by Rowan Nina
The irritation in his tone stung her. “You appeared to tolerate it quite well several hours ago.”
He glowered, even as heat flared in his eyes. “No man could resist a woman half undressed as you were.”
Her stomach twisted. She’d known enough to expect this reaction, not that she could blame him. “If you believe it was a mistake—”
“It wasn’t a mistake,” Alexander interrupted. “It was inevitable. The minute I saw you, I knew I would have you in my bed.”
The beat of her heart increased, the sound pulsing into her thoughts and masking the admission that she had known the very same thing.
Before she could respond, he crossed the room to her and gripped her wrists in his hands.
“But this stops now,” he said. “I will give you two weeks.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Two weeks,” Alexander repeated. “If at that time you don’t agree to marry me, our relationship is over.”
Her heart thumped. “Is that a threat?”
“It is a fact. I will not risk an affair.”
“Why two weeks, then?” She struggled to infuse her voice with steel. “Why not pose the ultimatum now?”
“Because two weeks gives you time to prepare.”
She stared at him in astonishment. “You think I’m going to agree, don’t you?”
“Of course you’re going to bloody well agree,” Alexander said, a muscle throbbing in his jaw. “You will be my wife.”
“I will not.”
Anger and something else—desperation?—split through his expression like lightning. “For God’s sake, I’m heir to an earl, you foolish woman.”
“I am well aware.”
“We’ve weathered scandal, yes, but my fortune alone is considerable.”
“That alone is not reason to marry you.”
“I’ve told you you’ll have plenty of freedom, funds, time. You’ll continue your work, do whatever you want during the day.”
He moved closer, his eyes burning into hers and filled with remembrances of past lusty encounters… and promises of many more. His hot breath brushed her lips.
“And at night,” he said, the words almost a growl, “you will be mine, wholly and utterly. Without reservation.”
Lydia’s arousal heightened, pulsing against her skin, between her legs. Her cheeks darkened with a flush, her chest rising with increased breaths. “I don’t mean to imply that sounds unacceptable—”
A trace of amusement flashed in his expression. “Of course it’s not unacceptable. It’s a goddamned paradise.”
Hardly a poetic sentiment, and yet a deep happiness flowered in her soul because he believed—he knew—a marriage between them would be a thing of glory.
Lydia stared at the beautiful, strong column of his throat, the damp hollow where she had tasted the salt of his skin. She rested a trembling hand against his chest, felt his heart pound against her palm and reverberate through her arm. His fingers closed around her wrist.
All the hopes and dreams and wishes of her life flooded through her—the goals realized, the opportunities missed, the chances taken. The strange combination of happiness and despair that pulsed through her blood.
The deep-seated knowledge that she would change nothing about her life, nothing, not even if it meant possessing the freedom to accept his proposal, to embrace all the glorious advantages of being Alexander Hall’s wife.
“If I were ever to marry,” she said, “I would wish for no other husband except you.”
“Then say yes.”
Frustration slammed hard against Alexander when Lydia didn’t respond. He tightened his grip on her wrist until her wince made him realize he was hurting her.
Muttering a curse, he released her and stepped back. He felt her gaze on him. He fought the urge to pace. Instead he picked up the poker again and stabbed at the burning logs. He reined in his anger, knowing it was hardly the most effective way to convince her to accept him.
Lydia sank into a chair beside the fire, wrapping her arms around her knees.
Silence fell between them for what seemed a very long time before she spoke.
“It’s required of you, isn’t it?” she asked. “That you marry well. I can see why the daughter of a baron would have been an excellent match for you.”
Alexander tightened his fist on the poker.
“She was nothing of the sort,” he said. “And you are not the daughter of a baron, but I still—”
“Exactly,” Lydia interrupted.
“What?”
“There are vast differences between your former intended and myself.” She rubbed her hand over the arm of the chair and studied the pattern of the upholstery. “I know nothing about society, Alexander. I’ve not the faintest notion what style of dress is fashionable or how to conduct an afternoon tea.”
“Talia can assist you with that sort of thing, if it’s a concern.”
“But that’s not enough.” She lifted her head to look at him. “I would not be an asset to either you or the earldom. Can you not see that?”
“You’re wrong. You’re well regarded, Lydia, as your father was before you. I learned that shortly after meeting you. Your talent for mathematics is cause for fascination rather than disapproval.” He took a step toward her, willing her to believe in his sincerity. “And you would be an asset to me. Yes, I’ve a duty to marry well, but beyond that we are undeniably compatible. Never have I met a woman like you. A woman with whom I wish to spend my life.”
An unbearable sorrow darkened Lydia’s eyes. A sorrow Alexander had seen before. One whose source he could not fathom.
She ran her forefinger over the floral design of the upholstery, tracing the leaves up to the open flower. Her head was bent, her tumble of long hair partially obscuring her features, her lashes lowered.
“Mutually inverse functions,” she said.
“What?”
“That’s what marriage should be like,” she continued. “Mutually inverse functions. Suppose a function travels from point A to point B. An inverse function moves in the opposite direction, from B to A, with the idea that each element returns to itself, so if you were to—”
“Stop.”
She looked up at him, her dark-fringed eyes wide. “It’s a mathematical way of—”
Alexander strode forward and grasped her shoulders, pulling her from the chair and against his body. “No. There are no mathematics to this, Lydia.”
Her generous breasts pressed against his chest, firing his blood all over again. He gathered the folds of her shift and pulled it up to expose her legs, her rounded hips. Lydia softened, her palms splaying against his chest as her breathing quickened.
“You can’t formulate an equation to explain this,” Alexander whispered, stroking one hand along the slope of her waist, the curve of her hip, down to the warmth between her thighs. “You can’t find a pattern in love, in desire. You can’t calculate what makes a man want a woman. You can’t quantify attraction and passion. All you can do is feel it.”
Lydia gasped as his fingers explored farther. Her blue eyes darkened, her hands tightening on his shoulders.
“I… I just meant that if you—”
“Feel it, Lydia.” Alexander cupped his hand beneath her chin and lowered his mouth to hers. “Just feel it. Do you?”
“Yes,” she whispered, her body fitting with ease against his, as graceful as an elongating flower stem. “Oh, yes.”
Hot anticipation seeped into Alexander’s blood, inundating the growing awareness that this woman had filled a place inside him he hadn’t even known was empty.
And when she was beneath him, her body lush and supple under his, her broken gasps hot against his ear, he fought the urge to demand her surrender again, fought the compulsion to make her admit she belonged to him. That she would only, could only, ever be his.
Chapter Nineteen
The faint sound of hammers and saws echoed through St. Martin’s Hall and against the
walls of the Society of Arts meeting room. Five men sat opposite Alexander at the council table, each reviewing papers and occasionally marking them with a pencil.
Alexander didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to be back in London. A week after returning from Devon, he’d received notification about the Society of Arts’ urgent meeting. And he had a sinking feeling he already knew the reason for the council summons.
He fisted his hands on his knees as he waited for the Marquess of Hadley to speak.
“I’m afraid we’ve increasing cause for concern, Lord Northwood.” Hadley’s frown slashed across his face, wrinkled his forehead. He looked up from his notes. “You’ve two brothers still residing in St. Petersburg, do you not?”
“One.” I think. He didn’t know where Nicholas was, couldn’t remember the last time they’d received a letter from him. Alexander tried to keep his voice level. “I fail to see what this has to do with the exhibition.”
“Then you’d best look more closely, Lord Northwood.” Sir George Cooke thumped a fat finger on the table. “Your brother is considered an enemy of the state.”
“My brother is not a soldier, not in politics—”
“You think anyone cares what he does?” Lord Hadley asked. “We’ve already received numerous objections to the extent of the Russian display in the exhibition, and we’ve not even received most of the objects yet.”
Lord Wiltshire coughed. “And, forgive me, Lord Northwood, but no one has forgotten the unfortunate circumstances surrounding your mother and the divorce of your parents. Owing to your support and the strength of your work with the Society, we’ve been willing to overlook it up to this point, but I’m afraid the increasing hostilities with the Russian Empire force us to take it into account once again.”
Alexander’s back teeth snapped together. “What my mother has to do with—”
“Lord Northwood, please.” Sir George held up his hand. “You are not on trial. We are not asking you to defend yourself or your family. We are simply stating the facts, and I venture to suggest that even you yourself cannot disagree with them.”
Alexander sat back, detesting the helplessness that swamped his chest.
“There is a great deal of anti-Russian public sentiment in France,” Sir George continued, “and it is beginning to flourish here. We dare not risk causing tension with the French and other foreign commissioners to the exhibition by suggesting that we sympathize with the czar.”
“A despotic ruler, if ever there was one,” Lord Wiltshire added. “We must be united with our allies against him, Northwood, and in all areas of society. That’s really the crux of the matter.”
“And your own business of trading with Russia—fibers and such, isn’t it?—is also an issue, Northwood,” Sir George said. “It’s not been declared illegal, per se, but we can’t discount the possibility that it will be soon. Or at the very least that it will arouse public sentiment.”
“What would you have me do?” Alexander asked. “Remove the Russian display from the exhibit, limit trade with—”
“Lord Northwood, there’s not much you can do.” Faint sympathy glimmered in Hadley’s expression. He and Sir George exchanged glances. “We’ve got to… well, we’d need support of the union representatives and there are bylaws to consider, but I’d suggest you prepare yourself for the eventuality.”
Alexander’s fists tightened. “What eventuality?”
“I’m afraid we’ve little choice but to consider replacing you as director of the exhibition.”
Alexander stormed from the room. All the work he’d done for the Society, the exhibition, his family, his company… slipping like water from his fist. He let the door slam shut behind him as he strode into the exhibition space of St. Martin’s Hall.
Workers teemed through the great room like insects over a field. The hall itself, and the staircases, galleries, and passages, were crowded with tables, shelves, cases, and partitions to demarcate various displays. The air filled to the paneled ceiling with the sounds of shouting voices, hammers, the scrape and thump of crates.
His doing. None of this would have been possible if it weren’t for him, and now they could strip him of his duties as if—
Alexander stopped at the section devoted to the countries of Asia. Lydia stood near the China exhibit, her head bent as she examined a shelf of books. A surge of joy swelled beneath Alexander’s heart at the sight of her, diluting his anger.
Even with all the frustration she’d caused him, he could not deny the sheer pleasure he found in just looking at her. He had a constant longing to hear her voice, to feel her gaze on him, to bask in the warmth of her smile.
Christ in heaven.
He loved her. He wanted to marry Lydia because he loved her. He needed to marry her. He needed her.
He took a few breaths to calm his turmoil before approaching her. Talia and Castleford were also there, deep in conversation.
“Hullo, North.” Castleford lifted a hand in greeting. “We were just going over the final details here.”
Alexander kept his gaze on Lydia. An image of her flushed and naked beneath him flashed into his brain. He drew in another lungful of air and forced steadiness into his voice. “A pleasure to see you, Miss Kellaway.”
She smiled. His blood warmed.
“You as well, my lord,” she said. “I received word that several mathematical texts have arrived. You wanted my opinion on whether they should be included in the exhibition?”
Hell. Now Alexander didn’t even know how much longer the decisions would be his to make. He gave a short nod.
“If you would accompany me, please?” he asked.
Lydia stepped away from the exhibit, falling into pace with him as he walked toward the offices at the back of the hall.
“Er, is that Miss Kellaway?” A male voice interrupted them.
Alexander muttered an oath as Lydia turned to face the two men who were approaching. Alexander frowned, straightening his shoulders to convey an air of intimidation. It worked, as the two men stopped a distance away, their eyes going uncertainly from Lydia to Alexander.
She stepped forward with a delighted smile. “Lord Perry, Dr. Sigley, how wonderful and unexpected to see you here.”
Heartened by her enthusiasm, the men approached with their hands extended—the gesture being the only similarity in their respective appearances. One of the men was small and sprightly with inquisitive eyes that brought the image of Queen Victoria’s late pet spaniel, Dash, to mind. His shuffling, big-shouldered companion sported ears like Staffordshire oatcakes and a lackadaisical expression mitigated by keen dark eyes.
“And our utmost pleasure to see you, Miss Kellaway,” Dash the Spaniel said, grasping her hand in both of his and pumping it heartily.
“Yes, it’s been far too long since we’ve had the opportunity to match our wits with yours.” Oatcakes sidled between his companion and Lydia to take her hands.
Alexander cleared his throat. Lydia turned to him with a smile.
“Lord Northwood, these gentlemen are renowned mathematicians,” she said, gesturing to Dash. “This is Dr. Sigley, Fellow of the Royal Society of London and editor of the Cambridge and Dublin Mathematical Journal. And Lord Perry is a professor at King’s College whose election to the Society is expected this month. Isn’t that correct, my lord?”
“Indeed it is, Miss Kellaway. Thank you for remembering.”
“Of course. But what are you both doing here?”
“The committee in charge of collecting mathematical and scientific instruments asked us to be advisors,” Lord Perry said, scrutinizing her with the attentiveness of a jeweler examining a rare gem. “We’d hoped to call upon you for assistance, but knowing you prefer… er, that is, seeing as how you cherish your privacy… ah, in the sense that—”
“We know you prefer to avoid the recognition,” Dr. Sigley put in.
“Yes,” Perry agreed. “Much as recognition would like to cast its radiant light upon you, my dear Mis
s Kellaway.”
He and Sigley fell silent in a moment of reverent admiration. Alexander coughed.
“Forgive me, gentlemen.” Lydia turned to Alexander. “This is Alexander Hall, Viscount Northwood. He is the director of the exhibition.”
Alexander’s back teeth came together hard. He nodded. “Gentlemen.”
“My lord.” Perry shuffled his feet together, casting a glance at his companion. “Miss Kellaway, are you involved with the exhibition?”
“No, I’m just giving his lordship my opinion about several mathematical texts.”
“And will you attend the symposium week after next?” Sigley asked. “I received the paper you sent for review, the one about the rotation of a body around a fixed point. You claim it can be solved by six meromorphic functions of time?”
“Yes, provided all six have a positive radius of convergence and satisfy the Euler equations as well.”
“Genius,” Perry murmured. He grasped Lydia’s hand in both of his and spoke to Northwood while continuing to stare at her. “Lord Northwood, you’ve got a most extraordinary… Miss Kellaway is deeply admired. Very deeply admired.”
Sigley moved to ease Perry away from Lydia, who appeared amused rather than affronted by the man’s evident devotion.
“You’ve several fascinating ideas in your paper, Miss Kellaway,” Sigley agreed. “I’ve some questions about the integrals but need to study the equations a bit more. Perhaps we can discuss it further at the symposium?”
“Of course. I look forward to it.”
“As do I,” Sigley said. “Pleasure to see you again, and to meet you, my lord.”
“Yes, and… and we do hope that you will make yourself more… er, available to us in the future.” Perry gave an awkward little bow before he and Sigley moved off toward the display of mathematical instruments.
“What symposium?” Alexander asked.
“Oh.” Lydia waved a hand in dismissal as they left the great hall and went to an office at the back of the building. “One focusing on recent studies in mathematics. I received an invitation last month and accepted. I haven’t been to a symposium in an age, and I thought I might like to hear the latest theories.”
