Perhaps he wasn’t in league with these thieves. Perhaps he’d returned to her laboratory for his satchel and been caught unawares.
Perhaps he really did want to help her.
Ada snatched up the sword. She gripped the cold handle, letting the heavy tip rest in the grass. Fear for his safety warred with confusion. She wanted to wade in, but the sword was unwieldy, and she wasn't sure she wouldn't hit Sweet.
At least the third man hadn’t joined the fight. While Sweet and the two men swung away, the large lump rose like a ghostly apparition and skulked off into the darkness.
She bit her lip and raised the sword, determined to assist in some small way. Maybe she could trip them? Whack them about the legs?
By the time she staggered forward with the damned thing, he had them on the run. As the ruffians hurried off toward the lane, Sweet rushed over and yanked the sword from her hands. It clattered to the ground with a metallic thud.
"Just what in the bloody hell you think you were doing?"
The anger behind his words pushed her back.
"What I always do, Mr. Sweet. Protecting what's mine."
Sweet grabbed her by the arm with more force than she thought strictly necessary. "I was protecting your things. You were making the job a great deal more difficult.”
"I could have handled them.”
“No, you could not. Don’t deceive yourself, Miss Templeton.” He moved toward the house, hauling her along side. “Those were professionals. Deadly skills. Most unlike the school boys your stepbrother hired." He stopped in the middle of the lawn and pulled her close, so close that the opening of her wrapper caught on the buttons of his shirtfront. So close she could feel the beating of his heart, the heat from his body.
“Do you have any idea what they would have done to you?" He stepped back, taking his warmth with him. “Taking your device would have been the least of it. The very least of it.”
Ada swallowed hard. Now that the crisis was over, unused adrenaline surged pointlessly through her veins, making her limbs vibrate in an odd, weak way. The sounds of their fighting, the sheer size of the men, had been rather intimidating.
And now that he pointed out, she did have some vague idea that had she been on her own, things might not have gone well. Still, it was quite ungentlemanly of him to point it out.
She opened her mouth to defend herself, but Sweet shot up a hand, stilling her. He peered over his shoulder, scanning the hedge that separated her gardens from the street.
His shoulders relaxed, and he dropped his hand. "I doubt they’ll be back, but there’s no sense standing around in the dark."
As he turned away, she noticed how stiffly he moved. Maybe he’d taken more of a pummeling than it appeared. And it was colder now. A pre-dawn chill pressed down on them, driving the cold straight into her bones.
No matter the man’s motives, it was clear he wasn’t with her brother’s lot. The least she could do was offer him a place to get warm. And if, over a cup of tea, she got him to divulge more about his true motives, she’d consider that a victory.
But she’d best be on her guard. Giving a man of action like Sweet any encouragement would only go badly for her.
Ada pulled her robe tight. “You may as well come in."
Even cloaked in darkness, his white teeth flashed appealingly. “I could do with some tea." He raised a hand to his head. "I took quite a rounder to the face. Could do with a cold cloth.”
The soft appeal in his tone made her want to touch him, sooth away his pain. "I suppose it's the least I can offer.” She did her best to sound no more than minimally gracious. "Tea and a washcloth and you're on your way."
Chapter 4
A dram of whiskey would do better, but tea and a cold cloth would suffice if it would give him time to persuade the stubborn woman to let him protect her.
Edison swiped impatiently at the blood dripping down his cheek from the cut above his eye. The smallest of them had gotten in a lucky shot when Ada distracted him by racing across the yard like a furious Valkyrie, brandishing that ridiculous old sword.
He grinned. The sword was ridiculous, but the sight of her racing to do battle was not. Seldom had he seen anything so inspiring, so arousing.
"The kitchen is this way," she said softly, once they'd entered the house.
Edison took care to stay on her heels. The great house was dark, still sleeping. He didn't want to crash into anything and wake the household. Fortunately her wrapper was light-colored and easy to see. Although he could have followed that delicious scent anywhere.
Once they entered the large kitchen, she shoved him backward into a chair and struck a match, lighting a paraffin lamp. She carried it over, holding it just above his head and peered down at his cut. “It looks worse than it is.” She pressed a finger to the skin above his eye, probing the swelling flesh.
Edison jerked back. “Ouch.”
“The cut’s small, but you’ve got quite a lump here. Your eye might blacken.”
His cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had landed a solid facer. “You distracted me.”
She left him to grab a piece of sackcloth, which she held under the faucet while she gave the handle a few pumps.
Edison studied the well-appointed kitchen. Copper pots sparkled above a large stove. Porcelain dishes were stacked neatly in open cupboards along both walls. The rough table she'd plopped him at was large, larger than even Mrs. Hapgood's table in their own kitchen. It stood to reason. Her home was grand, it would require a great many servants.
Edison flinched as she moved toward him with the damp cloth. Whatever her intentions, the woman had all the delicacy of a fishmonger.
This time she surprised him. Squinting in concentration, she brushed her fingertips over his abused temple. Her touch tickled pleasantly, relaxing the taut muscles in his back and neck. She dabbed at the small bit of blood while she brushed the fingers of her other hand through his hair.
Edison let his eyes close, allowing himself to enjoy the pleasing sensations. Her touch, her scent, the light breaths that caressed his forehead lulled him, loosened muscles strained from absorbing blow after blow.
He relaxed back into his seat while she scrubbed the drying blood from his cheek with tiny, gentle strokes. When she cupped his chin in her soft palm, he allowed her to move his head gently back and forth.