clink of silver against china—and the occasional strident curse. Scientific debate, in Ada’s experience, was rarely calm or reasoned.
Sir Beauford cleared his throat, recalling her attention. “Why chemistry?” he asked.
“How do you mean?”
He made a wide gesture with his hands. “Why not the astronomical sciences or botany? Egyptology’s all the rage now, from what I’ve read.” He smiled encouragingly. “You’re an enigma, my dear. I’m fascinated with your background.”
Ada cast about for a response. No one had ever taken such an interest in her. To most men, she was an abhorrence, a curiosity at best.
Edison had never asked.
She shot him a quick look.
Dessert dispatched with, he lounged in his seat, an amused grin—not quite a smirk, but less than a smile—played across his beautiful mouth.
She wanted to smack it straight off.
“I’m not sure how to answer that, Sir Price. My father had a great interest in science, certainly, although he never went so far as to fashion a laboratory.” She paused, sifting through childhood memories in her mind. “I don’t recall exactly when I—”
“That’s her,” a sharp male voice cut through her response. “Got to be. I’ve never seen a female in the dining room.”
Another man snickered. “Not one without a maid’s apron.”
“Didn’t think they were allowed,” a deeper voice complained.
Price winced. He pointed his dessert fork at a skinny gent with greasy ginger hair. “Carson there’s never invented so much as a postage stamp.” He sank the tines of his fork into his cream cake. “Don’t concern yourself. Jealousy’s a strong acid.”
“Deadly, too,” Edison added, clearly taking this Carson’s measure.
“Pardon me.” A tall man with exceptionally blue eyes—and exceptionally pleasing features—paused next to their table. “You’re Mrs. Templeton, are you not?”
“The very one,” Price seemed pleased to confirm. “Mrs. Templeton, this is Avery Livingston. Avery, this is Mrs. Templeton’s cousin…” He paused. “Your pardon, sir, seem to have forgotten your name.”
Edison waved away his apology. “Babbage. Charles Babbage.”
“Yes, yes, that’s it. Babbage,” their host blustered.
Livingston hovered over the professor’s empty chair. “May I join you?”
“Sit.” Prices’s frown suggested he resented the intrusion, but politeness wouldn’t allow him to refuse. “Tea?”
Livingston shook his head, the full weight of his startling gaze fixed on Ada. “I’m looking forward to your lecture. I’ve read everything I could find concerning your breakthrough. Most outstanding. You’ve tossed our little corner of the world on its ear, I can tell you.”
Ada wasn’t sure what to make of that.
He smiled, showing bright, even teeth and tempting lips. “Piles of men with their neckties in a knot knowing a woman solved the dry cell puzzle.”
Ada tilted her head, intrigued. “You don’t seem to be one of them.”
“Not for a minute.” Livingston grabbed the nearest water goblet and raised it in a toast. “You sussed it out fair and square.” He gave an exaggerated look around the room before angling his wide shoulders over the table. “Not that this lot’ll give you any credit. Bunch of sour old goats.”
“Present company excluded, eh?” He elbowed Edison in the side, knocking him sideways.
Ada thought she might have imagined the low growl that rolled toward the intruder.
Her host seemed to have lost some of his enthusiasm as well. Was it Livingston?
Edison broke the silence, jabbing a finger at the clock hanging on the far wall. “We should run. That reporter’ll be at the house in an hour.”
“Reporter?” What in blazes was he talking about?
Edison held her gaze, clearly willing her to follow him. “The one from the Daily Dispatch?”
“Right.” Ada set her tea cup down and stood. “I almost forgot.” She turned to their host. “It’s been a pleasure. Thank you so much for the delightful luncheon.”
Price rose and—despite his girth—made a graceful bow. “Thank you for the company. I’m looking forward to tomorrow.”
“As am I.”
Edison nodded at their host and took her elbow, rushing her out of the crowded room.
“It’s hard to imagine any of them being the one,” she said once they reached the street.
Edison turned sharply, angling down the pavement toward the carriage. “Evil doesn’t have a particular face.”
“I know that.” She did know it. She just didn’t want to believe it. Nastiness should show. It marked the soul, why not the features?
Suddenly quite sick of the whole affair, she found herself wanting companionship, wanting at least one person with whom she could share her true feelings.
Maybe if she reached out one last time… “Thank you,” she said as he towed her along down the walk.
Edison’s eyebrows rose, the only indication he gave that her gratitude puzzled him.
“For helping me.”
His attention had already returned to the surrounding street, his sharp gaze no doubt assessing each and every passing figure. “It’s what we do.”
What we do.
Of course. Ada sighed, utterly discouraged.
Edison had retreated behind his wall and mortared up the door.
Instinct told her there wouldn’t be any breaking it down.
Chapter 22
“Isn’t good to stand about in the open.” Edison nudged her toward their borrowed hansom.
Henry sat up behind the passenger compartment like a real driver. When he saw them approach, he jumped down from the driver’s bench to open the door.
Ada smiled her thanks. She’d just gathered up her skirts to climb the steps when she caught her name being shouted out.
“Mrs. Templeton? Mrs. Templeton, wait!”
Before she could react, Edison heaved her up into the cab. Legs tangled in her skirts, she slid across the floor. Her head banged into the far wall, crushing the delectable little chapeau.
“Damnable hell.” She yanked the thing out of her eyes and tossed it on the seat before struggling to regain her feet.
By the time she reached the doorway, Edison lay sprawled across the pavement, a pair of legs in charcoal trousers sticking out beneath him. He pressed his full weight down on the figure he’d flattened, one large hand between the man’s shoulder blades.
He growled. “What do you think you’re about?”