by Rowan Nina
Ahhh.
A pure male satisfaction rose in him as he felt her surrender, the relaxing of her hands, the opening of her pliant lips. He cupped one hand around the back of her warm neck, angling her head for more thorough access.
Her hands spread over his chest, the warmth of her palms burning through his shirt. One of his fists clenched in her skirts as he fought the urge to drag all the damned layers up and feel her. To strip every blasted article of clothing from her and expose her sweet-scented skin and rounded breasts.
He groaned. He pressed his lower body against her, knowing she’d feel him if it weren’t for the barrier of her clothing. He grasped her wrist. Her pulse beat swift and hot beneath his fingertips as he dragged her hand down the front of his shirt lower… lower… lower…
He stopped. Used inhuman willpower to ease his hold. Waited with a thudding heart for her to pull away. She twisted her wrist from his grip, lifting her head to stare at him.
Seconds passed. Her breath steamed hot against his lips. Heat flared in her blue eyes. And then she splayed her hand flat against his belly and slid it down to his groin.
Alexander swallowed, his gaze locked to hers as her fingers brushed against the bulge in his trousers. A hint of trepidation appeared in her expression, but then her fingers curved with tentative curiosity until his erection pressed against her palm.
She sighed, her lips moving to his jaw, her cheek rubbing over his. He winced, desire churning through him. He placed a hand against the wall behind her in an effort to master his rapidly diminishing control.
Lydia paused, her breath still hot against his jaw. He grasped her wrist again. For an instant, neither of them moved, and then her hand slipped from him.
He stepped back, moving away to allow her to gather her composure while he did the same. He dug into his pocket and removed the necklace, turning back to extend it to her—and realizing his mistake too late.
She stared at the locket nestled in his palm, two spots of color high on her cheekbones. Alexander swallowed a rising tide of shame.
“I’m sorry, I—”
“I require no payment for services rendered,” Lydia said coldly.
“I didn’t mean—”
“You’ve made it quite clear what you mean. And I believe I’ve made my intentions equally clear. I will not accept your charity.”
His fingers tightened around the locket. “Your pride will be your downfall, Miss Kellaway.”
“Do you think so? Tell me, if you were in my position, would you take the locket back simply because I felt sorry for you?”
Alexander didn’t respond. He gave a curt nod and tossed the necklace onto the table beside the paper she’d given him. His shoulders felt stiff enough to break, his blood still flaring with desire unfulfilled.
“And should I solve your damned problem?” he asked through a clenched jaw.
“If you manage to do so by the end of two weeks, you may once again determine my debt.”
“And you will abide by it?”
For an instant, a glimmer of apprehension appeared in her eyes. “As long as it remains within reason.”
“Meaning?”
“No requests for a kiss or… anything else of that nature.”
“Very well.”
She blinked. “You agree?”
“Yes.” His mouth twisted. “You’re surprised?”
“Considering your—our—behavior of late, I suppose I am.”
“And disappointed?” He smiled without humor.
“Certainly not.”
“Good. There’s no need to be, you know.” He approached her again, his booted steps silent against the thick Aubusson carpet.
Lydia didn’t back away from him, but her wariness visibly deepened. “Why… why not?”
Alexander reached out to slide his thumb across her full lips, a renewed surge of arousal filling him at the sensation of her warm breath. “Because the next time we engage in something of that nature, debt will not be an issue.”
Lydia swallowed, her finger twisting around a lock of hair that clung to her damp neck. “There will not be a next time, my lord.”
“Oh, yes. There will. Not because you owe me, but because you want it.”
She swiveled on her heel and strode to the foyer. Alexander followed, ensuring she was safely in the cab before turning back to the drawing room.
He stopped. His father stood at the door of his study, his expression unreadable.
“Miss Kellaway, wasn’t it?” he asked.
Alexander nodded, not knowing what to say and not liking the feeling of having been caught doing something wrong.
Rushton’s gaze flicked to the drawing room and back to the front door before he turned and disappeared into his study.
Chapter Nine
The sun hung like a golden ball in the sky, burning away the last of the late-morning fog. A gentle breeze rustled through the trees. Beside Lydia on the carriage seat, Jane peered out the window as the festival came into view.
“There it is!” Jane almost bounced up and down.
Lydia smiled. Her sister had spent the past week and a half chattering about the festival, and her excitement solidified Lydia’s belief that she had done the right thing in accepting Northwood’s invitation.
She took her sister’s hand as they descended the carriage and walked toward the field amid a crowd of well-dressed men and women, all accompanied by eager children.
Flowers, streamers, and balloons decorated the field, and several booths sat around the perimeter. A wooden platform demarcated an area for dancing, and musicians were tuning up their instruments. Sebastian sat at a cottage piano, in consultation with another musician over a sheet of music.
Before Lydia and Jane reached the entrance, Lord Northwood approached with a young woman at his side.
Lydia’s heart gave a little leap. Dear heaven, he looked magnificent. The points of his collar emphasized the hard angles of his face, and he walked with an easy, masculine grace that made Lydia want to gaze upon him for hours.
“Good morning.” He stopped in front of them and removed his hat, his dark eyes slipping over Lydia. Her skin prickled with awareness. “A pleasure to see you again.”
He made the introductions, and Lady Talia Hall greeted them with warmth.
“I’m glad to meet you properly, Miss Kellaway.” Though the young woman had more delicate, refined features, she and her brothers shared a resemblance in their dark eyes and high cheekbones that lent them a foreign air. “I apologize for the… chaos of our initial encounter.”
She threw Alexander a pointed look. He had the grace to look somewhat abashed.
“There is no need to apologize, Lady Talia,” Lydia assured her as they handed their tickets over at the entrance and went into the festival grounds.
“Miss Jane, I’d be honored if you’d accompany me to the game booths,” Northwood said. “And there’s a display of dioramas that I think you’ll find quite fascinating.”
He extended his hand to her. Jane glanced at Lydia for permission, and for an instant Lydia didn’t want to let her go. There were too many people, too much activity…
Stop it. Northwood would never let anything happen to Jane.
She nodded. Jane gave Northwood a brilliant smile and took his hand. Trepidation slipped through Lydia as she watched them melt into the crowd.
Much to Lydia’s gratitude, Talia remained by her side as they walked around the festival and met various people, including Lord Castleford—a man whose tall, imposing appearance might have been intimidating were it not for the welcoming twinkle in his eyes and the broad smile creasing his tanned face.
“Miss Kellaway’s father was Sir Henry Kellaway,” Talia told Lord Castleford. “He was a scholar of considerable renown on the subject of Chinese history. Perhaps you knew of him?”
“Indeed. I had the pleasure of making his acquaintance several times, Miss Kellaway. His lectures were brilliant.”
Lydia smiled,
warmed by the evident admiration in Lord Castleford’s voice. They spoke about her father’s work and travels as they continued through the festival grounds, before Lydia turned to see Northwood approaching with Jane.
Her heart twisted at the sight of them—her Jane, as sweet as cake even in her mourning dress, her hands gesturing as she spoke and laughed, her green eyes sparkling. Northwood walked beside her, his hand on her shoulder, his head lowered to better listen to her chatter. His smile flashed every so often, or he responded with gestures and laughter of his own.
They could not have appeared more opposite—the tall, dark-haired viscount and the pale, brown-haired girl, but somehow they looked entirely natural. Somehow they fit.
Lydia’s throat constricted. She couldn’t let this happen. She couldn’t allow herself to feel this way about Lord Northwood. Moreover, she couldn’t let Jane become attached to a man with whom Lydia had no future.
She had no future with any man. Despite what she’d told Northwood, she knew her destiny—she was fated to live a spinster life, fulfilled by her work and her love for Jane. And while Lydia sometimes could not deny her longing for more, she had to be content with her fate. It could have been so much worse.
“Lydia, you must see the dioramas!” Jane hurried forward. “They’ve got one that shows the Aurora Borealis and another the changing seasons in Paris. It’s lovely. My favorite is the one of Africa, though, with the sun rising and the lions actually moving. Isn’t that right, Lord Northwood?”
Northwood watched Jane affectionately as the girl turned away to answer a question Talia asked. Then he glanced at Lydia.
“Have you solved the problem, my lord?” she asked in an effort to remind herself of the only thing she wanted from him.
He scowled. “I doubt Pythagoras himself could solve the blasted thing.”
Lydia suppressed a smile. “So you concede defeat?”
“Never. I’ve still over a week, yes?”
She inclined her head in acknowledgment, experiencing a small surge of admiration for his persistence. “Shall I give you a hint?”
“That will not be necessary.” He gave her a mock frown. “You don’t think I can do it.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“That doesn’t mean you aren’t thinking it.” His frown eased into a smile, the corners of his eyes creasing in a manner so appealing that Lydia’s heart pattered like raindrops. “Never mind. I take great pleasure in changing people’s preconceived notions.”
He winked at her before turning to Jane. “Shall we show your sister where we can procure an ice cream?”
Jane nodded, grasping Lydia’s hand. Her heart still warm from Northwood’s gentle teasing, Lydia allowed herself to absorb the girl’s enthusiasm. There was no harm in having a bit of fun—in fact, it would do both her and Jane a world of good to enjoy the lovely day.
They spent the next couple of hours with Talia and Northwood, playing games, watching a troupe of jugglers, eating ice cream. The laughter and happy shrieks of children resounded throughout the festival grounds. Jane and Talia went to procure tissue-paper balloons from one of the booths.
Lydia smiled at the sight of Northwood—his hair in disarray from the wind, his coat wrinkled, and his fine linen shirt smudged with grass stains—joining a group of children in a game of hoops.
Which person was he—the formidable viscount who strode through the world with determined pride or this seemingly carefree man who liked ice cream and knew how to talk to an eleven-year-old girl and remembered how to roll a hoop?
Which man did Lydia want him to be?
Both.
The answer slipped like a whisper just beneath her heart.
A warning followed, but she chose to ignore it and allow the warmth and pleasure of the day to submerge her persistent unease.
Jane came hurrying back to fetch Lydia and Northwood for the start of a puppet show, and after a helping of lemon ice, they went to the area where the musicians had begun to play. The lively tunes swam above the sounds of laughter as a number of children and adults began dancing.
“Will you honor me with a dance?” Northwood asked, pausing beside Lydia.
“Dance? I—”
A grin tugged at his mouth. “You’re about to tell me you can’t dance, aren’t you?”
“Of course I can dance, Lord Northwood. I’m not ill-bred.” Lydia lifted her chin a fraction. “It’s simply been some time. I’m a bit out of practice, I fear.”
“Then I’ll enjoy teaching you again.” He curled his hand around her wrist, his fingers skimming the pulse beating too rapidly beneath her skin.
As they stepped onto the dance floor, Lydia expected him to draw her closer, but instead he wove a path around the couples who danced to a brisk country tune. He guided her into the easy rhythm of the dance. His grip remained firm on her waist, the warmth of his hand burning through her glove, his gaze so attentive it seemed as if he wanted to look nowhere else but at her.
And all of it, everything about him—his touch, his eyes, his grasp, the movement of his body mere inches from hers—incited a response of pure pleasure in Lydia, a pleasure undiluted by guilt or shame.
They parted several times to dance with others—Northwood with Jane and then Talia, Lydia with Sebastian and then Lord Castleford. After an energetic Scotch reel, she paused to sit on a bench and catch her breath. Then Sebastian began playing a waltz, and Lydia watched as Northwood stopped to look around. For her.
She waited, expectant, ready. Surprised at the happiness that filled her blood.
Alexander approached, his dark eyes twinkling. At that moment, Lydia wanted nothing else in the world. She put her hand in his and went out to dance again.
He watched her from his position hidden in the crowd. He remembered when he’d first laid eyes upon her.
She had arrived on a train. Not pretty at first glance—pallid skin from being indoors all the time, too serious, her forehead marred with frown lines. She’d barely said anything either, let her grandmother do all the talking. Then after they’d gotten home and she’d removed her coat and hat, he’d noticed the way her dress fitted her, the thickness of her hair, her dark eyelashes.
That was when the seeds of lust had sprouted, though it had taken many months of cultivation before they’d borne fruit.
All that time he’d spent—leaning over her shoulder at the table to point out an error in her equations, standing beside her at the blackboard, watching her at her desk, sitting across from her at the dinner table—all leading to that one afternoon when he’d summoned his courage and made his move.
And she had responded. Like a cat in heat.
Even now, remembering, he became aroused. He wanted that Lydia again. Not this one, not the hardened, older Lydia of today, but the young Lydia who’d arrived in Germany so quiet and serious. The Lydia who, contrary to every expectation he’d had about her, had blossomed under his touch—until that stupid girl had ruined everything.
Anger subsumed his arousal, tightening his chest. His hands curled into fists.
She owed him. She’d instigated his downfall from a prestigious career. She’d lost him the respect of his peers. She was the reason he’d returned to the filth of London. For well over a decade, Lydia Kellaway had owed him—and now the time had come to pay.
Chapter Ten
Alexander paced outside the building. A horse clomped past, pulling a wagon filled with broken furniture, rusted bits of metal, and a pile of greasy rags. The sun burned through the layer of yellowish fog permeating the city streets.
He flicked open his watch and gave a mutter of impatience. He had allowed four days to pass since the festival—days during which he’d stayed up well past midnight attempting to solve Lydia’s damned problem—before devising another excuse to seek the woman’s company. When he’d gone to her town house, Mrs. Boyd had told him Lydia had a meeting with the editorial board of some mathematical journal, but she ought to have been finished by now.
Alexander paced several more steps before the door opened and Lydia stepped onto the street, followed by a half dozen men.
“He is the Hollis professor of mathematics and natural philosophy at Harvard University,” one of them grumbled.
“That doesn’t mean he applied the method correctly, Dr. Grant,” Lydia replied, adjusting her hat against the sun. “I’ll write the letter of amendment this week and present it at our next meeting.”
“He won’t take kindly to that,” Grant muttered.
“Better we ask him for a revision than publish a flawed paper,” another portly man remarked. “Miss Kellaway is correct about the application. I suggest we allow her to see this matter through.”
“Agreed,” a third man said. “We’ve also your paper on our next agenda, Miss Kellaway. If you could send it along in advance, that will give us time to review it prior to discussion. It’s the Euler equation paper, correct?”
Lydia nodded, and the little group commenced a discussion of Euler—a Swiss mathematician whose work involved calculus and graphing. Alexander waited a few more minutes before clearing his throat. Loudly.
They all looked up. Lydia blinked.
“Lord Northwood?”
“Your grandmother told me where to find you, Miss Kellaway,” he said. “She anticipated your meeting would be concluded by now.”
“Well, yes, we’ve just finished.” Lydia gestured to the men, who had clustered in a half-circle stronghold behind her. “These are my colleagues on the editorial board.”
She stepped aside to make introductions. Alexander greeted the other men, aware that they were eyeing him with suspicion.
“What are you doing here, my lord?” Lydia asked.
“I’m going to oversee the exhibition preparations at St. Martin’s Hall and thought you might like to accompany me.”
