by Rowan Nina
A Study In Seduction
Daring Hearts [1]
Nina Rowan
Forever (2011)
* * *
Rating: ***
Tags: Romance, Historical Romance, England, Love Story, Regency Romance
A HEART DIVIDED
The lovely Lydia Kellaway can solve the most complex puzzles. The one challenge she can't top? Managing the most infuriating man she's ever encountered.
Alexander Hall, Viscount Northwood, has purchased a one-of-a-kind locket from a pawnshop, unaware of the priceless sentiment it holds for Lydia. The gentlemanly thing to do would be to simply return it. But Alexander is curious to see just how bold this brilliant beauty will be...
A LOVE UNEQUALED
What begins as a playful wager quickly escalates. As their sizzling attraction grows, even Lydia can't account for the feelings Alexander arouses with his smile, or the fire he ignites with his touch. But when a dark family secret is suddenly thrown into the equation, it just might divide them forever . . .
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Table of Contents
A Preview of A Passion for Pleasure
Newsletters
Copyright Page
In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
For O.P., who is always right.
Acknowledgments
My deepest gratitude goes to Kimberly Witherspoon of InkWell Management for her persistence and belief, and to William Callahan and Nathaniel Jacks for their consistent support. I’m indebted to my excellent editor, Selina McLemore, whose perceptive insights have greatly strengthened this book and my writing. I am so grateful to Franzeca Drouin and Eloisa James, fairy godmothers who make me want to be both a better writer and a better person. F., I will treasure March 28, 2009, as the start of a wonderful friendship. Thank you to my book club and also my critique partners, Bobbi, Rachel, and Melody, with whom I have my best discussions about books and writing. Much love to my husband, Will, and our children, and to my father, who always believed, even if he’d never admit to it.
Author’s Note
I relied on a number of sources while researching the mathematical elements of this book, and the following studies form the basis of Lydia’s theories about the correlation between love and mathematics. Clio Cresswell, Mathematics and Sex (Crow’s Nest, Australia: Allen and Unwin, 2003); Sergio Rinaldi, “Laura and Petrarch: An Intriguing Case of Cyclical Love Dynamics,” SIAM Journal on Applied Mathematics, 58: 4 (1988), pp. 1205–1221; and “Love Dynamics: The Case of Linear Couples,” Applied Mathematics and Computation, 95: 2–3 (1988), pp. 181–192; S. H. Strogatz, “Love Affairs and Differential Equations,” Mathematics Magazine, 61(1): 35 (1988). Thank you, brilliant mathematicians, for thinking in ways I never could.
Chapter One
London
March 1854
Every square matrix is a root of its own characteristic polynomial.
Lydia Kellaway clutched the notebook to her chest as the cab rattled away, the clatter of horses’ hooves echoing against the fortress of impressive town houses lining Mount Street. Gaslights burned through the midnight dark, casting puddles of light onto the cobblestones.
Lydia took a breath, anxiety and fear twisting through her. She looked up at town house number twelve, the dark façade perforated with light-filled windows. A man stood silhouetted behind one window on the first floor, his form straight, tall, and so still that he appeared fixed in that moment.
Beneath the glow of a streetlamp, Lydia opened her notebook and leafed through pages scribbled with notes, equations, and diagrams.
She’d written his name at the top of a blank page, then followed it with a numbered list of points, all related to the gossip and suppositions surrounding his family.
As she reviewed her notes, the back of her neck prickled with the strange feeling that she was being watched. She snapped the notebook closed and shook her head. Chiding herself for being unnerved by the shadows, she climbed the steps.
She reached for the bell just as the door flew open. A woman dressed in a vivid green silk gown stormed out, nearly colliding with Lydia on the front step.
“Oh!” The woman reeled backward, her eyes widening. In the sudden light spilling out from the foyer, Lydia saw that her eyes were red and swollen, her face streaked with tears.
Lydia stammered, “I’m… I’m sorry, I—”
The woman shook her head, her lips pressing together as she pushed past Lydia and hurried down the steps.
A curse echoed through the open door as a dark-haired man strode across the foyer, tension shimmering around him. “Talia!”
He didn’t cast Lydia a glance as he followed the woman down the steps. “Blast it, Talia, wait for the carriage!”
The woman turned her head to glare at the man and tossed a retort over her shoulder. Lydia couldn’t discern the words, but the cutting tone was enough to make her pursuer stop in his tracks. He cursed again, then went back to the house and shouted for the footman. Within seconds, the servant raced down the street after the woman.
“John!” The tall man turned to shout for a second servant. “Ready the carriage now and see Lady Talia home!”
He stalked up the steps and brushed past Lydia. He seemed about to slam the door in her face, but then he stopped and turned to stare at her. “Who the bloody hell are you?”
Lydia couldn’t speak past the shock.
Alexander Hall, Viscount Northwood. She knew it was him, knew in her bones that this was the man she sought, though she had not laid eyes on him before now.
Despite the hour and his anger, his clothing was precise, unwrinkled. His black trousers bore creases as sharp as a blade, and shiny gilt buttons fastened his silk waistcoat over a snowy white shirt.
His dark eyes flashed over Lydia. That look—keen, assessing, close—caused her breath to tangle in her throat.
“Well?” he demanded.
Every square matrix is a root of its own characteristic polynomial.
The locket. Jane. The locket.
“Lord Northwood?” she said.
“I asked who you are.”
His rough baritone voice settled deep in her bones. She tilted her head to meet his hooded gaze. Shadows mapped the pronounced Slavic angles of his face, the sloping cheekbones, the clean-shaven line of his jaw.
“My name is Lydia Kellaway,” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. She glanced at the street, where the footman had stopped Lady Talia at the corner. A carriage rattled from the side of the house and approached. “Is she all right?”
“My sister is fine,” Lord Northwood snapped, “aside from being the most obstinate, frustrating creature who ever walked the earth.”
“Is that a family trait?” Lydia spoke before thinking, which was so contrary to her usual manner that her face heated with embarrassment. Not wise to insult the man from whom she needed something.
She almost heard Northwood’s teeth grind together as his jaw clenched with irritation.
He followed her gaze to where the footman and coach driver had convinced Lady Talia to enter the carriage. The footman gave Lord Northwood a wave of victory before climbing onto the bench beside the driver. The carriage rattled away.
Some of the anger seemed to drain from Northwood, which bolstered Lydia’s courage. Although she had no contingency plan for how to handle arri
ving in the middle of a family quarrel, she couldn’t possibly leave now.
Her spine straightened with determination as she faced the viscount. “Lord Northwood, I apologize for the lateness of the hour, but I must speak with you. It’s about a locket you purchased.”
“A what?”
“A locket. A pendant attached to a chain, worn as a necklace.”
He frowned. “You’ve come to my home at this hour to inquire about a necklace?”
“It’s terribly important.” She gripped the doorjamb so he couldn’t close the door and leave her standing on the step. “Please, may I come in?”
He stared at her for a minute, then rubbed a hand across his chin.
“Kellaway.” A crease formed between his brows. “Kin to Sir Henry Kellaway?”
Lydia gave a quick nod. “He was my father. He passed away several months ago.” Grief, heavy with the weight of the past, pressed down on her heart.
“My sympathies,” Lord Northwood said, his frown easing somewhat as he glanced over her black mourning dress.
“Thank you. How did you know him?”
“We were both involved with the Crystal Palace exhibition in fifty-one.” He stood looking at her for a moment, his gaze so protracted she could almost see his thoughts shifting. Then he moved aside and held the door open.
She stepped into the foyer, conscious of the fact that he did not allow her more space to pass, even as her shoulder brushed against his arm. The light contact made her jerk away, her chest constricting.
“What makes you think I have this necklace you seek?” he asked.
“I don’t think you have it, Lord Northwood. I know you do. You purchased it from Mr. Havers’s shop less than a week ago, along with a Russian icon.” Her chin lifted. “It was a locket my grandmother pawned.”
Pushing himself away from the doorjamb, Lord Northwood stepped forward. Lydia started before realizing he intended to take her cloak. She pushed the hood off her head and fumbled with the clasp.
He stood behind her, close enough that she could sense the warmth of his body, close enough that her next breath might have been the very air he exhaled.
“Come to the drawing room, Miss Kellaway. You’d best explain yourself.”
Lydia followed him into the room and sat on the sofa, making a conscious effort not to twist the notebook between her fingers. Lord Northwood lowered himself into the chair across from her. A stoic footman served tea before departing and closing the door behind him.
Lord Northwood took a swallow of tea, then put the cup on the table and leaned back in his chair. His long body unfolded with the movement, his legs stretching out in front of him. Although his outward bearing was casual, a tautness coiled through him. He reminded Lydia of a bird of prey elongating its wings, feathers ruffling, poised for flight.
“Well?” he asked.
“I found the ticket in my grandmother’s desk.” She leafed through the pages of her book before finding a small slip of paper. “I hadn’t known she’d pawned any of my mother’s jewelry.”
His hand brushed hers as he took the pawn ticket, the hard ridges of his fingers discernible even through the protection of her glove. She jerked away, curling her hand into a fist at her side.
“Your grandmother had a month to redeem her pledge,” Lord Northwood said after looking at the slip of paper.
“I realize that. And I would have attempted to do so on her behalf had I known about the transaction to begin with. I thought Mr. Havers might not have put the locket up for sale yet, or if he had, perhaps it hadn’t been sold. But when I arrived at his shop, he informed me he’d sold it last Thursday.”
“How did you learn the name of the purchaser?”
Color heated her cheeks. “Mr. Havers refused—rightly so, I suppose—to divulge the purchaser’s name,” she explained. “When he became occupied with another customer, I saw his book of sales behind the counter. I was able to… borrow it long enough to look up the transaction.”
A smile tugged at his mouth. She watched with a trace of fascination as a dimple appeared in his cheek, lending his severe, angular features an almost boyish glint. “You stole Havers’s salesbook?”
“I did not steal it.” She bristled a little at the disagreeable term. “I removed it from his shop, yes, but for less than ten minutes. I gave a boy sixpence to return the book to its proper place without Mr. Havers seeing him. You were clearly listed as the purchaser of the locket. Do you still have it, my lord?”
Northwood shifted, his hand sliding into his coat pocket. Lydia’s breath caught in her chest as she watched him withdraw the silver chain, capturing the locket in his palm.
He studied the locket, rubbing his thumb across the engraving that embellished its polished surface.
“Is it a phoenix?” he asked.
“It’s called a fenghuang, a bird of virtue, power, and grace.”
He flipped the locket over to the design on the other side. “And the dragon?”
“When the fenghuang is paired with a dragon, the two symbolize the union of… of husband and wife.”
His dark eyes moved to hers. “Of male and female.”
Lydia swallowed in an effort to ease the sudden dryness of her mouth. “The… the fenghuang itself is representative of yin and yang. Feng is the male bird, huang the female. The bird and the dragon together speak of marital harmony.”
“And the woman?” Northwood asked.
“The woman is yin, the bird called huang—”
“No.” He flicked open the locket, turning it toward her to reveal the miniature portrait inside. “This woman.”
She didn’t look at the image. She couldn’t. She stared at Lord Northwood. Something complex and strangely intimate shone behind his eyes, as if he knew the answer to his question yet wanted to hear the response from her.
“That woman,” she said, “is my mother.”
He snapped the locket closed between his thumb and forefinger. “She is very beautiful.”
“She was.”
The sine of two theta equals two times the sine of theta times the cosine of theta.
Lydia repeated the trigonometric identity until the threat of disturbing emotions had passed.
“Why did you purchase the locket from Mr. Havers?” she asked.
“I’d never seen anything like it.”
“Nor will you again. My father had it specially made. It is pure silver, though I suspect you know that.”
“I do recognize excellent craftsmanship.” As he spoke, he lifted his gaze from the locket and looked at her. “And this locket must be very valuable, indeed, if it brought you here in the middle of the night.”
Lydia nodded. She slipped her hand into her pocket and closed her fingers around a small figurine. She extended it to Lord Northwood. “My father brought this back years ago from a trip to the province of Yunnan. It’s a jade sculpture of an elephant, quite well crafted. I’d like to offer it in exchange for the locket.”
“Why didn’t your grandmother pawn that instead of the locket?”
Lying would serve no purpose. Not with this man.
“It isn’t as valuable,” Lydia admitted.
“You expect me to make an uneven exchange?”
“No. My father also has several Chinese scrolls, one or two paintings—if you would consider several items in exchange?”
Northwood shook his head. “I do not collect Chinese art and artifacts, Miss Kellaway, so that would be of no use. As I said, I bought the locket because it was unique.”
“Surely there must be something you want.”
“What else are you offering?”
Although the question appeared innocent, the undercurrent of his voice rippled through her. Warmth heated its wake—not the tenderness provoked by emotions of the heart but something edged with wildness, lack of control. Danger.
Her eyes burned.
The locket. The locket.
“I… I have not the immediate funds to repurchase it fro
m you,” she admitted, “though I’ve been recently offered a position that involves payment, and I can offer you a promissory note in exchange for—”
“I trust no one to uphold a promissory note.”
“I assure you, my lord, I would never—”
“No one, Miss Kellaway.”
Lydia expelled a breath, unable to muster any indignation at his decree. She wouldn’t trust anyone to uphold a promissory note, either. Almost twenty-eight years of life had taught her that well enough.
“Nor would I accept money that you… earned?” Northwood added.
The statement had a question to it, one Lydia had no intention of answering. If she told him she’d been offered a position on the editorial board of a mathematical journal, he’d likely either laugh at her or… Wait a moment.
“Lord Northwood, I understand you are in charge of a Society of Arts exhibition. Is that correct?”
He nodded. “An international educational exhibition, which I proposed well over a year ago. It’s scheduled to open in June. Preparations are under way.”
An international exhibition. Lydia’s fingers tightened on the notebook.
“Is there by chance a… a mathematical element of the exhibition?” she asked.
“There is a planned display of different mathematical instruments used in various parts of the world.”
“I see.” She tried to ignore the shimmer of fear in her blood. If he did accept her offer, she would have no reason to take on any kind of public role. All of her work could be conducted before the exhibition even opened. Perhaps no one except Lord Northwood would even know.
“Lord Northwood, I should like to offer my assistance with your exhibition in exchange for the locket.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I have a talent for mathematics and am quite certain I could be a useful consultant.”
“You have a talent for mathematics?”
