The guards had run off with their lanterns.

Now they had just the one. The circle of light shrank until it barely illuminated Stanton’s slumped form. Shadowed now, Edison waited just out of reach.

Ada stepped back, out of the light, where Stanton’s gaze couldn’t reach. The darkness was comforting, like an old blanket thrown over her shoulders.

He was mad. Madder than a hatter. But some of his barbs held the sting of truth. They’d hurt later, when she worked them over in her mind.

Edison raised the glass jars, catching Stanton’s attention. “How are we to go about this, Grenville?”

“Go to hell.” Stanton’s wheezing curse had little force behind it.

It was obvious the man was done in. If the gray tone beneath the florid cheeks didn’t signal it, the way he sat upon the floor—like a puddle of angry pudding too wrung out to stand—sealed it.

Stanton wasn’t going anywhere but the gaol.

With a careful hand, Edison set the containers down on the table behind him, and sent her a quick look. “He’s too fat to drag.”

Ada studied her former friend. Frustration, rage, and the beginnings of fear were etched in the deep lines around his mouth and eyes. She waited for the pain of his betrayal to hit, expecting it to bite into her heart any moment.

But it didn’t come.

He’d ordered her death, been willing to kill her himself, if need be.

She couldn’t feel anything. Not anger. Not loathing. Certainly not empathy of any sort.

She suspected it would come in time. A week on—perhaps a month—she’d awake in the middle of the night knowing the pain of true betrayal.

For now, she was blessedly numb.

“The hand carts.” She pointed at the dark center of the factory. “They’re all over. I’ll find one.”

“We’ve only the one lantern.” Edison frowned down at the table of supplies.

“I'll use the candles.” Ada bent to retrieve a handful of stubs.

“We’ve got plenty of matches, thanks to Grenville here.” Edison grinned down at his prisoner. He handed Ada the full box of matches. “We’ll wait here. Grenville can enjoy his last few moments of freedom.”

Ada selected the largest stub and stuffed the others in the ripped pockets of her dirty apron.

The weak flame sent a watery yellow light out across the cement floor. Ada walked up one edge of the aisle, as close to the machinery as she could get, raising the flame high to throw the light as far into the corners and crevasses as she could, looking for the familiar royal blue of the company’s well-worn hand carts.

Small scurrying sounds echoed off the walls as she raised the light. Ada shuddered. The place must be alive with rodents at night.

She was almost to the front wall of the factory, where the great main doors swung out into the more fashionable office areas when she heard it.

Footsteps.

Slow and quiet and exquisitely cautious, but they were footsteps.

Ada shivered. Had the guards returned? Perhaps he had more lackeys?

Whoever they were, it sounded like they were just on the other side of the doors. She blew out the candle and backed into a space between two machines that pressed lids onto cans. As she moved, her hand brushed over a tabletop. Her fingers hit containers, heavy with one of Stanton’s chemical concoctions.

Careful to move quietly, she felt around until she located the wire handle and wrapped her fingers around it. She lifted the can an inch, testing the weight.

It wasn’t lead, but it would do. If she aimed at head height, she might get lucky and smash the bastard in the nose.

If she could hear him coming.

She tried to slow her breathing, to take silent, measured breaths, as she imagined Meena or Briar would do, preparing herself to strike.

Muffled coughs filtered up from the far end of the factory, then the murmur of a deep voice. Edison.

She tried to ignore the interruption, tried to keep her focus on the darkness, the silence, at her own end of the building.

The quiet was so thick, the brush of the rubber door sweep across the concrete seemed as loud as a gunshot.

It certainly made her heart pound as if she’d heard one.

Ada raised the pail to shoulder height. She bit her lip and prepared to swing the can. One shot. One shot was all she’d get.

A wedge of light spilled out into the factory floor as the door opened. She strained to hear anything above the pounding of her heart.

With a whispered oath, she heaved the can in the direction of the doorway. A dull thud followed by the ring of metal as the top rolled away told her she’d hit something.

Acrid white dust bloomed in the air, spreading out into the darkness.

Ada clasped her hands together to stop their trembling, and waited.

* * *

“Damnation.” The oath was followed by a series of long, wracking coughs.

The soft oath stuck a chord.

She knew that voice.

Ada wrinkled her nose, thinking. “Mr. Crane?” she whispered.

“Mrs. Templeton?” Crane called out between coughs. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” Her legs suddenly nerveless, Ada sagged against the machine. “I’m fine. We’ve got things under control.”

A light winked on, and there he was. No blood, thank God. She must have missed him. But he was covered in white powder.

“It’s alum,” she said. “Perfectly inert.”

A brilliant smile emerged from the midst of the powder-covered face. “Not to my pride.”

Meena appeared from behind his shoulder. “He could do with a bit of a takedown.” She rushed toward Ada. “Are you all right?”

“All clear,” Spencer called out toward the lobby and joined his wife at Ada’s side.

Briar tumbled through the door, her lantern swinging crazily. Behind her, Nelly and Henry and Detective Burke rushed in.

Meena held her light high, examining Ada from head to toe. “Looks like you’ll do. I must say that’s not your most flattering gown.”

Ada laughed, the tension adding extra heft to her amusement. “Nor my best-smelling.”

Spencer wrinkled his nose. “I’ll say not.”

Detective Burke pulled up short when he saw Spencer, thickly covered in white powder. “What happened to you?”

“Alum, apparently.” Spencer wiped the white grime out of his eyes and grinned at her again. “Our scientist has a right aim.”

Our scientist. His words warmed her, even as she knew they weren’t true.

She wasn’t part of them. Never would be.

Burke sized her up with an expert glance. “Where’s Sweet?”

Ada jutted her chin toward the faint light at the far end of the building. “Guarding Stanton.”

Stanton. Harrison’s lifelong friend. Her friend. Her colleague. Or rather the man who had never been any of those things.

Ada’s knees wobbled as the shock she’d been anticipating hit with full force.

“Whoa there.” Spencer caught her just as her legs gave out. “You’ve had quite a night. Nelly. Henry. See Mrs. Templeton to the lobby.” He turned his head aside to cough. “She could use some water, I’m sure.”

“‘Ere now. Lean on us for a tick.” Nelly scooped a hand under Ada’s elbow. “Careful now,” she admonished Henry, who’d taken her other arm. “Mrs. T’s had a bugger of a day.”

Ada shuffled between them into the lobby, her legs weak and trembling as if she were an old woman.

Which, in a way she was. Her soul felt as if it had aged a million years in the past hour.

Between them, Nelly and Henry walked her over to the elegant horsehair sofa that filled one corner of the reception area.

“I told ‘em you’d be fine,” Nelly said. “Got a strong heart. Knew it the minute I saw you. Any woman as can out think all those men with their fancy schooling’s gotta have a strong heart.”

“You’re very sweet.” Ada stared hard at the indifferent watercolor on the far wall, willing away the tears the girl’s praise had drawn.

Nelly rolled her eyes. “I’m not either.”

“She’s really not,” Henry chimed in. “Got a bite to her. More vinegar than sugar, I’d say.”

Ada covered her mouth with her hand to hide the smile she couldn’t stop. If she had the right of it, young Henry seemed to have a predilection for acids.

“Vinegar’s strong.” Nelly sniffed. “Enough foolishness,” she waved the subject off. “I’ll see if I can find a pitcher of water.”

“No need.” Ada waved off the offer. “I’m perfectly fine.” Then she plucked at her filthy gown. “My clothes.” She caught Nelly’s eye. “They should be upstairs. There’s a storage closet…”

“Right enough.” Henry jumped at the chance to join in on the excitement. “I’ll find them first thing.” To his credit, he did pause long enough to send Nelly a questioning glance.

The girl gave Ada a long look before handing over her lantern and following after Henry. “Give a yell if you need anything,” she instructed and pushed the doors wide until they latched/stayed open.

Their footsteps echoed back into the reception area for a long while.

Ada sank back against the sofa. All that fear-generated energy seemed to drain completely out of her, leaving her as limp as an old stalk of celery.

She didn’t think she even had the energy to change out of her filthy rags.

She certainly didn’t have enough reserves to face Edison.

She just couldn’t. Couldn’t face the impersonal sympathy in his gaze. Couldn’t face staring into his expressive eyes, knowing they’d never again glitter with passion.

Not for her.

Her supply of resilience had been depleted. She simply couldn’t do it.

Voices, and the grinding chirp of metal wheels on concrete, rose from the back of the factory. Ada jerked up, spine straight. They must have Stanton ready to transport.

A surge of panic rekindled her energy. She jumped up from the settee.

She had to leave. Now.

The rag of a dress swirled around her calves, reminding her that she must look like the poorest of the poor.

Too poor to hail a hansom. Too poor to risk walking alone at night, even in this part of the city.

Ada bit her lip. She held the lantern high, peering into the shadows, assessing every inch of the room.

The beam of light winked off a brass plate in the center of a door at the end of the hall. Stanton’s office.

Please don’t let it be locked, she prayed, as she rushed to it.

For once, luck was on her side. The knob turned easily. She hurried inside.

Dandy that he was, he always had a spare suit at the ready.

And there it was, clean and pressed and perfect, hanging on the inside of the water closet door.

She yanked off the foul dress. They were of a height, but she could have fit two of herself inside Stanton’s trousers.

No matter.

She grabbed the braces already buttoned to the waistband of the trousers. Urgency made her fingers clumsy, and it took longer than it should have to pull them up over her shoulders.

Another second and she had his coat on and buttoned. A fashionable new bowler completed her disguise.

Next, cab fare. She raced to his desk, the back of her neck prickling as the sounds from the factory floor grew louder. She yanked open the top drawer and scooped a handful of coins from the jar he kept inside.

She had crossed the threshold before she thought of it.

A note. She should leave a note.

She turned so quickly, she stumbled and almost went down on the something Persian carpet. The lantern in her hand hit the corner of the desk. She winced at the loud crash.

Frantic now, she tore a sheet from the notepad on his desk and grabbed a pencil from the cup, sending the rest of his collection clattering to the floor.

Distinct voices now reached her ears. Think, she urged herself. Write something. Anything.

She tapped the pencil on the edge of the desk, cursing her lack of words. Not so easy to say good bye as she thought.

The glimmer of an idea struck, and she scribbled quickly, not giving the least thought to penmanship, or even legibility.

Her note completed, she raced back out of the room. A delicate walnut table sat between the couch and two wing backed chairs.

A good a place as any. Ada dropped the note on the table and set her lamp on the edge to anchor it.

“Henry, you bring the carriage around.” Edison’s deep voice rose above the din. “We’ll drop this garbage at headquarters, then we can return for the rest of you.”

She’d recognize it anywhere. Always would, she feared.

They could have a few more moments together. The thought froze her.

No. She shook her head, making Stanton’s hat wobble about her ears. Drinking in the sight of him would only increase the torture.

Ada flew out the door without a backward glance. She ran around the first corner she came to, and the next. She ran until her lungs burned.

She was a coward. A love sick, broken-hearted coward.

Not even Caldwell Nance could create a world in which she could hold the interest of a man like Spencer Crane.

* * *

“Ada?” Edison called out over the rattle of the handcart’s metal wheels. “Ada, where are you?”

He and Burke were keeping an eye on Grenville while Henry and Spencer pushed the cart across the slick gray floor. Not that he expected the man to try anything. Burke had handcuffed one thick wrist to the cart’s handle. Edison didn’t think that was even necessary. The man sprawled across the cart like a deflated balloon.

Even propelled by two strong bodies, the cart would only move so quickly. Edison forced himself to slow, but he wanted to run. Wanted to see Ada, to reassure himself she was all right.

Once they reached the doors, he surged ahead oof the group, his gaze raking the dim lobby. On a credenza in the reception area, a lantern glowed, but there was no sign of her.

He raised his head, sniffing the air for signs of her violet scent.

Or her stinking rags.

He sensed neither. His heartbeat ticked up, making his heart pound uncomfortably against his ribs. Where the hell was she?

He whirled around to face the group. “She’s not here.”

Briar crossed to the table. She snatched up a scrap of paper, holding it in the beam of her lantern. Her shoulders stiffened, and her chin jerked up, as if she’d gotten an unpleasant shock.

“What?” Edison raced to her side.

“Here.” He grabbed the slip of paper from her hand, all thoughts of manners fleeing the instant he recognized Ada’s precise hand.

“Ah.” He crushed the scrap in his fingers and nodded once. Twice.

A curious ache swelled at the back of his throat, making it impossible to swallow. Impossible to speak. The flames in the lanterns surrounding him seemed to flicker in unison, flaring bright, and then dimming. Flaring. Dimming.

It was nothing less than the result he’d so carefully engineered.

The rhythmic squeak of the cart was muted on the carpeted reception area, but Edison had no difficulty hearing Grenville’s deep wheeze over the sound.

“Kicked you over as well, did she?” The older man tittered like a little girl.

It was a nasty sound. A sound Edison hoped he’d never have to hear again.

He crushed the scrap of paper in his fist. He wouldn’t turn. Wouldn’t give the sweating pig the satisfaction of a response.

“That’s enough out of you,” Burke ordered. “Won’t be anything to laugh about where you’re going. Help me with the doors,” he directed the others.

Feet scuffled about, and Edison felt the rush of cold night air on the back of his neck as the group wheeled Grenville off to meet his fate.

A soft footfall told him he wasn’t alone. He turned to see Nelly in the center of the room. Hands fisted on her hips, mouth set in a straight line, she exuded far more disapproval than such a slight form had a right to. “For a right charmer, you’re dumber than a sack o’coal when it comes to romantical situations.”

Edison shrugged. “We wouldn’t suit.”

Nelly snorted. “Says you.”

“She’s refined. And brilliant.” He stubbed the toe of his boot into the floral carpet. “She deserves far better than me.”

“Who says that’s your decision to make?” Nelly shook her head, as if he were the worst of lost causes. “Seems to me a lady smart enough to make this device is smart enough to know her own mind.”

Edison sliced his hands through the air. “It’s not that simple. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

Nelly laughed. “Nice try, that.” She moved toward him, her penetrating gaze locked onto his face. “I think you’re scared.”

Edison rolled his eyes.

“You are.” Hands on her hips, she peered up at him. “I can see it in yer eyes. You only think she wouldn’t want you.” Nelly smiled grimly. “It’s quite another sack of turnips to know she doesn’t. For real like, I mean.”

She backed away, shaking her head in disgust. “Never thought I’d see the like. A big, strong bloke like you afraid of gettin’ his heart banged about.”

She turned on her heel and made to follow the others outside.

“Wait,” Edison called out.

Nelly stopped, her back still to him.

“You’ve got a lot of sense for a slip of a thing,” he admitted. “Let’s say you’re right.” He stopped, not sure he could face the answer to his next question. “What do I do now?”

Nelly whirled around. “Use that great gob stuck between yer ears.”

Edison wasn’t sure what to make of that.

She blew out a breath strong enough to sway the hair on her forehead. “Tell her you love her, you idiot.” She flounced off.

Edison clamped his jaw shut and rocked back on his heels. Could it really be that simple?

Of course he loved her. He’d been doomed from the moment she doused him with that tea.

He tossed the crumpled note across the room and wiped his sweating palms down the front of the greasy trousers.

What if she hadn’t been similarly stricken?

Was he man enough to find out?