A Study In Seduction (35 page)

Mystified, Alexander looked from the men to Lydia. Not fifteen feet away, she stood watching him, color still flushing her pale cheeks but her blue eyes soft. She started a little as their gazes met. Alexander swallowed hard, clasping his hands together to prevent himself from going to her, grabbing her around the waist, and hauling her against him.

An unmistakable heat flared in her expression, as if the same thought had occurred to her.

Lydia. Lydia.

She gave a quick shake of her head and reached for a
pointer. She turned to the board, which was covered with a map of some sort, and delicately cleared her throat.

“This, gentlemen,” she said, “is a diagram of the first floor and gallery of St. Martin’s Hall on the night of the riot. My colleague Dr. Sigley has conducted extensive research on the dynamics of crowds, and he will explain how it is impossible that Lord Northwood could have incited a crowd to riot.”

She smacked the pointer against the map. The audience shifted, rumbling a little with both bafflement and curiosity. Alexander leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.

Lydia nodded at Dr. Sigley. “If you would, please, sir.”

“Delighted, Miss Kellaway.” Sigley stepped forward to address the crowd. “Dr. Edward Sigley, gentlemen, FRS, DCL, FRSE, Lucasian professor of mathematics at the University of Cambridge, and editor of the
Cambridge and Dublin Mathematical Journal
.”

He paused as if to allow everyone to absorb the illustriousness of his accomplishments. Silence filled the room, then was followed by murmurs of approval. Sigley nodded with satisfaction.

“I have conducted numerous experiments regarding the dynamics of crowds in relation to a flow-density relationship,” he continued. “This can be written as…” He paused and scribbled an equation on the board.

“I beg your pardon, Dr. Sigley.” Hadley held up a hand, a frown creasing his forehead. “If I may speak for my own colleagues, I would venture to suggest that we are about as interested in flow density as we are in women’s fashion.”

Several men barked out a laugh. Irritation flashed across Lydia’s face. A large man with a bushy beard stood in the center of the room.

“Here now, my lord,” he called. “Plenty of Society members are interested in mathematics, or at least know something about it. Part of the Society’s division of subjects for the examination, isn’t it? The professor here is talking about applied mathematics, isn’t that right, Professor? We ought to listen to what he has to say.”

A rumble of agreement rose from the audience. Alexander twisted around to see the man who had suddenly challenged the president of the Society on behalf of the mathematicians. Then he turned back to look at Lydia. She winked.

“Quite,” Sigley replied with a nod of appreciation to his supporter. “Applied mathematics is pure mathematics, such as geometry or the properties of space, applied to establish the principles of statics and dynamics, which is what I speak of here.”

“Good God, man, get on with it!” shouted a voice in the crowd. “What’s this got to do with Northwood?”

The audience shifted again, more restlessly this time. Alexander and Sebastian exchanged glances. Sebastian looked rather worried.

Alexander returned his gaze to Lydia, who stood stiffly with her hands clasped, her white teeth biting her lower lip.

Look at me.

She did. A faint smile tugged at the corners of her beautiful mouth. Alexander allowed his eyes to sweep across the slopes of her shoulders encased in her stiff black dress, down to the curves of her breasts and waist. Even that first night, he’d known how lush and supple she was beneath her layers of clothing. Even then, he’d known he wanted her.

He hadn’t, however, known how much he would love her.

Lydia flushed again, as if his gaze were a caress. Her hair was smooth and shiny beneath her hat, every strand pulled into an impeccable knot. Alexander wanted to yank all those pins out—damn them for confining Lydia’s beautiful hair—and then feel the sweep of all that polished silk against his skin.

Christ. He shifted in his chair and tried to focus on the other mathematicians. That, at least, worked to dampen his arousal, but his awareness remained fixed on Lydia.

Dr. Sigley turned to his colleagues, and two of the other mathematicians stepped forward with charts. A third unrolled a scroll of paper covered with calculations.

“First,” Sigley said, “in these studies, I have observed numerous situations involving large crowds. We can speak of the flow of information in a crowd much as we might speak of the flow of information in a pond. Suppose a lad throws a stone into the air. It lands at point
A
, and the dynamics of incompressible fluids dictate that the gravity waves spread out in a circular manner from the point of impact.

“Knowing as I do the equations that govern these dynamics, I could tell you when the first ripples from that stone would strike the shore. Now, here is where things get interesting. I could also solve the inverse problem. That is to say, if I came along some time after the lad threw his stone and merely observed the wavelets washing at my feet at some time,
T
, I could tell you very well where that stone hit the water even though I never saw it with my own eyes. I can make time move backward, if you will.”

He stepped aside and nodded at Lydia, who wrote an
equation on the board. Alexander gave the numbers a cursory glance but couldn’t keep his eyes from the graceful movement of Lydia’s arm as she wrote, the studious concentration on her lovely features.

Warmth and pride filled Alexander’s chest. He loved watching her mind work, knowing the complexity of the wheels and gears turning behind her blue eyes. Knowing that every other man in the room must be astonished by her brilliance.

Lydia turned to face the audience again.

“Therefore, we assert, gentlemen,” she said, “that it is the same with the riot. A crowd is very much like a pond, a dense aggregation of particles that transmit information by colliding with one another.”

“And we can solve the inverse problem as well,” Dr. Sigley continued, pointing at the equation. “Though I was not there, I can state unequivocally that if Lord Northwood was indeed where you say he was at the time stipulated—and there are numerous credible witnesses who can corroborate this very thing, as I’m certain the inspectors can verify—then the laws of motion preclude his having initiated the disturbance that propagated through the medium at the nominal rate of fifty feet per minute—”

“What the devil is he on about, Miss Kellaway?” Hadley interrupted.

“My lord,” Lydia said. “The very basic conclusion of Dr. Sigley’s calculations is that Lord Northwood was not the slightest bit at fault for causing the riot. He was
here
.” She smacked her pointer against the gallery on the map. “And the flow-density calculations, which you are all welcome to observe more closely, indicate the riot started
here
.”

Another strike at the entrance of the hall emphasized her point. The audience was silent for a moment before a rumble began—questions, a couple of shouts, people standing to peer at the evidence.

“I’ll be damned,” Sebastian muttered.

Hadley stared at the map, then down at the papers Lord Perry had given him. The police inspectors approached the council table, lowering their heads to speak with the members.

A great deal of discussion and gesturing ensued, with Sir George Cooke approaching the mathematicians to point out items on the papers. Another council member began a discussion with Lord Perry, while the police inspectors scratched their heads and a couple of the other council members merely appeared bewildered. Union representatives from the crowd approached the dais to confer with the mathematicians and council members.

Lydia stood to one side, speaking with several men, her expression serious and confident. Alexander waited until she was alone for a moment before he stepped in front of her.

She lifted her gaze, her eyelashes like dark feathers against her white skin. Desire and…
more
simmered in her expression. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to kiss her. His fingers curled into his palms as he fought the urge.

“Why?” he asked.

She blinked, her gaze slipping to his throat. Her shoulders lifted in a shrug, though the casual gesture contradicted the multitude of emotions in her eyes.

“The calculations work,” she said.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I can give you.”

“Beg your pardon, Miss Kellaway?” Lord Perry touched Lydia’s arm to garner her attention and cast a faintly hostile glare at Alexander. “Your opinion on the ratio equation, if you please?”

Alexander stepped back and returned to his seat, not taking his eyes off Lydia as she moved to the board and commenced a discussion with two other men.

After a good half hour of buzzing and commotion, Hadley waved his arms about again. “Order! Everyone be seated, please. We’ve come to a sort of conclusion…. I think.”

He waited for the din to settle, then cleared his throat. “We believe that Miss Kellaway and Dr. Sigley have provided compelling—if rather complex—evidence that Lord Northwood’s actions did not, in fact, cause the riot to commence. Is that correct, Inspector?”

“Correct, my lord,” Inspector Denison said, though he didn’t appear entirely certain.

A rustle of movement came from the mathematicians, who turned to give each other handshakes and nods of approval. Lydia looked at Alexander and smiled in triumph.

He returned her smile because she was Lydia and he loved her for everything she was, all she had done for him, but caution kept him guarded.

“Yet while we can safely say that Lord Northwood is absolved of blame for actually inciting the riot,” Hadley continued, “we cannot ignore the fact that he was involved in an altercation that ended in one man’s death and that the ensuing chaos—whatever its origin—caused the destruction of the exhibition.”

“Not to mention his connections with the Russian
Empire,” Sir George added. “And we have been informed by Lord Clarendon that…”

Alexander stopped listening. He knew what was coming—a public announcement of his dismissal from the Society.

He looked at Lydia. She watched the council with wariness, one of her hands twisting and untwisting a lock of hair that had escaped from beneath her hat. Alexander almost smiled. He wondered if she knew she did that when she was nervous.

Sir George droned on—enemies, breaking of diplomatic relations, fleet in the Black Sea, the Ottoman Empire, French anti-Russian sentiment, acts of hostility…

As Alexander kept his gaze on Lydia, an emotion he couldn’t quite name filled him. It overwhelmed his anger, his despair, his need for control, with a sense of expectation and hope. Of freedom.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt such things. He never wanted to see his family hurt again, but the duty of protecting them could no longer be his alone.

He looked at his father. Rushton stared at Sir George, his hard features set. Alexander had the odd thought that he’d never wondered if his father had ever been truly happy.

He put his hand on Rushton’s arm. His father looked at him.

“Forgive me,” Alexander murmured. He stood and addressed the council. “I beg your pardon, gentlemen.”

All eyes turned to him. A buzz rippled through the crowd. Rushton tugged on his sleeve to try and make him sit down. Alexander pulled away and stepped to the front of the room.

“If I may?” he asked.

Hadley glanced at the other council members, who nodded.

“Go ahead, Lord Northwood.”

“I would first like to apologize for the events of the night in question. People were injured, property destroyed. A man died. I was most categorically involved, and I am deeply regretful for the negative light this has cast upon the Society.

“For two years, I’ve worked hard as vice president of the Society to bring the exhibition to fruition in honor of the Society’s one hundredth anniversary. No one wanted the exhibit to be an international success more than I did. However, in light of all this, I must resign my position as director of the exhibition and vice president of the Society. Effective immediately.”

Gasps and shouts came from the audience. Hadley smacked his hand on the table. “Order!”

Alexander couldn’t bring himself to look at Lydia. His mind, his soul, filled with images of a vast city where canals wound through crystalline squares and town house walls, where gardens bloomed amid crowded, bustling streets and wedding-cake palaces.

“I will be pleased to work for a time with whoever the council puts in my place,” he continued, “to ensure a smooth transfer of duties. As has been pointed out numerous times, I own a trading company based in St. Petersburg. I believe now that is where I will be most useful. Therefore, I would have you all know that before the summer ends, I intend to leave London.”

No.

Lydia suppressed a gasp of shock, her hand going to
her throat. Alexander continued speaking to the audience, his deep voice rolling like ocean waves. He was close enough that she needed to take only a few steps to touch him. Around her, the other mathematicians stirred and muttered, but she heard nothing beyond the roar of dismay filling her ears.

Alexander—
her Alexander—
wanted to leave? This brave, strong, proud man who could face down the world without flinching… now he was going to run away, leave London… leave
her
?

Her blood began to throb with anger and despair. She stared at him—his hair glossy under the lights, the strong column of his throat, the unyielding lines of his profile. Desperate love bloomed through her, causing her breath to stick in her throat.

With effort, she skirted her gaze from Alexander to his father and brother. Sebastian was grinning, while Lord Rushton looked somewhat perplexed. The council members bent their heads together and conferred.

Hadley cleared his throat. “Well, Lord Northwood, if that is your intention, then the council is forced to accept your resignation and wish you well on your journey.”