by Rowan Nina
Look at me.
She did. A faint smile tugged at the corners of her beautiful mouth. Alexander allowed his eyes to sweep across the slopes of her shoulders encased in her stiff black dress, down to the curves of her breasts and waist. Even that first night, he’d known how lush and supple she was beneath her layers of clothing. Even then, he’d known he wanted her.
He hadn’t, however, known how much he would love her.
Lydia flushed again, as if his gaze were a caress. Her hair was smooth and shiny beneath her hat, every strand pulled into an impeccable knot. Alexander wanted to yank all those pins out—damn them for confining Lydia’s beautiful hair—and then feel the sweep of all that polished silk against his skin.
Christ. He shifted in his chair and tried to focus on the other mathematicians. That, at least, worked to dampen his arousal, but his awareness remained fixed on Lydia.
Dr. Sigley turned to his colleagues, and two of the other mathematicians stepped forward with charts. A third unrolled a scroll of paper covered with calculations.
“First,” Sigley said, “in these studies, I have observed numerous situations involving large crowds. We can speak of the flow of information in a crowd much as we might speak of the flow of information in a pond. Suppose a lad throws a stone into the air. It lands at point A, and the dynamics of incompressible fluids dictate that the gravity waves spread out in a circular manner from the point of impact.
“Knowing as I do the equations that govern these dynamics, I could tell you when the first ripples from that stone would strike the shore. Now, here is where things get interesting. I could also solve the inverse problem. That is to say, if I came along some time after the lad threw his stone and merely observed the wavelets washing at my feet at some time, T, I could tell you very well where that stone hit the water even though I never saw it with my own eyes. I can make time move backward, if you will.”
He stepped aside and nodded at Lydia, who wrote an equation on the board. Alexander gave the numbers a cursory glance but couldn’t keep his eyes from the graceful movement of Lydia’s arm as she wrote, the studious concentration on her lovely features.
Warmth and pride filled Alexander’s chest. He loved watching her mind work, knowing the complexity of the wheels and gears turning behind her blue eyes. Knowing that every other man in the room must be astonished by her brilliance.
Lydia turned to face the audience again.
“Therefore, we assert, gentlemen,” she said, “that it is the same with the riot. A crowd is very much like a pond, a dense aggregation of particles that transmit information by colliding with one another.”
“And we can solve the inverse problem as well,” Dr. Sigley continued, pointing at the equation. “Though I was not there, I can state unequivocally that if Lord Northwood was indeed where you say he was at the time stipulated—and there are numerous credible witnesses who can corroborate this very thing, as I’m certain the inspectors can verify—then the laws of motion preclude his having initiated the disturbance that propagated through the medium at the nominal rate of fifty feet per minute—”
“What the devil is he on about, Miss Kellaway?” Hadley interrupted.
“My lord,” Lydia said. “The very basic conclusion of Dr. Sigley’s calculations is that Lord Northwood was not the slightest bit at fault for causing the riot. He was here.” She smacked her pointer against the gallery on the map. “And the flow-density calculations, which you are all welcome to observe more closely, indicate the riot started here.”
Another strike at the entrance of the hall emphasized her point. The audience was silent for a moment before a rumble began—questions, a couple of shouts, people standing to peer at the evidence.
“I’ll be damned,” Sebastian muttered.
Hadley stared at the map, then down at the papers Lord Perry had given him. The police inspectors approached the council table, lowering their heads to speak with the members.
A great deal of discussion and gesturing ensued, with Sir George Cooke approaching the mathematicians to point out items on the papers. Another council member began a discussion with Lord Perry, while the police inspectors scratched their heads and a couple of the other council members merely appeared bewildered. Union representatives from the crowd approached the dais to confer with the mathematicians and council members.
Lydia stood to one side, speaking with several men, her expression serious and confident. Alexander waited until she was alone for a moment before he stepped in front of her.
She lifted her gaze, her eyelashes like dark feathers against her white skin. Desire and… more simmered in her expression. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to kiss her. His fingers curled into his palms as he fought the urge.
“Why?” he asked.
She blinked, her gaze slipping to his throat. Her shoulders lifted in a shrug, though the casual gesture contradicted the multitude of emotions in her eyes.
“The calculations work,” she said.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I can give you.”
“Beg your pardon, Miss Kellaway?” Lord Perry touched Lydia’s arm to garner her attention and cast a faintly hostile glare at Alexander. “Your opinion on the ratio equation, if you please?”
Alexander stepped back and returned to his seat, not taking his eyes off Lydia as she moved to the board and commenced a discussion with two other men.
After a good half hour of buzzing and commotion, Hadley waved his arms about again. “Order! Everyone be seated, please. We’ve come to a sort of conclusion…. I think.”
He waited for the din to settle, then cleared his throat. “We believe that Miss Kellaway and Dr. Sigley have provided compelling—if rather complex—evidence that Lord Northwood’s actions did not, in fact, cause the riot to commence. Is that correct, Inspector?”
“Correct, my lord,” Inspector Denison said, though he didn’t appear entirely certain.
A rustle of movement came from the mathematicians, who turned to give each other handshakes and nods of approval. Lydia looked at Alexander and smiled in triumph.
He returned her smile because she was Lydia and he loved her for everything she was, all she had done for him, but caution kept him guarded.
“Yet while we can safely say that Lord Northwood is absolved of blame for actually inciting the riot,” Hadley continued, “we cannot ignore the fact that he was involved in an altercation that ended in one man’s death and that the ensuing chaos—whatever its origin—caused the destruction of the exhibition.”
“Not to mention his connections with the Russian Empire,” Sir George added. “And we have been informed by Lord Clarendon that…”
Alexander stopped listening. He knew what was coming—a public announcement of his dismissal from the Society.
He looked at Lydia. She watched the council with wariness, one of her hands twisting and untwisting a lock of hair that had escaped from beneath her hat. Alexander almost smiled. He wondered if she knew she did that when she was nervous.
Sir George droned on—enemies, breaking of diplomatic relations, fleet in the Black Sea, the Ottoman Empire, French anti-Russian sentiment, acts of hostility…
As Alexander kept his gaze on Lydia, an emotion he couldn’t quite name filled him. It overwhelmed his anger, his despair, his need for control, with a sense of expectation and hope. Of freedom.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt such things. He never wanted to see his family hurt again, but the duty of protecting them could no longer be his alone.
He looked at his father. Rushton stared at Sir George, his hard features set. Alexander had the odd thought that he’d never wondered if his father had ever been truly happy.
He put his hand on Rushton’s arm. His father looked at him.
“Forgive me,” Alexander murmured. He stood and addressed the council. “I beg your pardon, gentlemen.”
All eyes turned to him. A buzz rippled through the crowd. Rush
ton tugged on his sleeve to try and make him sit down. Alexander pulled away and stepped to the front of the room.
“If I may?” he asked.
Hadley glanced at the other council members, who nodded.
“Go ahead, Lord Northwood.”
“I would first like to apologize for the events of the night in question. People were injured, property destroyed. A man died. I was most categorically involved, and I am deeply regretful for the negative light this has cast upon the Society.
“For two years, I’ve worked hard as vice president of the Society to bring the exhibition to fruition in honor of the Society’s one hundredth anniversary. No one wanted the exhibit to be an international success more than I did. However, in light of all this, I must resign my position as director of the exhibition and vice president of the Society. Effective immediately.”
Gasps and shouts came from the audience. Hadley smacked his hand on the table. “Order!”
Alexander couldn’t bring himself to look at Lydia. His mind, his soul, filled with images of a vast city where canals wound through crystalline squares and town house walls, where gardens bloomed amid crowded, bustling streets and wedding-cake palaces.
“I will be pleased to work for a time with whoever the council puts in my place,” he continued, “to ensure a smooth transfer of duties. As has been pointed out numerous times, I own a trading company based in St. Petersburg. I believe now that is where I will be most useful. Therefore, I would have you all know that before the summer ends, I intend to leave London.”
No.
Lydia suppressed a gasp of shock, her hand going to her throat. Alexander continued speaking to the audience, his deep voice rolling like ocean waves. He was close enough that she needed to take only a few steps to touch him. Around her, the other mathematicians stirred and muttered, but she heard nothing beyond the roar of dismay filling her ears.
Alexander—her Alexander—wanted to leave? This brave, strong, proud man who could face down the world without flinching… now he was going to run away, leave London… leave her?
Her blood began to throb with anger and despair. She stared at him—his hair glossy under the lights, the strong column of his throat, the unyielding lines of his profile. Desperate love bloomed through her, causing her breath to stick in her throat.
With effort, she skirted her gaze from Alexander to his father and brother. Sebastian was grinning, while Lord Rushton looked somewhat perplexed. The council members bent their heads together and conferred.
Hadley cleared his throat. “Well, Lord Northwood, if that is your intention, then the council is forced to accept your resignation and wish you well on your journey.”
The rumble in the room erupted into a sea of chatter as people surged forward to speak to the council and Alexander. A group of men surrounded him, several reaching to shake his hand and others to chastise him.
“Disgraceful, Northwood.” One man scowled at him. “The lot of it.”
“Good riddance to you,” another representative muttered.
“Pay them no mind,” a third man said, dismissing the naysayers with a shake of his head. “Most of us are well aware of the good works you’ve done, my lord. I agree with Hadley and wish you well.”
Lydia turned to her colleagues, steeling herself against the urge to run to Alexander and… and what? She didn’t know whether she wanted to hit him or kiss him senseless. Perhaps both.
“We’ll take our leave, please, gentlemen,” she announced. “Our work here is done.”
They loaded up their books, rolled pages of calculations, stacked papers. Lydia snapped her satchel closed, grabbed her pointer, and strode toward the exit while trying very, very hard not to turn for one last look at Alexander.
“Lydia!” His urgent voice rose over the noise of the crowd.
Lydia’s stride hitched as a brief hope edged past the despair, but then his words echoed through her mind. I intend to leave.
And why should it matter? He knew as well as she did their relationship could never be, so shouldn’t she simply wish him Godspeed on his journey and cherish what memories they had?
Of course, her heart did not care what she should do. It only cared what she longed to do.
“Er, Miss Kellaway?” Lord Perry touched her elbow to indicate she needed to keep moving as the crowd rustled behind them. A wall of people closed between her and where Alexander stood.
Lydia swallowed, gripping her satchel tighter. She straightened her shoulders and continued to the lobby.
“Lydia!” Frustration filled Alexander’s voice.
A tremor shook her. She quickened her pace, trying to conceal herself within the circle of her colleagues. She could not face him, could not allow him to see how the mere thought of him leaving nearly broke her heart in two.
“Gentlemen!” Sebastian’s voice now, lifting over the cacophony. “Gentlemen, drinks served in the meeting room!”
The voices surged in appreciation as the men began making their way across the hall. Unable to help herself, Lydia glanced back once as the crowd parted in front of Alexander.
He pushed forward, his fists clenched, his expression determined. Their eyes met across the distance, and the dark frustration radiating from him prickled the hairs at the back of Lydia’s neck. Her chest constricted as she turned away.
Dr. Grant pulled the door open and held it while she hurried into the entrance hall. Her colleagues bustled around her, their voices humming with confusion and concern over the haste of her departure.
“Is the carriage ready, Lord Perry?” Lydia stopped, searching the crowded street in front of the building. “Please, we must hurry—”
A curse sounded behind them, followed by the bang of a door.
“Lydia!”
She froze. The other mathematicians turned, their stances guarded as Alexander stalked across the hall. His expression clouded, his hair disheveled and hanging over his forehead, sweat beading his brow, he looked like the devil himself come to collect her soul.
Several of the mathematicians crowded closer to Lydia in a semicircle of protection. As Alexander neared, she schooled her features into an impassive expression, even as a swarm of emotions rioted through her.
“Lydia.” Alexander stopped, his chest heaving. An instant passed as his gaze swept over the other men, and then he made a visible effort to regain his composure. He took a breath and exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. “Gentlemen. Lord Perry, Dr. Sigley, my deepest thanks for your efforts on my behalf.”
“Glad to help, my lord, though you ought to know assisting Miss Kellaway was foremost in our minds.”
“As well it should have been, Dr. Sigley.” Alexander straightened, his gaze going to Lydia. Her heart fluttered at the sensation of that mere look, urgent and insistent. “I… a moment alone, Miss Kellaway?”
The mathematicians rustled around her. At least two of them puffed out their chests in warning.
“Lydia.” Her name was an entreaty. “Please.”
Although her resolve was beginning to crack, she tried to muster the courage to withstand him. To withstand her own overwhelming desire to surrender.
“I’ve no idea why you need to speak with me alone, Lord Northwood,” she replied, surprising even herself with a tone that would have chilled a penguin. “You indicated quite clearly to the entire assembly that you’ve no wish to continue your work with the Society or fight to restore honor to your name, which we”—she indicated her colleagues—“worked for several hours to help you do. Lord Perry even canceled a lecture so that he could meet with us at Dr. Sigley’s office to formulate our evidence.”
Beside her, Lord Perry made a noise of agreement, narrowing his eyes at Alexander.
“I don’t—,” Alexander began.
“Moreover,” Lydia continued, pulling her satchel in front of her like a shield, “since you’ve made plans to return to Russia, there is no further reason for us to—”
“Lydia, be quiet, for pity’s
sake,” Alexander snapped. “I did not say I wished to return to Russia alone.”
She blinked, her heart stilling for an instant. “Well, what else—”
“I did not say that because I don’t intend to.”
“You don’t?”
“No.” He took another breath. “I want you and Jane to come with me.”
Lydia gasped. She took a step back as if to evade the desperate hope in Alexander’s words, the hope that slipped into her blood and warmed her to the core. The mathematicians shifted and muttered. She took another step back and bumped into Dr. Grant.
Alexander did not take his gaze from her face. Lydia pressed a hand to her chest, the wild beat of her heart thumping against her palm, traveling the length of her arm. She turned to her colleagues.
“Er… excuse me, gentlemen, please. Alexander?”
Her mind whirling, she led him to a spot beside the staircase. She closed her eyes, drawing in a breath and blocking out the images, the promise, his words evoked. Then she turned and gave him a mutinous glare, slapping him hard on the arm.
“What are you going on about, you foolish man?”
Alexander rubbed his arm, amusement flashing beneath his desperation. “I’m going on about our future. I want you and Jane to come and live in St. Petersburg with me.”
“Are you mad?” Why would her heart not still at those words, at the expectation in his beautiful eyes? Why was hope coursing like brilliant light through her blood? “I can’t live with you in Russia.”
“Why not?”
“Because I can’t marry you, Alexander!” Speaking the words aloud diminished the gleaming emotions that had begun to shine through her resolve. She sobered. “Haven’t we been over this time and again? Nothing has changed.”
“Why did you bring your troupe of geniuses to the meeting, then?”
She stared at him, her mouth opening and closing as she struggled for detachment. “I knew they could assist me with proving your—”
“No. Why did you bring them? Why did you want to see me absolved?”
“I didn’t want you to be blamed for something that wasn’t your fault,” she replied. “I know how hard you’ve worked. You don’t deserve to have it all cast aside because you tried to save Jane and me.”
