A Study In Seduction (18 page)

Jane lowered the letter. She looked out the rain-spattered window, down at the street, where pedestrians bustled back and forth, umbrellas blooming like mushrooms. A damp bird flitted onto the surface of the iron fence across the way.

Jane’s fingers tightened on the letter. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember if she’d ever told
C
her sister’s name.

L
ydia looked at the equation, unable to muster any interest whatsoever. Even though she’d slept well and eaten a hearty breakfast, a headache pressed between her eyes. She couldn’t concentrate. Likely because one dark-haired, compelling viscount kept pushing his way in between her theorems and equations.

A good woman.
Good.

Did he really believe that? And even if he did, did it matter? Although her grandmother had expressed a calculated interest in Lord Northwood, Lydia knew nothing substantial could come of their association. So it oughtn’t matter at all what kind of woman he presumed her to be.

And yet, of course it did matter. A great deal.

She shook her head and focused on her paper.

A knock sounded at the door. Lydia dropped the pencil with a frustrated sigh and pushed back her chair. Her eyes widened at the sight of Northwood standing in the corridor holding… a fishing pole?

“What on earth…”

He held up the pole. His dark eyes twinkled with something she’d never seen in him before. “Angling,” he said. “Ever been?”

“No.”

“Come on, then. Great fun.”

Lydia glanced back to her desk, where her paper awaited her return. Northwood made an impatient noise.

“Five minutes, Lydia,” he warned. “If you must, you can calculate the ratio of fish to water drops or something foolish like that. We’re waiting in the garden.”

He turned and headed back downstairs. Lydia remembered her promise to herself that she would enjoy her short stay here. A pleasant sense of anticipation tickled through her at the thought of fishing—one of many sports in which she’d never imagined herself participating. She put on her wrap, hat, and gloves, checked her reflection in the mirror, and went out to the garden.

Talia, Sebastian, and Castleford waited by the rose bed, with Talia and Castleford each carrying an array of fishing gear. Sebastian had both his arms wrapped around a rather enormous picnic basket.

“Ah, glad you could join us, Miss Kellaway,” Castleford boomed. “You’re certain to keep Northwood from lying about the size of his catch.”

Lydia laughed at the thought of Northwood lying about anything. Least of all the size of his catch. He flashed her a grin, the warmth of which caused a lovely glow to fill her chest.

The three men began walking toward the river, chatting about the wind, the weather, the possibility of trout. A sense of cheer and good humor surrounded them.
Northwood’s shoulders were relaxed, his stride long and easy. Sunlight glinted off his dark hair.

Something loosened inside Lydia at the sight of him. Her headache melted away, and her heart lightened. She liked seeing him cheerful, smiling, hearing his laughter rustling through the tree leaves. She liked it a great deal. Perhaps too much.

“They’ve been friends for ages.” Talia fell into step beside Lydia, adjusting her hat against the sun as she nodded toward the three men. “They were in school together, though of course Sebastian was two years behind. After they graduated, Castleford went off to travel and expand his father’s company. He’s got enormous energy. He’s rarely been in London the past five years.”

A faint wistfulness in the younger woman’s voice made Lydia glance at her. Talia gazed into the distance at the curling ribbon of the stream.

“He did come back after… what happened, though,” she continued. “Lent his support to our family both in private and very publicly. Made things easier, actually. We’re indebted to him for that.”

It had been only two years, Lydia realized, since Talia’s mother had run off to parts unknown.

“It’s not easy, is it?” she asked before she could think.

Talia looked at her. “What?”

“Losing your mother.”

Talia stared at her for a moment, her green eyes wide. Lydia swallowed, color rising to her cheeks as she realized she had deeply insulted the other woman.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“No.” Talia reached out to squeeze Lydia’s arm. “No, don’t apologize. You’re right. It’s not easy. In fact, it’s one
of the most horrid things I can imagine. The worst part is that even though I’m so terribly angry with her, I still miss her.” She laughed, a hollow sound. “Silly, isn’t it?”

“Not at all. I miss my mother every day.”

“What happened to her?”

Lydia told her about Theodora Kellaway’s illness and subsequent death. Sympathy darkened Talia’s eyes.

“It’s been nearly a decade,” Lydia said, “but I don’t imagine I’ll ever stop missing her. Thankfully I have Jane, though, and my grandmother.”

“That helps, doesn’t it?” Talia said. “I’ve been fortunate to have a few good friends. They’ve made things easier for me as well. Now if only my brother would leave me be, I think I might actually get through this.”

She gave Lydia a wan smile. Castleford shouted a distance in front of them, waving at them to hurry. Talia grasped Lydia’s hand as they quickened their pace to the river.

“All right, now. This is yours.” Northwood handed Lydia a pole and tied something furry onto it.

“It’s a Royal Trude,” he said.

“A royal prude?”

“
Trude
. It’s meant to imitate a stone-fly.”

Talia took her pole from Castleford and began fixing the line with an expert touch. She grinned when she saw Lydia staring at her.

“Don’t forget I grew up with four brothers,” she said. “I could tie a fly before I could walk.”

“Not to mention roll a hoop, ride a horse, and climb a tree,” Sebastian added.

“And she was often the fastest,” Northwood said. He held a lure out to Lydia. “Now, watch, because you’re going to learn how to make a proper backcast.”

He moved with deft precision as he showed her how to strip line and whip the fly backward and forward until he had it just where he wanted. Although Lydia became a bit breathless from his proximity, she was able to focus enough to get a handle on it.

Northwood stood behind her and grasped her wrist to show her how to cast, his fingers warm and strong. She knew he could feel her rapid pulse. His hips brushed hers. Her knees went a bit wobbly.

“Concentrate,” he ordered, his breath caressing her temple.

He spoke to her with that husky voice and expected her to concentrate?

“I
am
,” she muttered, flinging her rod back with a little too much force. Her line ended up tangled in the reeds at the side of the river.

“You’ve got to establish a rhythm,” Northwood said. “It’s the same tempo as breathing. Match the two. Back and forth, in and out.”

“I can’t establish anything with you standing so close,” Lydia whispered irritably.

He chuckled and moved away, but not before she swore he patted her backside. She wished he’d do it again—only at a time when she could actually feel it.

She cast again and landed her line in the middle of the stream. Castleford, Talia, and Sebastian all expertly cast and retrieved their lines, though they caught only one or two small trout, which they unhooked and tossed back in. Lydia found herself thoroughly enjoying the company and spring air, which filled her with a sense of warmth and lightness.

After a couple of hours with little reward, they settled
underneath a tree to indulge in a delicious picnic lunch of cold roasted fowl, cheese, fruit, crusty bread, cider, and pastries. The men ate so much that after lunch, they tipped their hats over their faces and stretched out to nap.

Lydia and Talia exchanged amused glances over the three long, recumbent bodies. Faint snores filtered up into the tree leaves.

“Like beached whales,” Talia said.

Lydia smiled. As they packed up the remnants of the picnic, she allowed her gaze to dart every now and then to Northwood. His broad chest moved with heavy, even breaths, one big hand resting over his stomach.

As she moved the basket aside, she felt Talia’s hand on her arm. She turned to meet the other woman’s gaze.

“Lydia, I just want you to know that he’s a good man.” Talia’s words came out in a tumble, two spots of color appearing on her cheeks. “I… Alexander, I mean. He’s had a hard time with… with all that happened, and the broken engagement, and he does have a terrible tendency to want to control everything, but he… he means well. He’s honest. I just want you to know that.”

“I do know that.” Although she spoke with soft certainty, Lydia felt a rustle of discomfort.

Why was Talia trying to convince her of Northwood’s worth?

Talia nodded and sat back, looking faintly relieved. She reached into another basket and removed an embroidery hoop. “Despite what my brothers think, I do enjoy more feminine pastimes. Do you embroider?”

Lydia shook her head, watching as Talia’s needle flashed in and out of the cloth. She stood and dusted off her hands.

“I’ll just go for a walk, I think.”

“I’ll stay and safeguard our priceless bounty.” Talia tilted her head toward the slumbering men.

Lydia picked up her rod and started down the riverbank. The cool, fresh air wiped the lingering stress and fatigue from her body. She breathed deeply, enjoying the stretch of her muscles, the warmth of the sun against her face.

A splash sounded in the water. She peered out as a large fish broke through the glittering surface of the river and flopped back in. Excitement—and the lure of competition—sprang through her.

How she’d love to catch a big, fat fish while her three strapping male companions snored the afternoon away. She’d return in triumph and—with Talia’s full support—tease them all without mercy.

She looked at the Royal Trude. It didn’t look at all edible to her, but then she wasn’t a trout. Lydia decided she would give the fish something they couldn’t refuse.

A cluster of trees sat near the riverbank, one of them broken and half-submerged in the water. She crouched beneath the base and began digging through the soft dirt. At least eight worms wriggled from the pile.

Lydia winced. Jane would love this. Her sister would collect all the worms in a glass container and bring them into the house for further study.

With a grimace, Lydia plucked a worm from the dirt and tried to ignore its writhing as she impaled it on the hook. She wiped her hands on her skirt and cast the line out. The hook tangled in the reeds.

Lydia muttered an oath and tried again. The line fell short and caught on the grass. She yanked it free and inspected the hook. The worm was gone.

Suppressing her squeamishness, she dug for another worm and attached it to the hook. She cast again and watched the hook plop into the reeds.

Match the tempo to your breathing,
she thought.
Balderdash.
What she needed was to get farther out to the middle of the river where she’d seen the fish.

She reeled the line back in and climbed onto the tree trunk that jutted out into the water. It was slippery with moss but jagged enough that she could maintain her balance by digging her feet into the grooves of bark and holding on to the branches with her other hand.

Clutching her rod, she inched her way to the end of the trunk. The fish flopped through the water again, spurring her determination. She reached the end of the trunk and straddled it, then ensured the bait was still attached before casting the line out again.

The rod bobbed almost instantly. Lydia gave a squeak of excitement and tried to pull the line in, but it slackened before she cranked two turns. She reeled in quickly and cast out again.

The hook caught. She gasped and tightened her hands on the rod.
Reel! Reel!

She leaned forward, her heart hammering as she began to turn the spool. The fish yanked at the line.

She had it! She just had to—

Her weight shifted. She tried to stick her foot against a branch to steady herself, but it slipped on the moss. Horrified, she felt herself begin to slide.

The fish pulled on the line, hard. She clutched the rod with both hands. If she could—

Lydia shrieked. She tipped forward and fell off the branch like an otter sliding across the ice. Freezing water
hit her, soaking through her clothing. Her breath stopped in her lungs and her throat constricted.

She heard the faint shout of her name before the water closed over her head. Slick weeds brushed across her face like tentacles. She opened her mouth to scream, and water choked her. She kicked toward the surface, struggling to find something to grab.

Oh, God, she could see it now—the police constable filling out a report:
Mathematician drowned due to miscalculation.

She kicked harder, her right hand closing around an underwater branch before the current pulled her down again. Her lungs expanded, her chest feeling as if it were about to burst.

Suddenly two strong arms clamped around her waist and hauled her upward. Her head broke through the surface, her mouth opening on a huge, choking gasp that filled her lungs with blessed air.

After another push, she landed on the hard surface of the riverbank, the smell of grass pungent in her nose and the sun hot on her face.

“Lydia!” Alexander’s urgent voice cut through the pounding current still ringing in her ears.

She opened her eyes, swiping water off her face as she stared upward. Four faces crowded above her, their expressions lined with concern and anxiety.

“Are you all right?” Talia pushed Lydia’s wet hair away from her forehead. “I heard you scream, and we all came running—”

Lydia blinked and nodded, so grateful to be breathing air that she didn’t want to waste it by speaking.

Alexander frowned. “What the bloody hell did you think you were doing?”

Lydia tried to remember.

“Alex, don’t shout at her.” Talia pushed the men away and helped Lydia sit up. She wrapped her in the picnic blanket and tried to dry her hair off a bit.