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?

“How extraordinary,” Price’s companion, Professor Kildare commented. “And it’s fully functional?”

Ada didn’t care for the heavy layer of skepticism in his tone. Had the man noticed the way Edison’s fingers tightened around his fork, he might have modified his tone.

“It is,” she said.

The professor leaned over his plate of buttered sole. “How’ve you managed to keep the power flow stable? No one’s been able to manage the current. It’s a devil of a problem.”

“That was the most difficult issue, to be sure.”

“One my cousin would be happy to discuss in greater detail after her presentation.” Edison cut in. “We do need to leave something for your lecture,” he chided her.

The other men chuckled.

“If you don’t mind my saying, where did you develop such an interest in chemical engineering?” Price asked. “It’s rather extraordinary for a woman.” Though he didn’t exude the same dismissive energy as his colleague, Price’s interest seemed gleeful, as if Ada were an exotic curiosity he had the great fortune to examine.

She clenched her teeth, willing herself to ignore his patronizing tone. “Only because we’ve not been given the same access to learning.”

Something brushed against her elbow, and she looked up to see Briar, outfitted in a serving girl’s costume, a water pitcher in hand. Ada might have imagined it, but she would have sworn Briar gave her a firm nod of encouragement.

As Briar glided around the table, refilling water goblets, Ada couldn’t help but notice Professor Kildare’s lascivious interest. She shuddered. Had Briar indeed been a maid, she’d have to take care around men like Kildare.

Men who felt the world was theirs for the taking.

The devilish gleam in Edison’s eye suggested he was looking forward to whatever retribution Briar would mete out before the meal concluded.

“Most women don’t have your peculiar… bent.” The professor shook his head. “What would your average female need with advanced sciences? Any sciences, for that matter?” He pushed aside his plate. “Great waste, if you ask me, taking up a desk a man could occupy.”

Price set his wine glass down with a distinct snap. “A good thing no one requested your opinion, then Kildare.” He patted Ada’s hand. “We’re not all so narrow-minded, I assure you.”

Ada smiled at him. “I assumed as much from your generous invitation.”

“Purely selfish motives.” His eyes twinkled as he grinned. “Just wanted you to myself before the hordes descend tomorrow.”

The way his eyes rolled behind the clear lenses of his spectacles suggested Edison wasn’t convinced. But then it was his job to be skeptical.

Briar slid between the professor and Price to clear away their plates.

Kildare glanced up at her. “A beauty like you wouldn’t want to ruin that pretty brain of yours with dry, dusty facts, would you?” A meaty hand disappeared behind Briar’s back.

Quick as a wink, she tilted his plate, sending a half-eaten shrimp tumbling down the front of his white shirt.

“Blasted girl!” The man shoved his chair back, hands brushing bits of shrimp and butter further into the fabric. “I’ll have you sacked.”

“Oh dear!” Briar said in an empty-headed tone. “I’m ever so sorry! I’ll get a cloth.” She rushed off.

“Idiot.” The professor jumped to his feet. “Excuse me.” He rushed out of the room, his face a most unusual shade of red.

Price shook his head. “Man invited himself when I bragged about how I was having you to lunch. I should have declined. Such a boor. I apologize.”

“Not at all,” Ada said. “His attitude seems to be the prevailing one.”

And it made her wonder. Would the thought of a female scientist claiming a significant discovery drive a man like that to violence?

The depressing thought seemed to weigh her down, adding to her fears, to her sense of defeat. All this deception was beginning to wear. The only thing that had become clear in the past few days was that no one was quite what they seemed.

Such a sad conclusion.

“Ada? My dear, is it really you?” Stanton Grenville strode up to the table and held his hands out to her, his open features distorted by a mixture of relief and concern.

“Stanton!” She put her hands in his, only to notice his fingers trembled troublingly.

Legs obviously weak as well, he sank down in the professor’s vacant chair. Though he tried to grin, the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Shame washed over her, making her face bloom with heat. The man thought she’d died in that explosion. What kind of friend was she to let him suffer?

Hands still in his grasp, she stared at Edison, willing him to help.

But instead of offering a witty explanation, he reached for his water glass, studying Stanton over the cut glass rim.

“My dear, I thought you were—” Stanton pulled his hands away and reached for his handkerchief, blotting beads of sweat from his wide brow. “The Admiral told me…” He swallowed. “Theodora and I were so distraught.”

“I apologize. I am so terribly sorry.” Ada couldn’t meet his eyes. “I…” She had nothing, no convenient lie.

“National security,” Edison interjected, finally. “I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course,” Stanton muttered. A great sigh lifted his rounded shoulders. “Must be why that dreadful man from naval intelligence insisted on seeing me.”

Ada and Edison share a look of concern.

“Naval intelligence?” she repeated. “Why?”

“Exactly what I wondered.” Stanton plucked up her serviette and blotted his brow. “Asked all sorts of odd questions about you,” he confided, his voice low. “What had you invented? Who did you associate with? Wanted to know if you’d come into money recently. All rather insulting. Told him where to stuff it.”

“I see.” Ada stared down at her hands, hoping to hide her confusion.

She stole a glance at Edison. His eyes glittered with interest. Was it her pursuer trying to locate her? Anyone who knew her would guess she’d contact Stanton.

She opened her mouth to question her friend further, but a short, sharp shake of the head from Edison stopped her.

Damned if she wasn’t a terrible spy. Anyone in the area—including her host, or the busboy at the next table—could be listening.

Stanton struggled to his feet, as if the shock had knocked the wind out of him. “Must tell Theodora the wonderful news.” He smiled, but it held little warmth.

Ada pressed a hand to his arm. “I am truly sorry to have upset you.”

Though he waved away her apology, Ada sensed he was reeling.

Once he had time to digest the news, abhorrence would replace shock.

To leave him worrying like that. What kind of woman had she become?

She watched him shuffle out of the room, looking as if he’d aged ten years. When had she become so preoccupied with her own life that she’d turned to torturing the very people who cared about her?

If nothing else, her inexcusable behavior presented the best argument yet that she was in no way cut out for Edison’s unconventional lifestyle.

* * *

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.