by Rowan Nina
He was looking at her as if she were the oddest creature he’d ever encountered. Lydia had been on the receiving end of such askance looks since she was a child and had grown accustomed to them. Coming from Lord Northwood, however, such dubiousness caused an unexpected rustle of dismay.
“Unusual, I know,” she said, attempting to keep her voice light, “but there it is. I’ve spent most of my life with numbers, crafting useful theorems into solutions. I can advise you on the efficacy and value of the mathematics display.”
“We are already consulting with a Society subcommittee composed of mathematicians and professors.”
Lydia’s heart sank. “Oh.” She chewed her lower lip and flipped through the notebook. “What about the books? Do you need anyone to help with your accounting of the books?”
“No. Even if I did, I would not allow you to work in exchange for the locket.”
“Well, I would still like—”
Before she could finish the sentence, Northwood rose from his chair with the swiftness of a crocodile emerging from a river. He crossed to her in two strides and pulled the notebook from her grip. Lydia gave a slight gasp. He paged through the book, his frown deepening.
“ ‘Alexander Hall, Lord Northwood,’ ” he read, “ ‘returned from St. Petersburg two years ago following scandal.’ What is all this?”
A hot flush crept up Lydia’s neck. “My lord, I apologize, I didn’t mean to offend.”
“A bit late for that, Miss Kellaway. You’ve been collecting details about me? For the purpose of retrieving the locket?”
“It was the only way I could—”
“ ‘A pompous sort’? Where did you hear I was a pompous sort?”
Lydia’s blush grew hotter, accompanied by a growing alarm as she sensed the locket swinging farther out of her reach. “Er… a friend of my grandmother’s. She said you were known for moving about in rather lofty circles, both here and in St. Petersburg.”
When he didn’t respond, she added, “She also said you’d done excellent work building your trading company.”
If the compliment mitigated the offense, he gave no indication. He turned his attention back to the book.
“ ‘Scandal involving mother.’ ” Northwood’s expression tightened with anger. “Did your research, didn’t you, Miss Kellaway?”
She couldn’t respond. Shame and dismay swirled through her chest. Northwood leafed through the rest of the book, his expression not changing as he examined the scribbled equations and theorems.
“What is all this?” he asked again.
“My notes. I keep the notebook with me so I can write things down as I think of them.”
Northwood slammed the book shut.
“It’s late, Miss Kellaway.” His voice was weary, taut. “I believe John has returned with the carriage. If you’ll wait in the foyer, he will ensure that you arrive home safely.”
Lydia knew that if she left now, he would never agree to see her again.
“Lord Northwood, please, I’m certain we can come to some sort of agreement.”
“Are you, now?” He stared at her so intently that Lydia shifted with discomfort. His eyes slipped over her, lingering on her breasts, her waist. “What kind of agreement?”
She ought to have been offended by the dark insinuation in his voice, like the low thrum of a cello, but instead a shiver ran through her blood and curled in her belly.
Yet she had nothing more to offer him.
“Lord Northwood,” she finally said, “what do you propose?”
Alexander paused for a moment and stared at the woman before him. Who was she? Why did she make him so… curious? And why was embarrassment flaring in him because she knew about the scandal?
“I propose, Miss Kellaway,” he said, his words clipped, “that you throw your infernal notebook into the fire and leave me the bloody hell alone.”
Her eyes widened. “I’m certain you realize that is not an option,” she said quietly.
He gave a humorless laugh. So much for attempting to frighten her off. “One can hope.”
He could just give her the damned locket back. That would be the gentlemanly thing to do, though he suspected she wouldn’t accept the gesture. For her, it had to be done through payment or exchange.
He rolled his shoulders back, easing the tension that lived in his muscles. His earlier frustration with Talia lingered, and now with Miss Kellaway here… it would be no wonder if he concluded women were the cause of all the world’s troubles.
Certainly they were the cause of his.
“You’re correct about this.” He tapped the book with a forefinger. “My mother ran off with another man. Younger than she, even. Horrified society. Ever since, people have thought of us as rather extraordinarily disreputable.”
“Are you?”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know. I give little credence to gossip. It’s not easily proved.”
“You require proof, do you?”
“Of course. Mathematics, after all, is built on foundations of proving theorems, deductive reasoning. It’s the basis of my work.”
“All in this book?” He paged through it again with disbelief. Scribbled equations, lists, and diagrams filled the pages, some smudged, some crossed out, others circled or designated with a star.
“Those are notes, ideas for papers,” Lydia explained. “Some problems and puzzles I’ve devised for my own enjoyment.”
Alexander laughed.
Lydia frowned. “What’s so amusing?”
“Most women—indeed, the vast majority of women—engage in needlepoint or shopping for enjoyment,” Alexander said. “You devise mathematical problems?”
“Sometimes, yes. May I have my book back, please?” Her frown deepened and she extended her hand. “You needn’t find it all so funny, my lord. It can be very satisfying to craft a complex problem.”
“I can tell you a thousand other ways to find satisfaction.”
Her lips parted, shock flashing in her eyes as the insinuation struck her. He held out the notebook but didn’t loosen his grip. Lydia grasped the other end of it and appeared to collect herself, her chin lifting.
“Well,” she said, “I daresay you couldn’t solve one of my problems.”
He heard the challenge in her voice and responded as if she’d just asked him to place a thousand-pound bet. He let go of the notebook.
“Couldn’t I?” he asked. “How certain are you of that?”
“Quite.” She cradled the notebook to her chest.
“Certain enough to wager your locket?”
She wavered an instant before giving a swift nod. “Of course, though I’d insist upon establishing the parameters of a time frame.”
The parameters of a time frame.
The woman was odd enough to be fascinating.
“If you can’t solve my puzzle in five minutes’ time,” Lydia continued, “you must return my locket at once.”
“And if you lose?”
“Then you may determine my debt.”
He gave her a penetrating look that might have disconcerted any other woman. Although she bore his scrutiny without response, something about her demeanor seemed to deflect it, like tarnished silver repelling light.
“Lord Northwood,” she prompted, her fingers so tight on the notebook that the edges crumpled.
What would move her? What would provoke a reaction? What would break through her rigid, colorless exterior?
“A kiss,” he said.
Lydia’s gaze jerked to his, shock flashing in the blue depths of her eyes like lightning behind glass.
“I… I beg your pardon?”
“Should you lose, you grant me the pleasure of one kiss.”
A flush stained her cheeks. “My lord, that is a highly improper request.”
“Not as improper as what I might have proposed.” He almost grinned as her color deepened. “Still, it ought to give you proof of the theorem of my disrepute.” He tipped his head toward the n
otebook. “You can add that to column four.”
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.
Chapter Two
If 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.
