A Study In Seduction

by Rowan Nina

  Schooling her features into an expression of impassivity, she turned to look at him. He stood right behind her, his hands loose on his hips, his expression still dark as he stared down at his messy work.

  “You’ve got it,” she said.

  His gaze went to hers, his eyebrows lifting. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You solved the problem.” Lydia tapped her pencil on the page. “The sum of the fourth power of the numbers is zero.”

  “It is?” Northwood blinked with surprise.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive. Congratulations.”

  “I’ll be damned.” Northwood shook his head, a grin breaking across his whiskered face. He slapped his hands together in victory. “You’re not putting me on, are you?”

  “Of course not.” Lydia couldn’t prevent another smile, her disappointment over losing the locket yet again fading underneath a sudden rush of pure pride. In him.

  Northwood chuckled, his fatigue dissipating with his well-deserved satisfaction. He ran his hands over his face and through his disheveled hair.

  “And you wrote that.” He shook his head. “Good lord, woman, you’ve got a sharp mind, though I admit to occasionally believing you’d given me an unsolvable problem.”

  “I wouldn’t have done that.” Lydia gathered the papers and slipped them into the desk drawer. The secret place in her heart knew she would always treasure them. “I do play fair, Lord Northwood.”

  “You not only play fair, but you also play well.”

  Lydia closed the drawer and stood, turning to face him. Apprehension twisted through her as she realized that his solving the problem meant that, once again, she owed him an undetermined debt.

  He looked at her, his gaze intent on her face as if he were trying to see beneath the surface. Her hand curled around the back of the chair.

  He continued looking at her, scrutinizing, assessing. “Women very rarely receive an education in advanced mathematics.”

  “True.”

  “So how did you?”

  A black cloud threatened at the edge of Lydia’s consciousness. She pushed it aside, refusing to allow it to darken her pleasure over Northwood’s victory, over his admiration of her abilities.

  “My grandmother,” she confessed. She rubbed her finger over a crack on the surface of the desk. “She was… I told you that my mother became quite ill when I was just a girl. But even then I had a fascination with numbers. My grandmother recognized my aptitude and convinced my father to hire a mathematics tutor. Mr. Sully. He taught me for about four years, everything from algebra to geometry and basic calculus. Then when my mother’s illness worsened, my father sent me to boarding school so I wouldn’t have to contend with her condition.”

  “Did you have to put mathematics aside then?”

  “On the contrary. It wasn’t part of the curriculum for girls, but again my grandmother insisted that the headmistress bring in a special tutor for me. My father paid an extra fee to ensure I had at least two sessions per week. Mr. Radbourne this time. He wasn’t as amiable as Mr. Sully, but he was brilliant. Neither one of them ever treated me as some sort of abomination. Without them—without my grandmother and my father—I never would have sought to explore my intellectual capabilities.”

  “Did you continue studying with tutors after boarding school?”

  “I went to Germany, actually, when I was fifteen.” Her chest tightened. She stared at the floor, at the intricate pattern spreading through the worn carpet. “Mr. Radbourne knew of a mathematician at the University of Leipzig. After I took several exams to prove my competence, he agreed to become my professor.”

  “And your father allowed you to go?”

  “He was reluctant at first, owing to the distance,” Lydia admitted. She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the beat of her heart beneath layers of fabric. “But he agreed after my grandmother argued that it would be an unmatched opportunity for me. She accompanied me until she found a woman who served as a suitable chaperone.”

  “Your grandmother knew you possessed an exceptional mind.”

  “She did.” A sting of tears burned Lydia’s eyes so unexpectedly that she had to turn away. “Both she and my father did. Throughout my childhood, my grandmother was my greatest champion, my strongest supporter. And my father never tried to stifle my abilities.”

  Silence filled the space behind her, though she felt Northwood’s disquiet, his sense that something was terribly wrong. She pressed her fingers against her eyes, swallowing old tears, fighting to keep the cloud at bay.

  “What happened?” His voice was a low, quiet rumble.

  She shook her head. Not even for him could she ever, ever answer that question.

  “Lydia.”

  Oh, God, he was closer. And that delicious, fluid sound of his deep voice speaking her name sent a wave of pleasure through her blood. He was right behind her. She knew if she took one step back, she would encounter the hard plane of his chest. Her fingers curled into her palms as she fought the urge to do just that.

  His hands settled on her shoulders, heavy and solid. Her breathing grew shallow, even as her body stiffened under his touch.

  “What shall it be, my lord?” Gathering her strength, Lydia pulled away, turning back to face him.

  “What shall what be?”

  “My debt. You solved the equation. Now I owe you something once again.”

  Northwood frowned. “I will not hold you to a debt.”

  “I insist that you do.”

  He muttered a curse under his breath and reached into his pocket. He cupped the locket in his palm, looking down at it for a moment.

  “I wish you would just take it back,” he said.

  “I know you do. But, like you, I have my pride.” She followed his gaze. Her locket appeared small, the chain delicate, engulfed by his large hand.

  She wanted the necklace back. Needed it back. And yet if she accepted his offer, she would have no further excuse to seek him out. She would have no reason to see him again.

  The very thought made her heart ache in a way she had never before experienced.

  Northwood shoved the necklace back into his pocket and paced restlessly across the room. “All right, then. The debt. In late June you will deliver a lecture at St. Martin’s Hall on the subject of mathematical education.”

  Lydia looked at him as if he’d asked her to fly to the moon. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’m the head of a subcommittee in charge of planning a lecture series to coincide with the educational exhibition. The lectures will focus on educational theory and practice. I’ve already confirmed several speakers who will discuss educational models, such as the use of the microscope in schools, music, education and the poor, and botanical and economic science.” Northwood stopped pacing and looked at her. “I want you to deliver a lecture about mathematical instruction in schools.”

  “I… I don’t… do you mean to say that women will be giving lectures?”

  “No. At least, no women have been asked to do so. Until now.”

  “Why me?”

  “I know of no one else more suited to the task.”

  Lydia curled her fingers around the pencil she still held. “I’m sorry.” A shadow spilled over her brief pleasure at Northwood’s compliments. “I can’t.”

  He frowned. “Why not? These lectures will be attended by prominent scholars from throughout the world.”

  “I don’t want their audience. I haven’t delivered a lecture in months, and I publish my papers infrequently. I consult with a select few colleagues who do not divulge our association. They are the ones who invited me to be part of the journal editorial board, which is the first professional position I’ve taken in years.”

  “Why did you take the position now, then?”

  “Because the meetings are with only a few other mathematicians who I consider friends. I don’t attend large symposiums or correspond with scholars on the Continent.”
>
  “Why the bloody hell not?”

  The vehemence of his tone startled her. Her grip tightened on the pencil, her heart hammering as she struggled for a way to explain.

  “Being a mathematician, an academic, is not fitting for a woman,” she finally said. “You know that. And while my father and grandmother encouraged my education when I was younger, it soon became clear that people viewed me as an oddity, someone to be avoided or whispered about. Such a perception affected our family, especially coming on the heels of rumors about my mother. We concluded it would be best, especially for Jane’s sake, if I were to pursue my studies more anonymously.”

  Northwood was quiet for a moment. His expression remained hard and unmoving, but his eyes flashed like the surface of a lake disrupted by sweeping wind.

  “That is utter foolishness,” he said. “A mind like yours, to—”

  “No.” Lydia stopped him with a raised hand. “Please don’t try to convince me to do anything differently. You will not succeed.”

  The currents in his eyes heightened, the winds intensifying, but to Lydia’s mild surprise, he didn’t press the issue. Instead he gave a swift nod, his arms folding across his chest.

  “All right, then,” Northwood said, his voice like stretched leather. “Next weekend my father, Talia, and I are going to visit our estate in Devon. Haven’t been there in ages. Castleford is also invited. Sebastian is going because he’s got nothing else to do. You will accompany us.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I would welcome your company. I’ll send a carriage to pick you up Thursday afternoon for the train station.”

  With that, he began striding toward the door.

  “Lord Northwood!”

  He stopped. Lydia’s heart pounded hard.

  “You… you would welcome my company?” she repeated.

  A faint amusement lit his eyes. “Is that difficult to believe?”

  “Well, no, but I… I really don’t think—”

  “You intend to renege on a debt?” A wicked glint appeared in his eyes as he approached her again. “My lady of such honor and pride?”

  Lydia straightened her spine. “I did say I wished for the debt to be within reason.”

  “Nothing unreasonable about a short visit. Floreston Manor is always enjoyable.”

  “I don’t doubt it. I… I merely think it would be best if we maintained a business relationship, such as it is anyhow.”

  “Are you implying this visit could result in something more?” He stepped closer, close enough that she could see the flecks of gold in his irises, could sense the storm brewing in him.

  Lydia swallowed. “I… I would merely prefer not to create the illusion of impropriety.”

  “All right, then. We’ll dispense with the illusion and engage solely in the impropriety.”

  Her eyes flew to his in shock, but before she could utter another word, he closed the distance between them. His big hand slid around the back of her head, and he brought her mouth to his in a kiss as sweet and delicious as a ripe apple. Her hands came up to flatten against his chest, her arms tensing with the simultaneous urge to push him away and pull him closer.

  Heat bloomed through her body. His mouth moved with urgency over hers, setting flame to the desire she’d kept banked for so very long. His hand moved to her neck, his fingers tangling through her hair. He slipped his other hand around to her lower back, pulling their bodies closer.

  Lydia closed her eyes. Colors of crimson and gold swept behind her eyelids and began whirling through her blood.

  Alive. Lord in heaven, he made her feel so incredibly alive.

  Every beat of her heart echoed in her head, and a delicious, melting sensation spread through her lower body. Her fingers moved across his chest, trembling at the feeling of the hard muscles beneath his shirt. He was tense, vibrating with want, his tongue sliding across her lower lip in a possessive move that made her shudder with the urge to be taken.

  Her lips parted beneath his. With a mutter of satisfaction, he slipped his tongue into the hot cavern of her mouth, the invasion unbearably intimate. Their breath danced. Lydia remembered their last encounter when she had been bold enough to cup his heavy groin in her hand. With a gasp, she did it again, slipped her hand down his torso to find the source of his arousal.

  He swore, his body tightening with need. Triumph flitted in Lydia as she moved her fingers over him, her heart tripping over itself, her tongue darting tentatively past his lips. His hand tightened on the back of her damp neck, his breath coming faster.

  Then, in a gesture that seemed oddly contradictory to the heat sparking between them, he slid his mouth away from hers and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

  Something broke inside Lydia, the cracking open of a fragile eggshell. Unwanted, painful memories clouded the eruption of intense pleasure and desire. She shut her eyes tight as if to block out the darkness, desperate for the brilliant, sweet sensations to regain supremacy.

  She knew it then. She knew that if she were ever to allow her true self to emerge once again, if she were ever to acknowledge the suppressed part of herself, it would be with Alexander Hall. No other man in the world would ever make her want—no, need—to take such a dangerous, breathtaking risk.

  She moved her lips to his ear, loose strands of her hair sliding across his cheek. Her voice sounded hoarse, heavy with need. “I want to see you.”

  “Christ, Lydia—”

  She tightened her grip on him. Northwood sucked in a breath. He shoved himself against her, burying his face in her thick hair. Blood rushed through her veins, as hot and fast as a firestorm.

  “I won’t last,” he hissed in her ear, his voice taut.

  “I don’t want you to,” Lydia breathed. She drew back, her skin flushed with heat and her body filled with a longing so intense she didn’t know if it could ever be sated. “But I want…” She shifted against him, sliding a leg between his thighs, her hips rocking. “I want more, Northwood, please—”

  With a groan of surrender, he grabbed her skirts, pushing them up around her waist to expose her long slender legs encased in cotton drawers. Lydia’s gaze jerked to his. He stopped, his chest heaving. Then she grasped his hand and pulled it down between her legs to the opening of her drawers.

  Dear God. One kiss and she was so ready. Everything in her ached to feel him naked and heavy between her thighs, to grip his powerful shoulders and wrap her legs around his. Her body surged with swirling heat.

  “Wait. Oh, wait.” Lydia looked down, her fingers trembling as she struggled to unfasten his trousers. He didn’t help, instead staring down at her as she bit her lower lip in frustration. “Northwood, I can’t… I’m shaking… oh, there… let me…”

  She gave a breathless little laugh as the buttons yielded. She hastened to push his trousers over his hips. Her gaze flew to his. Need filled his eyes with heat.

  Trembling, Lydia lowered her hand again and took him in her palm. The sensation of his rigid, pulsing length against her cool fingers caused her heart to jolt.

  “Tighter,” he muttered, reaching down to wrap her fingers around him. “Like that, Lydia. Just like that.”

  He pushed his hips forward and slipped his hand to her drawers again, finding the opening and parting the material for access to her bare, intimate flesh. When his fingers touched her, she moaned, her back stiffening against the wall.

  “I need… oh, please.”

  He lowered his head to her ear, murmuring soothing noises as he stroked his finger against her. At the same time, Lydia caressed him, sliding her thumb across his length.

  What little restraint she had left evaporated under the need to make him lose control. His body tightened as the pressure mounted and spilled, his low groan vibrating against her mouth. Her grip on him loosened as her own pleasure spiraled upward, her legs parting and thighs trembling.

  He stroked her with his thumb and eased a finger into her. A moan stuck in her throat as she closed around him. She came apar
t almost instantly, her arms tightening on his neck as pleasure shot to every corner of her being.

  Northwood braced one hand against the wall to hold both himself and her upright as they recovered. She tucked her head beneath his chin, her whole body shaking and her skin hot. He held her until her trembling abated before he eased away and lowered her skirts. He adjusted his own clothing, his gaze on her.

  Lydia lifted her head. His eyes contained a strange light, a mixture of fading shock and lust. Her skin heated with a flush, but she could not muster up even the slightest twinge of regret. Not for something that felt so unbearably good. So right.

  He continued looking at her. Then he reached out to cup her face with his hand, his thumb brushing across her lower lip.

  “You…” His voice tightened.

  He swallowed, his fingers moving to the pulse still pounding hard at the side of her neck. He rested his hand there for a moment before lowering it to his side. Then he turned away, appearing rather uncharacteristically discomfited.

  Lydia sagged against the wall, pressing her hands to her heated cheeks as she waited for her lingering arousal to ease. Warm, pulsing sensations continued to throb in her blood, between her legs.

  Silence stretched between them; then the noise of horses’ hooves and carriage wheels came from outside.

  Lydia pushed loose tendrils of hair away from her face and went to take the pages of his work from the desk drawer. Holding them close to her chest, she preceded him into the foyer just as the front door opened.

  “Ah, Lydia. I’m glad you’re home.”

  Lydia winced as her grandmother entered, followed by a petite blond woman with delicate features and peach-blushed cheeks peeking out from beneath a fashionable hat.

  Lydia became acutely conscious of the dampness on her drawers, the material clinging to her thighs. The musky scent of Northwood on her body. She glanced at him. He appeared entirely composed, only the wrinkles on his shirt evidence of their behavior.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Northwood,” Mrs. Boyd said as Sophie came to take the women’s coats. “Lydia, this is Lady Montague. She just arrived from Paris yesterday for a visit. My lady, this is my granddaughter Miss Lydia Kellaway and Viscount Northwood.”