A Study In Seduction (3 page)

He knew he was being rude, but he’d spent the last two years holding himself, his words, even his thoughts, so tightly in check that something inside him loosened at the sight of this woman’s blush. Something made him want to rattle her, to engage in a bit of bad behavior and see how she responded. Besides, wasn’t bad behavior exactly what society expected of him?

“Do you accept?” he asked.

“Certainly not.”

“All right, then. I’ll tell John to take you home.”

He started to the door, unsurprised when she said, “Wait!”

He turned.

“My lord, surely there is something—”

“That’s my offer, Miss Kellaway.”

Her hand trembled as she brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. The brown strands glinted with gold, making him wonder what her hair would look like unpinned.

Lydia gave a stiff nod, her color still high. “Very well.”

“Then read me one of your puzzles.”

“I beg your pardon?”

He nodded at her notebook. “Read one to me.”

She looked as if she were unable to fathom the reason for his request. He wondered what she’d say if he told her he liked the sound of her voice, delicate and smooth but with a huskiness that slid right into his blood.

“Go on,” he encouraged.

Lydia glanced at the notebook, uncertainty passing across her features. He’d thrown her off course. She hadn’t anticipated such a turn of events when she’d planned this little encounter, and she didn’t know how to react.

“All right, then.” She cleared her throat and paged through the notebook. “On her way to a marketplace, a woman selling eggs passes through a garrison. She must pass three guards on the way.”

She paused and glanced at him. A faint consternation lit in her eyes as their gazes met. Alexander gave her a nod of encouragement.

“To the first guard,” Lydia continued, “she sells half
the number of eggs she has plus half an egg more. To the second guard, she sells half of what remains plus half an egg more. To the third guard, she sells half of the remainder plus half an egg more. When she arrives at the marketplace, she has thirty-six eggs. How many eggs did she have at the beginning?”

Alexander looked at her for a moment. He rose and went to the desk on the other side of the room. He rummaged through the top drawer and removed a pencil, then extended his hand for the notebook.

He smoothed a fresh sheet of paper onto the desk and read her neat penmanship.

An image of her flashed in his mind—Lydia Kellaway sitting at a desk like this one, her hair unbound, a slight crease between her brows as she worked on a problem she expected would confound people. Perhaps it was late at night and she wore nothing but a voluminous white shift, her body naked beneath the…

Alexander shook his head hard. He read the problem again and began doing some algebraic calculations on the paper.

Odd number, half an egg more, seventy-three eggs before she passed the last guard…

He did a few more calculations, half aware of something easing inside him, his persistent anger lessening. He realized that for the first time in a very long while, he was rather enjoying himself.

Alexander scribbled a number and circled it, then turned the paper toward Lydia.

“She had two hundred and ninety-five eggs,” he said.

Lydia stepped forward to read his solution. A perplexing surge of both triumph and regret rose in Alexander
when he lifted his gaze and saw the dismay on her face. She hadn’t expected to lose.

No. She hadn’t expected him to win.

“You are correct, Lord Northwood.”

He tossed down the pencil and straightened.

Lydia stood watching him, wariness edging her expression. Her skin was milk-pale, her heart-shaped face dominated by large, thick-lashed eyes. Her cheekbones sloped down to a delicate jaw and full, well-shaped lips.

She might have been beautiful if it weren’t for the tense, brittle way she carried herself, the compression of her lips and strain in her eyes. If it weren’t for the ghostly pallor cast by her black dress, the severe cut of which could not obscure the combination of curves and sinuous lines that he suspected lay beneath.

His heart beat a little faster. He went to stand in front of her. Lydia swallowed, the white column of her throat rippling. If she was fearful, she didn’t show it. If she was anticipatory, she didn’t show that either. She merely looked at him, those thick eyelashes fanning her blue eyes like feathers.

He reached up and touched a loose lock of her hair, rubbing it between his fingers. Thick and soft. Pity she had to keep it so tightly bound. He lowered his hand, his knuckles brushing across her cheek. A visible tremble went through her.

“Well, then?” Alexander murmured.

He grasped her shoulders, her frame slender and delicate beneath his big hands. He stared down at her, the muscles of his back and shoulders tensing. The air thickened around them, between them, infusing with heat. His heart thudded with a too-quick tempo and a
vague sense of unease—as if whatever strange power vibrated between him and Lydia Kellaway contained a sinister edge.

He inhaled the air surrounding her. No cloying scent of flowers or perfume. She smelled crisp, clean, like starched linens and sharpened pencils.

Her lips parted. Her posture remained stiff, her hands curled at her sides. Alexander wondered if she ever allowed herself to lose that self-contained tension. He continued to grip her shoulders, and for an instant they were both still. Then he slipped his hand to the side of Lydia’s neck just above her collar.

She trembled when his thumb grazed her bare skin, brushing back and forth against her neck, the only movement within the utter stillness surrounding them. Color swept across her cheekbones, the same reddish hue as a breaking dawn. Her throat rippled with another swallow, but her expression didn’t break; her posture didn’t ease.

If anything, she grew more rigid, her spine stiffening. Alexander’s thumb moved higher, to that secret, intimate hollow just behind her ear, his fingers curving to the back of her neck. His palm rested in the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Her skin was as smooth as percale; tendrils of her dark hair brushed the back of his hand.

Want
. That surge pulsed through him, hot and heavy, the desire to strip her dull clothes from her body and touch her bare skin. As if in response, her pulse quickened like the beat of butterfly wings against his palm.

A soft thud sounded on the carpet as her notebook fell to the floor.

He lowered his mouth to hers. She didn’t move forward, but neither did she back away. Her flush intensified,
her chest rising as if she sought to draw air into her lungs. Multiple shades of blue infused her eyes. Her breath puffed against his lips. His hands tightened on her shoulders, the side of her neck.

The cracks within him began to smooth, the fissures closing. Instead he was filled with the urge to prolong this strange attraction, to savor the mystery of what would happen when their mouths finally met.

“Later.”

His whisper broke through the tension like a pebble dropped into a pool of still, dark water. Lydia drew back, her lips parting.

“What?” Her question sounded strained, thin.

Alexander slipped his hand away from her neck, his fingers lingering against her warm skin.

“Later,” he repeated. “I will require the payment of your debt at a later date.”

Lydia stared at him before stepping away, her fists clenching. “My lord, this is unconscionable.”

“Is it? We never determined payment would be immediate.”

“It was implied.”

“Ah, that’s your mistake, Miss Kellaway. It’s dangerous to assume your opponent holds the same unspoken ideas. Dangerous to assume anything, in fact.”

He almost felt the anger flare through her blood. For an instant, she remained still, and then something settled over her expression—a resurgence of control, of composure.

She started for the door, her stride long and her back as stiff as metal. Just before she stepped out, she turned back to him.

“Though I prefer a more systematic approach to proving a theorem, my lord, I appreciate your assistance.”

He watched her disappear into the shadows of the foyer; then he smiled faintly. He picked up her notebook from the floor and slipped it into his pocket.

I
f the linear differential equation were to demonstrate the emotions of two lovers, the equation would be governed by the variables assigned to each lover: a = Ar + bJ and J = cR + dJ.

Lydia stared at the page of equations on her lap, then put it aside and wrapped her arms around her waist.

The emotions of two lovers…

Emotions were one thing. Sensations were something else entirely. A memory tried to fight its way to the surface—the memory of how it had once felt to be wild, naked, and unfettered.

She remembered that it had felt astonishing. That all those years ago she’d felt free for the first time in her life—until she learned that the price for indulgence was one no person should have to pay.

… governed by the variables assigned to each lover…

She would never be able to assign a variable to the
sensations that still bloomed through her body after her encounter with Lord Northwood.

Every thump of her heart resounded through her, the slow unwinding of something sweet and rich. Her breasts felt full, heavy, her skin stretched tight over her body, her thighs tense with anticipation.

She closed her eyes. Shame trickled beneath her skin, smothering some of her lingering desire for a man she hardly knew. A man she could never have. Should never want.

Three, four, five: the first Pythagorean triple.

Her heartbeat slowed, her breath stabilizing into a smooth, even rhythm. The unnerving sensations of the previous night began to sink beneath the precise form of a perfectly constructed right triangle.

“You’re up early.”

Lydia’s eyes flew open. Charlotte Boyd stood in the doorway of the study, her hand clenched around her cane. Her white skin was creased with only scant evidence of her age, and her fine features retained vestiges of youthful beauty.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Lydia pushed her hair away from her forehead, hoping her expression bore no evidence of her thoughts. “Mrs. Driscoll said breakfast will be ready in a half hour.”

Mrs. Boyd settled into the opposite chair, her blue eyes sharp. “You’re not still upset about the locket, are you?”

Lydia suppressed a rustle of irritation. “Of course I am.”

“For heaven’s sake, Lydia, I told you to forget the locket. It is a foolish, sentimental thing, and neither you nor Jane should attach any meaning to it except for its value. Mr. Havers gave us quite a bit for it.”

“It belonged to my mother,” Lydia said, stung by her grandmother’s dismissive words. “Surely you understand why that’s important to me. Why it’s important to Jane. Papa would never have wanted it sold.”

“Your parents would have been far more supportive of Jane attending a proper school than they would about keeping a piece of jewelry.” Mrs. Boyd frowned. “I’d hope you would be as well.”

“You didn’t need to pawn the locket to send Jane to school,” Lydia muttered.

“You know how expensive Queen’s Bridge is, Lydia. We need to procure all possible funds for her initial enrollment. And we do not need an old locket.”

I do.

Lydia’s hands flexed, her chest tightening as she looked at her grandmother. Now was not the time to fight about Jane’s schooling. Lydia had other matters on her mind. “I learned the locket was purchased by Alexander Hall. Lord Northwood.”

Mrs. Boyd stared at her with pursed lips, a faintly perplexed expression in her eyes.

“Viscount Northwood? You must be joking.”

“I’m not. He bought the locket from Mr. Havers. He said he thought it was interesting.”

“You spoke to him?”

“I went to his house yesterday evening. I asked him to return the locket.”

Mrs. Boyd’s eyes widened. “You went to Lord North—”

Lydia held up a hand to stop the imminent scolding. “Before you chastise me, no one saw me, no one heard. I was careful.”

“Really, Lydia, there’s nothing
careful
about meeting
a man like that in private! Have you learned nothing over the years? What on earth is the matter with you?”

“You should have known I’d never let that locket go,” Lydia said. “Especially after Papa died.”

“You’ve not even looked at it in ages!” In her agitation, Mrs. Boyd rose and began to pace, leaning heavily on her cane. “Honestly, Lydia, now Lord Northwood knows we visited a pawnshop and that we… Oh heavens, what if this becomes known?”

“He won’t tell anyone.”

“How on earth do you know?”

She didn’t. And yet, somehow, she did. “He’s not a gossip. He would not deliberately besmirch another person’s reputation.”

“You’re so certain of that?”

“Would
you
do such a thing?”

“Well, I—”

“Of course you wouldn’t. Because you know the possible consequences. So does Lord Northwood.”

She eyed her grandmother with wariness. Mrs. Boyd’s lips pressed together, but she didn’t appear inclined to argue. Perhaps because she knew Lydia spoke the truth.

Lydia shivered and rubbed her arms, pushing aside the threatening darkness of the past. Although she lived in dread of any form of gossip, she could not resist the desire to know more about Lord Northwood.

“Is it true?” she asked. “Did his mother run away with another man?”

“Oh, such unpleasant rumors.” Mrs. Boyd waved a hand. “It’s why most people still want nothing to do with them, even though they’re quite wealthy. But yes, as far as I know, the countess, who everyone believed exceedingly
proper, was caught having an affair with a young Russian soldier. She ran off with him, and the earl petitioned for a divorce. Quite rightly, I must admit. Northwood returned to London in the midst of the whole thing. Terrible, really, that he had to contend with the aftermath of such a scandal. They’ve never recovered, that family.”

“What happened to the countess?”