“Good to see you, Sweet.” Detective Inspector Caleb Burke held out a hand in greeting. “Got your package last night.” He grinned. “Well wrapped.”

Edison wiped damp palms on the front of his jacket before shaking the detective’s offered hand. He hoped Burke wouldn’t notice the cold sweat trickling down the sides of his face.

He hadn’t expected the station to affect him so. Hadn’t given it a thought until he and Ada pushed through the swinging doors.

The old fears bludgeoned him the minute they crossed the threshold of the Met’s headquarters. Stepping through the low half-door that separated the law-abiding public from the officers’ desks made his heart pound as if a peeler were chasing him down.

Not even the smell had changed.

A coat or two of paint had been slapped on over the years, but it wasn’t enough to cover the odors. The wool uniforms, the tobacco smoke, and the stink of rancid, fear-induced sweat.

Two steps beyond the lobby, and he became that boy again, the one who stole for a living. The one who lived with constant fear of the crushers.

The one who abandoned his mate to the horrors of Newgate.

It took every bit of concentration he could muster to shove the ugly memories aside and present a confident demeanor.

Ada needed it. She was frightened enough.

He ignored the odd flutter in his chest and made the introductions, rushing over the words as if he couldn’t get them out fast enough. “Mrs. Templeton, Detective Inspector Caleb Burke. Burke, Ada Templeton.”

He pulled a chair out for Ada, then dropped down beside her. “Have you gotten anything out of them?” The question was out of his mouth before Burke’s backside touched the seat behind his desk.

“Nothing helpful.” The inspector tapped a pen on the desktop. “It’s odd. They aren’t frightened. Not ready to talk yet though. Trying to figure out how to cut the best deal, I suspect.”

“So they’re not worried about their employer doing them in,” Edison reasoned.

“No,” Burke agreed. “Makes me think we’re not dealing with a gang, or anyone highly placed in the criminal world.”

Edison rather wished they were. “Just an ordinary madman hiring a few killers.”

“That’s my guess.”

Ada sat forward, hands clasped tightly in her lap. “Where would one find killers for hire? It’s not as if they advertise in the Evening Gazette.”

Burke’s eyebrows rose. “Excellent question, Mrs. Templeton. Your average citizen wouldn’t have the faintest idea where to hire competent thugs.”

Edison hunched forward and planted his elbows on his knees. “Until they tell us where they were hired, we don’t have much to go on.”

Burke nodded. “So far, none of them’re offering specifics. It’s only a matter of time before one of them breaks.”

“Breaks?” Ada asked.

“Rats out his partners,” Edison explained. “A few more days in a cell, and one of them’ll try to cut a deal.”

Like Robbie should have.

With each inhale, his chest tightened as if there were a great band cinched around him. He pressed a palm to his breastbone and tried to breathe normally, but he might as well have been sipping air through a plugged up straw.

He squirmed in his seat, hoping movement would ease the tension. Instead, the handcuffs hanging on a nail next to the door caught his eye, mesmerizing him. The bite of cold steel around his wrists, the click of the two halves locking together, flashed through his mind, making his stomach heave.

“Edison?” Ada was leaning toward him, concern obvious on her face.

Burke’s sharp detective’s gaze was on him as well. Light brown brows rose in polite query.

Cold sweat trickled down the back of his neck. He ran a finger under his stiff shirt collar. “What about the cottage?” he asked, struggling to tamp down his anxiety.

Silence stretched as Burke searched his face, then he eyed the mess of papers spread across his desk. He plucked one up and tossed it toward Edison. “The cottage was let by a Mrs. Ada Templeton.”

“What?” Ada bolted upright in her chair. “That’s ridiculous. I never—"

Edison put a calming hand on her arm. “It’s no more than I expected.”

“A clever touch.” Burke sat back in his chair and folded his hands over his stomach.

“Right.” Ada swallowed. She looked a bit green. “Of course.”

Edison grunted. “That was fast work.”

“I telegraphed Chiddingfold station last night, soon as I got your telegram.”

“Any chance we could get the name of the leasing agent or the owner?”

Burke grinned. “Thought you might ask.” He peered at the file again. “The owner’s an—”

An older, shorter man with grand muttonchops threw open the door and burst in, bringing a cloud of stale cigar smoke with him. “You haven’t seen the file on the Carmichael robbery, have you Burke?”

The inspector half rose from his chair. “That’s Barger and Roswell’s case, sir.”

The older man nodded. For the first time since he’d flung open the door he noticed Edison… and Ada. His eyes widened. He sketched her a small bow. “Beg your pardon for the interruption, madam.”

Ada was studying him back with equal fascination. “Not at all.”

“Chief Inspector Gerald Todd,” he offered with a smile.

Edison had no reason for concern, but he couldn’t stop himself from turning his face away from the chief inspector’s view.

“I’ll let you get back to it, Burke.” The other man pulled back, out of the room. Just inches from closing the door, he stopped and popped his head back in.

Cold blue eyes focussed on Edison’s face. “I know you from somewhere.”

Edison’s stomach flipped over as the leaden odors of cigar smoke and Shipley’s Oil Pomade billowed into the room. With an immense effort, he tilted his head, as if intrigued by the man’s interest. “Been known to dip in on the fights now and again,” he lied. “More now than again, honestly.”

The chief laughed. “Myself as well.”

Edison swallowed around the sharp stone in his throat. “That must be it. I’m generally found at Gently’s. Horchatt’s when he’s got a string of strong fighters.”

The man looked thoughtful. “Could’ve been either place, though Gently hasn’t had much quality of late.” He withdrew, pulling the door shut behind him.

Edison’s bones felt like jelly. He refused to allow himself to slump down in his seat.

Burke slapped a hand down on his desk, startling him. “Owner is a Timothy Haversham, but the cottage has been to let for years. His solicitor handles the business.”

Edison’s eyebrows rose. “You’re thorough.”

Burke shrugged off the compliment. “Local bobbies are sharp. Soon as the flames settled, they were at Mr. Haversham’s door.”

Before Edison could voice his next question, Burke settled his forearms on his desk and aimed his considerable focus on Ada. “Care to explain what’s important enough to kidnap you over?”

Ada’s head snapped back as if she’d been slapped. She turned to Edison, eyes wide with fear.

“It’s all right,” Edison said. “The inspector’s one of us.”

“He’s…?” She stopped and addressed Burke directly. “You’re part of the league?”

Burke raised a hand in protest. “I wouldn’t say that exactly.”

Spencer rolled his eyes. “Only because you won’t cross the line.”

Ada cut him a look. “Line?”

“The inspector won’t do anything illegal,” Edison explained. “Very often.”

Ada’s eyes widened. “And the rest of you?”

“We do what’s necessary. What Burke and his lot can’t do.”

“I see.” She seemed to take her time considering that bit of information.

“About the kidnappers?” Burke prodded gently.

Ada sent Edison a questioning look. He answered her with an emphatic nod.

“I’ve developed an energy device, Detective.”

“A dry cell battery,” Edison elaborated. “A stable, powerful energy source.”

Burke leaned forward. “Seems like something worth a great deal of money.”

“The Navy jumped on it immediately,” Edison pointed out.

“But someone intervened.”

Edison nodded. “Whoever set this up knew her escorts would show up that afternoon. Made certain their imposters arrived hours earlier.” He looked Burke straight in the eye, wanting the detective to take note of his next words. “They were good enough to fool me—for a minute.”

Burke’s eyebrows rose. He tilted back in his chair and propped his hands behind his head. “That’s concerning.”

“I figure we’ve got a day or two before anyone realizes Mrs. Templeton wasn’t in the explosion.”

“I doubt that.” Burke shook his head.

Edison gave him a questioning look.

“That lot,” Burke jabbed a finger in the general direction of the jail cells. “They never went back for the rest of their pay.”

Edison slapped his thigh. How could he have overlooked that? Lucifer’s teeth, his brain had turned to porridge.

What little color was left in Ada’s cheeks drained away. Edison curled his fingers into his palms, trying to focus on the strength in his hands. He needed to be strong. Ada needed it.

This wasn’t her orderly, tidy world.

She needed a warrior, not a simpering child afraid of his own shadow.

Edison exchanged a look with the inspector. Neither, it seemed, could come up with a way to make that new piece of information any less terrifying. He clenched the knot in his tie, wishing he could blame a lack of oxygen for his thick-headedness.

She deserved reassurance.

She deserved to count on him.

He just needed out of this filthy place, then his mind would start working again. “Not sure where we’ll be these next few days,” he told Burke. “You can send a telegram to Crane’s house in Brighton if you learn anything. Crane’ll make sure the information gets to me.” He rose.

He’d only just gotten to his feet when the chief inspector barreled back into the office, a silk hat and handcuffs dangling from one hand.

Edison’s stomach lurched up into his throat. He dropped back into his seat, unsure his legs would hold him.

“Need to run, Burke,” the man ordered. “Constables found a body in the old Farley stables. Knife in the back. Looks to be one of the Quality.”

Burke jumped up. He grabbed his suit coat off the back of his chair and headed for the door. “Apologies,” he said as he ran out.

Edison sat back in his chair and closed his eyes, letting the soothing rush of relief ease the hammering of his heart.

Now he simply needed to make it out onto the street.

“I know where I know you from.” The chief inspector again filled the doorway, making Edison jump. “It wasn’t the fights.”

His heart froze in mid beat. It took everything he had not to gape at the man like a dead fish.

The chief snapped thick fingers. “The Hydraulic Engineers’ Society. You demonstrated that automaton thing.” His thick muttonchops inched upwards as he grinned at Edison. “Fantastic piece of engineering, that. Like to have a closer look sometime.”

Edison smiled weakly. He couldn’t find the words to string together a response.

“Glad you found it illuminating,” he managed finally.

“Quite.” The chief set his hat on his head and strode off.

Edison pulled himself out of the chair one more time. He hoped he didn’t look as old and frail as he felt. The fresh pulses of fear had left him limp as an old rag.

Ada was watching him, curiosity plain on her open face.

He cleared his throat. “It’s past time we found something to eat. Might as well do that now. We’ve a lot to accomplish today.”

“He’s going to find me, isn’t he?” she asked, her voice high and tight with fear.

“No.” Edison set his hands on her shoulders and stared straight into those coffee-colored eyes. “I’m going to find him. I’m going to find him and make damned sure he can’t come after you again. Ever.”

She laughed, but it sounded thin and strained. “I’ve no doubt you’ll find him.” She ran a finger across Burke’s desktop. “But we both know you can’t make any promises about the future.”

Edison slid his hands down her arms, then took her hands in his. He squeezed gently. “Yes, I can. I’ve never failed yet.”

Though he still felt as if half his strength had been siphoned off, he squared his shoulders, hoping to project a confidence and serenity he wasn’t feeling.

He let go of her hands and reached out to pluck her coat from the rack. He held it out, but his fingers were still clumsy with fear. The heavy tweed slid to the chipped linoleum tile.

Ada stared at Edison’s shaking hands. Her face paled again. “There’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?”

* * *

Light and flaky, nestled in a pool of béchamel sauce, the Dover sole looked excellent. Any other time Ada would have enjoyed it immensely.

At the moment, she was more interested in its utility as a weapon.

“I’m putting you on the train to Brighton,” Edison announced from across the cafe’s small table.

“No.” Ada forked up a bite of fish while she indulged in an image of white sauce sliding down his nose.

He scowled. “Burke’s right. Whoever hired those men already knows they failed.” His knuckles grew white as his fingers tightened around his knife and fork. “I should have thought of that.”

Ada shrugged. “And we agreed that was inevitable. It only changes things by a day or two.”

His utensils paused, suspended above his own plate. “Watching over you complicates things.”

She was a complication?

That’s what it had come to?

Ada wanted to tell him exactly what she thought of his asinine assessment, but their waiter appeared to refill their water glasses.

While he poured, Ada ripped a warm dinner roll in two.

The instant he glided away, she dropped the roll onto her plate and pressed her palms into starched tablecloth. “I do not need you to watch over me.”

Edison snatched up the mangled roll and set about buttering it. His silence spoke for itself.

“I’m on my guard now,” she said. “They won’t surprise me again."

He studied a piece of roll, undoubtedly assessing the butter to bread ratio. “That’s the sort of conceit that’ll get you killed.”

Ada swallowed around the sharp edge of fear lining her throat. “I assure you, I have a healthy fear of whoever is after me.”

“I know.”

“Then where did this come from all of a sudden?” she asked, although she thought she knew.

He was afraid.

Something had happened in that detective’s office. She hadn’t known him long, but she doubted fear was an emotion Edison Sweet experienced often.

Something about the police station had triggered a profound reaction in him. A reaction that had nothing to do with her situation.

Not that he’d admit it.

She studied her untouched food. Poking at his fear seemed unnecessarily cruel.

He wasn’t trying to dismiss her. His brain was still swirling with the after effects of his own poisonous emotions.

It was quite logical.

And highly infuriating.

He held the buttered bread up between, considering his masterpiece from every angle. “It doesn’t matter,” he responded finally. “It’s for the best.”

“As you see it.”

“As anyone with a crumb of common sense would see it.” He dabbed the roll in last of his fish sauce and chewed.

Ada pushed her plate away. She was trying to remain calm, but the more the man spoke, the more he fed her urge to hurl a glass of water in his face.

All around them, other people were having civil—even enjoyable—conversations. The clink of silverware against porcelain set a cheerful beat for the rise and fall of voices, punctuated by staccato bursts of laughter.

At every table but theirs.

Ada glared at Edison, who was so unperturbed he’d managed to tuck away his entire meal already, sublimely ignorant of the fact that he was toying with her life.

He’d even managed to ruin what should have been a memorable meal, sod him. Too angry to bother with manners, Ada planted her elbow on the table and propped her chin in her hand.

The cafe was lovely. Bright brass railings sparkled in the afternoon light, adding an air of excitement to the bustling space. The smells coming from the kitchen had made her mouth water from the instant Edison opened the door.

She’d been looking forward to the unexpected pleasure of dining with a handsome man. A man still young enough to eat what he wished with a gusto Harrison had abandoned long before they wed.

It wasn’t an experience she was likely to have often, and now he’d ruined it.

Again, the waiter glided up to the table. “May I bring tea?”

“No,” Ada growled.

“Yes.” Edison contradicted her.

“I’ll give you a moment.” Clearly wise in the way of squabbling diners, the waiter backed away, his face carefully blank.

Edison threw his napkin down next to his empty plate. He folded his arms across his chest and focussed his considerable will in her direction.

Ada glared back. “Stare all you wish. I’m not leaving.”

The look of pity that turned down the edges of his beautiful lips made her stomach clench. He opened his mouth, then quickly closed it. He ran a hand over his face. The space between them was so small she could hear the rasp of his palm over a morning’s stubble.

Then he let out a great sigh and planted his own elbows on the tabletop. “I don’t know how to say this nicely.” Though his voice was low, it carried a concerning intensity. “You’re in my way.”

Ada blinked, forcing herself to remain rigid, to hide the shock of his words. He might as well have slapped her.

“I see.” Her cheeks blazed as if hot tears already scored them.

She looked away. A woman swathed in mahogany silk caressed the unruly curls of the small boy seated next to her. Her radiant, mother’s smile stabbed Ada in the chest.

She had no children. No family to speak of.

She had accomplishments. She had scientific discoveries that would enrich lives. Save lives, she hoped.

Competent as Edison and his league might be, she would not abandon her own fight. Whoever thought they could steal her device and erase her most masterful accomplishment would have to contend with her.

Including Mr. Edison Sweet.

“That may well be the case, but it’s my life. My discovery. My decision.”

He sat back, arms folded across his chest. “Not if you want my help.”

And there it was. The terms she was hoping she wouldn’t have to accept.

Her lips tightened around the fateful words. “Maybe I don’t.”

His mouth dropped open. “But you already hired me.”

“I did no such thing!”

“You did. At breakfast with your grandmother. You agreed I could protect you until the battery was safely delivered.”

Now it was her turn to gape. She had indeed said exactly that.

Edison grinned like a small boy and tapped a forefinger on the table. “It’s not delivered.”

“The situation has changed.” Ada stared out at the shoppers strolling back and forth past the window. “Our methods are no longer compatible.”

Edison seemed to grow taller, larger, more intimidating. “I never quit.”

Ada raised her chin. “Nor do I.”

“You’ll slow me down.”

“How so?”

“Without you on my heels, I won’t have to hide.” His smile was more triumphant than sympathetic. “No one’s after me.”

Ada squeezed her eyes shut. He did have her there. But this wasn’t about logic. For once, it was about pride. Simple pride.

The thought of facing men such as those kidnappers scared her silly, but the thought of retreating, of allowing others to finish this for her, scared her even more. She inched the salt shaker into line with the pepper and the sugar bowl. “You are free to go your own way, Mr. Sweet.”

Edison gestured helplessly. “That’s not what I meant.”

“You misspoke then?” Ada stared down at the crystal sugar bowl, willing him to agree.

For an instant that same haunting vulnerability she’d seen in the police station transformed his face. He paled, swallowing hard, as if trying to choke down a stone.

His finger set up a furious beat on the edge of the table. “He almost got you once.” The tapping ceased as his fingers curled into a fist. “I can’t have that on my conscience.”

Nothing else could have come so close to persuading her to obey him. But it wasn’t enough. “I’m my own woman.”

She couldn’t find the words to make him understand how very much that mattered.

Her gaze moved back to the small boy and his smiling mother.

“I can’t go.” She stared down at her plate, afraid to see his expression. It would either bring her to tears, or make her want to throttle him.

“This is my life,” she continued. “My discoveries are all I have. They’re worth fighting for.”

Not a sound came from his side of the table. Ada risked a look.

Eyes on his empty plate, mouth pressed into a tight line, he appeared to be thinking. Either that, or he was formulating a way to tell her she could take her stubborn pride and sod off.

Voices rose and fell around them, punctuated by the clank and bustle of the waitstaff rushing plates back and forth from the kitchen.

Ada forced herself to sit back and fold her hands in her lap. Whatever his decision, she would carry on her own investigation.

There was no denying it would be safer with Edison by her side.

“I’m going to hate myself for this,” he said finally.

His smile warmed her to her toes, and she grinned back, a giddy relief bubbling up in her chest.

He lowered his brows, clearly trying for a stern expression, but the rueful smile curving his lips undid his efforts. “You’ll have to obey me.” He pinned her with a look. “On everything.”

Ada paused, tamping down her relief to give his words the consideration they deserved. “Agreed.”

“Everything.”

“As long as it doesn’t involve sending me away,” Ada amended.

“Agreed.” His mood clearly lightened, he eyed her untouched food. “Are you done with that?” he asked, his fork already hovering over her fish.

With a laugh, she pushed the plate in his direction.

He tucked into the food with the same enthusiasm he’d given his first serving.

While he ate, the waiter glided closer, his expression intent, clearly trying to judge their mood. He held up a silver teapot.

Ada slid her cup toward the outer edge of the table. “Tea would be delightful. Thank you.”

Edison wiped his lips with his serviette. “And the bill, please.” He pulled his pocket watch out of his vest pocket. “We’ve a number of tasks to complete before dark.”

Ada detected a dangerous glint in his eye when he made that announcement. “What sort of tasks?”

The dangerous twinkle sparked into a wicked grin. He snapped the watch shut and stuffed it back into his pocket. “Your first test.”

Ada shrugged, refusing to be goaded. “I’m not concerned.”

“You should be.” Edison rose and moved to pull out her chair. He leaned in so close the heat from his body wrapped around her. “I have a devious sense of humor, Mrs. Templeton. One might even say wicked.”

Despite her bravado, Ada shivered. The way his warm breath caressed the back of her neck, the intimate way he closed in on her, the sensual promise in his words spelled danger.

Sensual, virile, knee-weakening danger.

* * *

He shouldn’t have come.

It was a grave risk, but he couldn’t stop himself.

The urge had been building since he heard about the explosion—since he realized she hadn’t been caught in the blast.

The urge had swelled into a compulsion. He couldn’t concentrate on the simplest of tasks, couldn’t think of anything but her fear.

So he would allow himself a small concession.

Fate appeared to agree with his decision. The minute the hired cab turned onto her lane, he spotted a clear length of curb with an excellent view of her door.

He jabbed the roof of the hansom with his cane. “Stop here.”

Careful to sit as far back from the windows as he could, he pulled the front of his silk hat low and hunched down until his high collar cut into the sides of his cheeks.

Prudence dictated he not tarry.

Her house was on a fine street in a fine part of the city. Marble columns, not so large as to be vulgar yet large enough to imply a certain level of wealth and power, topped the short flight of stairs to the front door. The fine-grained granite facing, a sedate gray, made a delightful backdrop for the white columns.

It was a house of taste and refinement. A house an embarrassment to womanhood like that bluestocking Ada Templeton didn’t deserve.

He pressed back against the worn cushions, letting the rage fill him. Empower him.

It was the cottage that really called to him. He wanted to see it, to savor the smoking ruins where she’d almost died.

Where she’d felt the terror she deserved.

But self-preservation won out.

The village was too small, the cottage too far outside of town. Someone would have noted his presence.

But he would allow himself the indulgence of seeing her home. He grinned up at the dark windows. Elation swirled through him with every breath.

Knowing he’d put her out of her house, knowing she was on the run—afraid for her life—because of him, dulled his disappointment at her escape.

She was out there in the chill fall air, huddled against the cold in some unremarkable inn, believing she’d outsmarted him. Believing he thought her dead. Believing he’d actually allow her to present her device to the world and take credit for its creation.

She might play at science, but in the end, Ada Templeton was as dim-witted as any other female. It might take a few days—a week even—but one way or another she’d nibble on the bait.

Wind gusted down the street, ripping the last of the yellowed leaves from the maple tree at the foot of her stairs and scattering them about the landing.

As if they were scattered across her tomb.

The thought sent a pulse of heat to his loins. A heat he hadn’t felt in years.

A heat that required easing.

He laughed and banged his cane on the roof of the hansom. “Take me to the nearest bawdy house. One with clean whores. Hurry.”