by Rowan Nina
The hook caught. She gasped and tightened her hands on the rod. Reel! Reel!
She leaned forward, her heart hammering as she began to turn the spool. The fish yanked at the line.
She had it! She just had to—
Her weight shifted. She tried to stick her foot against a branch to steady herself, but it slipped on the moss. Horrified, she felt herself begin to slide.
The fish pulled on the line, hard. She clutched the rod with both hands. If she could—
Lydia shrieked. She tipped forward and fell off the branch like an otter sliding across the ice. Freezing water hit her, soaking through her clothing. Her breath stopped in her lungs and her throat constricted.
She heard the faint shout of her name before the water closed over her head. Slick weeds brushed across her face like tentacles. She opened her mouth to scream, and water choked her. She kicked toward the surface, struggling to find something to grab.
Oh, God, she could see it now—the police constable filling out a report: Mathematician drowned due to miscalculation.
She kicked harder, her right hand closing around an underwater branch before the current pulled her down again. Her lungs expanded, her chest feeling as if it were about to burst.
Suddenly two strong arms clamped around her waist and hauled her upward. Her head broke through the surface, her mouth opening on a huge, choking gasp that filled her lungs with blessed air.
After another push, she landed on the hard surface of the riverbank, the smell of grass pungent in her nose and the sun hot on her face.
“Lydia!” Alexander’s urgent voice cut through the pounding current still ringing in her ears.
She opened her eyes, swiping water off her face as she stared upward. Four faces crowded above her, their expressions lined with concern and anxiety.
“Are you all right?” Talia pushed Lydia’s wet hair away from her forehead. “I heard you scream, and we all came running—”
Lydia blinked and nodded, so grateful to be breathing air that she didn’t want to waste it by speaking.
Alexander frowned. “What the bloody hell did you think you were doing?”
Lydia tried to remember.
“Alex, don’t shout at her.” Talia pushed the men away and helped Lydia sit up. She wrapped her in the picnic blanket and tried to dry her hair off a bit.
“I was f-figuring just how far I could creep out onto that log,” Lydia said, her teeth rattling together. “I weigh nine stone, and… and that boulder there, see… that’s the pivot, but I m-miscalculated the moments of inertia.”
Everyone fell silent and looked at her with bewilderment. Except for Alexander, whose mouth appeared to be twitching.
“Well, we all make mistakes like that, don’t we?” Talia said brightly. “Were you—”
She looked at Lydia’s hands. Lydia looked too. She was still clutching the fishing rod in her left hand, and the line was still tight.
“Oh!” The word came out a croak. Her fingers shook with cold as she reeled the line. “There was a fish… a fat rainbow trout, five pounds if it weighed an ounce. It’ll be wonderful for dinner! Perhaps we can have it with melted butter. It put up such a fight, fairly pulled me right off the tree. You wouldn’t believe—”
She yanked the rest of the line out of the water and pulled the still-hooked fish onto the bank. Triumph surged through her. The misery of being wet and cold faded.
She’d done it! She’d caught the—
Northwood started laughing. A deep, booming laugh that made Lydia’s stomach flutter with something rich and pleasant and… Why was he laughing?
She stared at him—the sun sparkling off his wet hair, the water dripping off his face.
Then Castleford chuckled. Then Sebastian. Northwood bent to grasp the end of Lydia’s fishing line and held it up. A small silvery fish, no more than three inches, writhed on the end of the line.
“Behold, my dear fisherwoman,” Northwood said, “your whale of a catch.”
The men exploded with laughter.
“Perhaps it might serve as a nice appetizer,” Sebastian suggested.
“Or we’ve a cat who could gobble it whole,” Castleford said, sending all three men off into another fit.
“Now, stop it, you three,” Talia scolded, though her green eyes danced with amusement. She patted Lydia’s hand. “It’s quite impressive for Lydia’s first catch. Now we must get her home before she catches her death. Alex! Stop it and help.”
“I did help,” he said, between guffaws so deep he ought to have been clutching his stomach. “I’m the one who rescued her from the raging current, remember?”
Talia gave a huff of exasperation and looked at Castleford pleadingly. Still grinning, he took a gallant step forward and began to lift Lydia off the ground before Northwood shouldered him aside.
“Watch yourself, old chap,” he muttered. His smile flashed white and striking as he gathered Lydia up and lifted her against his chest. He shifted her in his arms, as if testing her weight.
“Nice catch indeed,” he said in a low voice meant for her ears alone.
Her flush warmed her to the bone. She pushed halfheartedly at his chest. His very solid, very broad chest.
“I can walk,” she protested. “You’ll get all wet.”
“I’m already all wet,” he reminded her. “I dove in after you. It was quite masterful.”
“Come on, then,” Sebastian called. “Our bountiful dinner awaits!”
Sebastian flung Lydia’s rod over his shoulder, the poor hapless fish still dangling from the line, and strode forward to lead the party back to the house. They trooped along the riverbank—the men still as merry and amused as a band of jesters—and Talia trying to hide her traitorous smile every time Lydia shot her a glower.
Even through her humiliation, however, Lydia couldn’t deny the pleasure of being held against Northwood, feeling the smooth rhythm of his long stride, his strong arms tight around her.
After a minute, she allowed herself to rest her head against his chest. His lingering chuckles vibrated through him. Despite the wetness and the cold, the heat of his body seeped into her. He glanced at her occasionally, looks of such amusement and warmth that her blood shimmered.
Even with the pathetic little fish dangling mockingly in front of her, Lydia never wanted this walk to end.
“Out! Out!” Talia waved her hands to shoo Northwood and Castleford from Lydia’s room. “Anne, draw a hot bath for Miss Kellaway, quickly, then fetch her some hot tea. No, better yet, brandy. No—both! Yes, both. Susan, help me get these clothes off her. Oh, and tell Jim to bring up some wood for a fire.”
The maids fluttered around, clucking like hens, as Talia closed the door firmly behind the two men. Between the three women, Lydia found herself stripped to the skin and soaking in a hot bath in no time at all.
Lydia washed the river water from her hair, sighing with pleasure as she scrubbed herself with soap that smelled of honey. She dried off and dressed in clean clothes, combing the tangles out of her long hair as she returned to the bedchamber.
“How do you feel?” Talia asked, her brow creased with worry. “I do hope you don’t fall ill.”
“I’m fine.” In fact, Lydia hadn’t felt this good in a very long time. She smiled and squeezed the younger woman’s hands. “Really. Go on. I’m sure you want to change as well before supper.”
“My room is one floor up, so call if you need me,” Talia insisted. She pressed a kiss to Lydia’s cheek and hurried out.
Lydia sank into a chair beside the fire. Although it was warm outside, flames danced from crackling logs. Lydia fanned her hair out around her shoulders and continued combing it in the hopes the heat would dry it quickly.
A knock sounded. “Come in!”
Her heart gave a little leap when Northwood entered, a tray of tea and biscuits in his hands. He looked somewhat startled to see her, pausing two steps into the room.
“Well, come in, then.” Lydia nodded to the
chair across from her. “Since you’ve all had a good laugh at my expense, you might as well make amends by pouring my tea.”
Leaving the door open behind him, he moved to sit. He looked rather lovely—all clean and fresh with a crisp white shirt and his hair still damp from his own bath. He continued staring at her with an odd expression.
“What is it?” Lydia asked with impatience. “Have I got rushes stuck in my ears?”
Northwood blinked. He gestured to her head. “I don’t think…” He cleared his throat. “I’ve never seen your hair like that.”
“What, wet?”
“No. Entirely… unpinned.”
“Oh.” The comb caught on a tight knot. Lydia swallowed hard and yanked it free. She shifted under his stare.
If he’d been looking at her with… well, heat, she might not have been quite so disconcerted. That intense, knowing look of his still embarrassed her, but she was becoming accustomed to it. In fact, she was starting to like it.
This, however, this was… what was it? Wonder? Awe?
Lydia grabbed the heavy length of her hair in two fistfuls and pulled it away from her face. She hurried to the dressing table and found several pins, which she used to secure an untidy knot at the back of her neck.
“Not quite the done thing, is it?” she asked with a wan smile, though her heart was suddenly racing. “Seeing a woman in such disarray.”
He didn’t take his eyes off her. “Very appealing. The disarray. To me, at least.”
He splashed a bit of brandy into her cup and crossed the room. He pressed the cup into her hands, his dark gaze intent. The desire was there now—unmistakable, making her pulse throb—but there was something else, something warm and tender and… affectionate.
A response swirled in her. This wasn’t like before, all those years ago when a man had awakened her body but left her soul unmoved. With Northwood—only with him—she felt a restless stirring, like something rousing, breaking open, coming to life.
“Stay and rest before dinner,” he said. “No one expects you to join us downstairs.”
“I’m really not—”
“I insist.” He pushed a damp strand of hair away from her neck, his fingers lingering at the base of her throat.
Then, before she could move, before she could even breathe, he pressed the lightest kiss to her temple. “I never imagined it, you know.”
Lydia almost couldn’t speak. “What?”
“This.” His hand slid across her neck, his lips moving to her cheek before he released her and stepped back.
He smiled—beautiful, rakish, gentle—and left.
Oh, my heavens, Lydia thought as light spilled through her in waves of silver and gold. She wanted him to smile at her like that forever.
In that instant, she realized what she’d been feeling in his presence. She could name the gentle surge beneath her heart, the lightness that eased the ancient, persistent tension in her chest.
Young. Alexander made her feel young again.
No, that wasn’t quite right. He made her feel young for the first time ever.
Chapter Fifteen
Lord Castleford and Sebastian Hall nearly tripped over themselves getting to Lydia when she arrived for dinner. Shame-faced apologies tumbled from their mouths.
“So terribly sorry, Miss Kellaway… absolutely meant no offense… just having a bit of fun, you know… certainly didn’t intend to insult a very delightful guest… our deepest, deepest apologies…”
Lydia almost put a halt to the barrage of words before glancing past to where Talia stood watching, her arms firmly crossed. After the men had expressed their voluminous contrition, they both turned to look at her. She gave a satisfied nod, and relief flashed across the men’s faces.
Seated in a chair beside the fire, the earl watched the proceedings with a faint smile.
Castleford turned back to Lydia. “Really, we do hope you weren’t offended, Miss Kellaway.”
“One who is foolish enough to clamber onto a log over a river… well, that person has no right to be offended at the consequences of her actions, Lord Castleford.”
He grinned, his brown eyes twinkling. “And you know, your fish wasn’t quite so small when we looked at it more closely.”
“Under a microscope,” added a deep voice just behind Lydia.
She turned to give Northwood a glare. He smiled in response. She forgave him.
He extended his arm. “Shall we?”
They went into the dining room and indulged in a lovely dinner of oxtail soup, veal cutlets in tomato sauce, sautéed potatoes, and green peas—the fish having gone to the appreciative household cat.
After dinner and coffee, Sebastian provided piano music while the others engaged in card games and conversation. Lydia found herself sitting with Lord Rushton beside the fire, at his request, explaining a recent puzzle she’d devised.
While he worked out the solution, Lydia stood to study the contents of the bookshelf where an abacus sat on display. She extended a hand to touch the shiny frame and beads but withdrew at the sound of Talia’s voice.
“That was a gift from Lord Castleford several years ago,” Talia explained, pausing beside her. “He brought it back from a trip to China. Did you ever travel there with your father?”
“Oh, no.” Lydia curled her fingers into her palm. “I’d have loved to accompany him, but with Jane… well, it wouldn’t have been possible. I’ve always loved the idea of travel, though.”
A faint smile tugged at Talia’s mouth. “You, Castleford, my brothers… even my father used to love travel once upon a time.”
Lydia looked at her curiously. “And you?”
“I enjoy travel, yes, but since… well, lately I’ve become a bit of a home-bird, I’m afraid.”
Sensing Talia was leaving much unspoken, Lydia wondered whether she ought to pursue the conversation when Talia gave her a smile and patted her arm.
“I’m glad you came, Lydia,” she said. “It’s lovely to have a new friend.”
Warmth filled Lydia’s chest as she watched the other woman walk away. Yes, it was lovely indeed to have a new friend.
She returned to Lord Rushton’s side to discover he’d solved the puzzle with both accuracy and care. They discussed his solution, then joined the others for a final game of cards.
It was past midnight before everyone said their good-nights and headed upstairs to bed. Feeling content and sleepy, Lydia went into her bedchamber and saw her papers spread out over the desk. She looked around for her notebook and realized she’d left it downstairs.
She returned to the drawing room and found the notebook beside the fireplace. After tucking it beneath her arm, she looked at the abacus again, the beads glowing in a shaft of moonlight.
Her heart constricted. She picked it up, smoothing her fingers over the bamboo frame.
“Your father must have been familiar with the abacus.” Northwood’s voice drifted into the stillness of the room.
Lydia turned as he approached and stopped beside her. Her skin prickled with delicious awareness of his presence.
“Yes, he was,” she said. “I am as well. My father brought me an abacus from China when I was quite young and taught me how to use it. Jane and I devised several games as part of her lessons. We stopped playing years ago, and I believe my grandmother sold the abacus at some point.”
She ran her hand over the beads, listening to the soft clicking, the slide of the wire. A clear, sharp-edged picture came to her mind—her father crouching on the floor of the schoolroom to present her with the abacus, explaining its history, its use. It’s called a suanpan, used to express numbers by the position of the beads…
“It’s the use of one’s hands, I believe, that makes the abacus so effective,” Lydia said, stroking her palm across the wood. “Touching the smooth beads, the tight brass wires, the polished frame. It adds a very tangible dimension to abstract concepts.”
Northwood stepped forward and drew his forefinger across a
row of beads. Lydia’s hands tightened on the frame.
He had moved closer. She could smell him, a delicious combination of earth and sky that clung to his clothes, a faint tinge of smoke, as if he were composed of the very elements.
She cast an uneasy glance over her shoulder toward the open door.
She could feel the heat radiating from his body. His hands began to move over the frame of the abacus, toward where she continued to hold it in a tight grip. She was cloistered with him in a space that began to feel unbearably close. Intimate. Secret.
“Russian shopkeepers use it, you know,” Northwood said, his hands sliding closer and closer to hers. “The abacus.”
“Do they?” Her breath was uneven.
“Mmm. It’s called a schoty. They use it to tabulate both simple and complex calculations. I imagine several of my Russian ancestors were shopkeepers. So it must be in my blood.”
His hand reached hers, his fingers sliding across her knuckles.
“What must be in your blood?” she asked.
His thumb rubbed back and forth, back and forth, over her hand. “The effectiveness of touch.”
A tremble coursed through her, little shivers raining up her arm. He hardly needed an abacus to prove that to her. Or, she suspected, to any other woman.
She drew back. “My lord.”
“Alexander,” he murmured. “I want you to call me Alexander.”
Her gaze flew to his. “I beg your pardon?”
“Alexander,” he repeated. His breath stirred the tendrils of hair at her temple. “Say it.”
She wanted to. The urge filled her mouth like warm cream. She wanted to give voice to this man’s name, to listen to it flow through the thick, dusty air. She wanted to say it aloud, the sharp X sound slicing the elegant vowels like a knife through soap-soft leather. She wanted to hear the acute consonants scarring the liquidity of the word.
She loved Alexander. Loved the name’s imperfection, the melting of soft and hard sounds, the way it trailed off into a purr at the end. She could never think of him as Alex, could never cut short the silver ribbon of his name.
