A Dream of Desire

by Nina Rowan

  Talia looked at the seashell still cupped in her palm. A quicksilver flash of anticipation ran through her. She hurried to finish getting ready, then went to join James at his house. She found him in the parlor and happily submitted to his warm kiss. Her anticipation heightened as they ate a spare dinner of bread and cheese, neither one particularly hungry after the events of the day.

  And then, finally, she was in his arms, free to surrender to the love and desire that had brewed inside her for so long. He kissed her gently, pressing his mouth to her lips, her cheeks, her eyelids, her forehead. Each touch sent shivers sparking through Talia’s blood. She stepped back only to watch him undress, her heart pounding as he removed his shirt to reveal the expanse of his torso.

  “I have a peignoir made especially for this night,” Talia whispered, her gaze tracing the smooth muscles of his shoulders.

  “You’ll not be in it for more than two seconds if you put it on now,” James warned, turning her to unfasten the row of buttons down her back. It took some time to divest Talia of her layers of clothing, and by the time she was left only in her shift, she was near trembling with urgency. She reached out and ran her hand over James’s taut chest, heat flashing through her as she felt a shudder race through him.

  Emboldened by the evidence that she affected him as much as he affected her, she stepped closer and placed both her hands on him. The warmth of his skin flowed up her arms, intensifying the desire uncoiling in her body. He lowered his head to kiss her again, his hands sliding down to grasp her hips as they moved toward the bed. Talia fell into the sensations—the press of their bodies together, the heat of James’s breath as he traced a path across her cheek and down to her neck, the ridge of his erection against her thigh.

  Talia closed her eyes, thrusting her hands into his hair. She’d thought it would be a hasty night, both of them too eager to prolong matters, but James seemed determined to take things slowly.

  He pulled her shift over her head, his eyes darkening with lust at the sight of her nakedness, then proceeded to kiss every inch of her bare skin. His lips sent tingles traveling to her very core, and when he pressed his mouth to her belly, she arched instinctively against him.

  Locking her gaze to his, she fumbled for the fastenings of his trousers and pushed them off his hips. He slid a hand down to her sex, his fingers working with a precise touch that sent flames licking through Talia’s blood.

  When James moved between her thighs, Talia softened and opened in response. She curved her arms around him, her heart hammering with both desire and trepidation. James placed his hand on the side of her neck.

  “Look at me,” he whispered, his gold-flecked eyes simmering with heat. “Never stop.”

  She sank into the depths of his gaze as he pushed slowly into her, his hands tight on her hips. Talia gasped, stunned by the sensation of him filling her, the exquisite pleasure wrapping them both in a haze of growing urgency. James captured her cries with the pressure of his mouth and slid a hand between their bodies to touch the knot in which her pleasure was centered. Any hint of apprehension slipped away, replaced by a sweet, churning need that grew more intense with every thrust of their bodies.

  “James!” Talia sank her fingers into his back, gripping him tightly as bliss crashed through her. He pushed into her again, his groan vibrating against her skin as he surrendered to his own release.

  He eased to the side, pulling her closer. Talia fit herself against the planes of his body and rested her head on his chest. The thumping sound of his heartbeat resounded through her. James pressed his lips against her hair.

  “Remember I told you I’d gotten rid of all your mementos and letters?” Talia asked, running her hand over his damp chest. “They didn’t get thrown away after all. I suspect Aunt Sally had something to do with that, though of course she would never admit it.”

  “After I’d discovered you’d kept all those things, I wished I’d had something of yours,” James said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind Talia’s ear. “A silk handkerchief or a button from your glove…something I could have kept in my pocket no matter where I was.”

  “You’ve always had something of mine,” Talia said.

  “Have I? What?”

  “My heart.”

  Epilogue

  Talia set the books on the tables and went to open the windows. The new Brick Street school classroom in Buckle Street was a large, clean room with rows of new desks and plenty of windows. There were bookshelves filled with textbooks, charts, maps, and a good supply of paper, pencils, and notepads. At the front of the room, Mr. Fletcher’s desk sat in front of a wide chalkboard on which he’d already written out the day’s lesson plan.

  The door opened, and Peter and Alice Colston entered with a covered box.

  “Mr. Blake suggested that we bring an array of items,” Alice said, as Peter set the box on a table and pulled off the lid.

  “He thought it would be useful for the boys to see how they’re made.” Peter removed a dozen mechanical toys from the box and lined them up on the table. “See, this one is the machine that controls the crank valve, so they can see how it works inside the automaton. And this is the mechanism used for movement, plus the bellows that we’re trying to use for sound.”

  Talia and Alice exchanged smiles. At James’s instigation, Peter had gone to work at Blake’s Museum of Automata less than a month ago. Though Talia had been uncertain about how Peter would fare working with automata mechanisms, the arrangement had proven a resounding success. Mr. Blake was most pleased to have an apprentice, and Peter had taken to the work with both skill and enthusiasm.

  Mr. Colston had allowed the boy to return home after learning of the respectable work and the possibility that Peter might one day earn a good living as a clock or toy maker. His testimony about the conditions at Newhall had also helped plans for another prison reform bill directed toward juvenile facilities.

  “Peter, perhaps you’ll come and conduct a lesson about this,” Mr. Fletcher suggested as he approached the table. “It certainly would be useful for the boys to learn how such machinery operates.”

  Peter looked embarrassed but pleased at the idea. Mr. Fletcher turned his attention to Alice.

  “And the dormitory provisions arrived, Miss Colston?”

  “Indeed.” Alice had taken over the management of the Brick Street dormitory, which was located on the upper floor of the building. In her role as supervisor of the staff and the boys, she’d proven most efficient. “I’ve started a teatime precisely at four, Mr. Fletcher, to show the boys how to conduct themselves properly. Perhaps you’ll join us one afternoon?”

  “I should be delighted.”

  Talia smiled as Alice and Mr. Fletcher held gazes for perhaps a second longer than was entirely appropriate. She turned to gather the books she intended to return to Mudie’s Library.

  “There’s a note for you too, milady.” Peter dug into his pocket and produced a wrinkled, folded piece of paper. “Arrived at Mr. Blake’s with instructions to deliver it to you.”

  Talia looked at the paper, which bore her name in a distinctive scrawl. Pleasure coursed through her. She thanked Peter and said her good-byes before returning to the carriage.

  After the carriage started back to Arlington Street, Talia settled against the seat and opened the letter.

  My dear Talia,

  This morning I woke to the despairing realization that you’d already gone. I had intended to bestow some very wicked attentions on your person. I hope upon receipt of this note, you will return home with all due haste…

  Talia smiled as the carriage came to a stop in front of the town house. She found James waiting for her in the study. He held out his arms, a responding smile lighting his face as she stepped into his embrace.

  “My dear love,” he whispered, lowering his mouth to hers. “I missed you.”

  When their lips met, Talia’s heart blossomed with happiness. Their three-week marriage was just beginning to unfold, showing he
r all that she and James were together, all they would be. It was true that their relationship wasn’t as it was before—but now it was far richer and more beautiful than she could have imagined. And for the first time in her life, Talia looked forward with both eagerness and passion to the lovely promise of after.

  The lovely Lydia Kellaway can solve the most complex puzzles. The one challenge she can’t top? Managing the most infuriating man she’s ever encountered…

  Please turn this page for an excerpt from

  A Study in Seduction.

  Chapter One

  London

  March 1854

  Every square matrix is a root of its own characteristic polynomial.

  Lydia Kellaway clutched the notebook to her chest as the cab rattled away, the clatter of horses’ hooves echoing against the fortress of impressive town houses lining Mount Street. Gaslights burned through the midnight dark, casting puddles of light onto the cobblestones.

  Lydia took a breath, anxiety and fear twisting through her. She looked up at town house number twelve, the dark façade perforated with light-filled windows. A man stood silhouetted behind one window on the first floor, his form straight, tall, and so still that he appeared fixed in that moment.

  Beneath the glow of a streetlamp, Lydia opened her notebook and leafed through pages scribbled with notes, equations, and diagrams.

  She’d written his name at the top of a blank page, then followed it with a numbered list of points, all related to the gossip and suppositions surrounding his family.

  As she reviewed her notes, the back of her neck prickled with the strange feeling that she was being watched. She snapped the notebook closed and shook her head. Chiding herself for being unnerved by the shadows, she climbed the steps.

  She reached for the bell just as the door flew open. A woman dressed in a vivid green silk gown stormed out, nearly colliding with Lydia on the front step.

  “Oh!” The woman reeled backward, her eyes widening. In the sudden light spilling out from the foyer, Lydia saw that her eyes were red and swollen, her face streaked with tears.

  Lydia stammered, “I’m… I’m sorry, I—”

  The woman shook her head, her lips pressing together as she pushed past Lydia and hurried down the steps.

  A curse echoed through the open door as a dark-haired man strode across the foyer, tension shimmering around him. “Talia!”

  He didn’t cast Lydia a glance as he followed the woman down the steps. “Blast it, Talia, wait for the carriage!”

  The woman turned her head to glare at the man and tossed a retort over her shoulder. Lydia couldn’t discern the words, but the cutting tone was enough to make her pursuer stop in his tracks. He cursed again, then went back to the house and shouted for the footman. Within seconds, the servant raced down the street after the woman.

  “John!” The tall man turned to shout for a second servant. “Ready the carriage now and see Lady Talia home!”

  He stalked up the steps and brushed past Lydia. He seemed about to slam the door in her face, but then he stopped and turned to stare at her. “Who the bloody hell are you?”

  Lydia couldn’t speak past the shock.

  Alexander Hall, Viscount Northwood. She knew it was him, knew in her bones that this was the man she sought, though she had not laid eyes on him before now.

  Despite the hour and his anger, his clothing was precise, unwrinkled. His black trousers bore creases as sharp as a blade, and shiny gilt buttons fastened his silk waistcoat over a snowy white shirt.

  His dark eyes flashed over Lydia. That look—keen, assessing, close—caused her breath to tangle in her throat.

  “Well?” he demanded.

  Every square matrix is a root of its own characteristic polynomial.

  The locket. Jane. The locket.

  “Lord Northwood?” she said.

  “I asked who you are.”

  His rough baritone voice settled deep in her bones. She tilted her head to meet his hooded gaze. Shadows mapped the pronounced Slavic angles of his face, the sloping cheekbones, the clean-shaven line of his jaw.

  “My name is Lydia Kellaway,” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. She glanced at the street, where the footman had stopped Lady Talia at the corner. A carriage rattled from the side of the house and approached. “Is she all right?”

  “My sister is fine,” Lord Northwood snapped, “aside from being the most obstinate, frustrating creature who ever walked the earth.”

  “Is that a family trait?” Lydia spoke before thinking, which was so contrary to her usual manner that her face heated with embarrassment. Not wise to insult the man from whom she needed something.

  She almost heard Northwood’s teeth grind together as his jaw clenched with irritation.

  He followed her gaze to where the footman and coach driver had convinced Lady Talia to enter the carriage. The footman gave Lord Northwood a wave of victory before climbing onto the bench beside the driver. The carriage rattled away.

  Some of the anger seemed to drain from Northwood, which bolstered Lydia’s courage. Although she had no contingency plan for how to handle arriving in the middle of a family quarrel, she couldn’t possibly leave now.

  Her spine straightened with determination as she faced the viscount. “Lord Northwood, I apologize for the lateness of the hour, but I must speak with you. It’s about a locket you purchased.”

  “A what?”

  “A locket. A pendant attached to a chain, worn as a necklace.”

  He frowned. “You’ve come to my home at this hour to inquire about a necklace?”

  “It’s terribly important.” She gripped the doorjamb so he couldn’t close the door and leave her standing on the step. “Please, may I come in?”

  He stared at her for a minute, then rubbed a hand across his chin.

  “Kellaway.” A crease formed between his brows. “Kin to Sir Henry Kellaway?”

  Lydia gave a quick nod. “He was my father. He passed away several months ago.” Grief, heavy with the weight of the past, pressed down on her heart.

  “My sympathies,” Lord Northwood said, his frown easing somewhat as he glanced over her black mourning dress.

  “Thank you. How did you know him?”

  “We were both involved with the Crystal Palace exhibition in fifty-one.” He stood looking at her for a moment, his gaze so protracted she could almost see his thoughts shifting. Then he moved aside and held the door open.

  She stepped into the foyer, conscious of the fact that he did not allow her more space to pass, even as her shoulder brushed against his arm. The light contact made her jerk away, her chest constricting.

  “What makes you think I have this necklace you seek?” he asked.

  “I don’t think you have it, Lord Northwood. I know you do. You purchased it from Mr. Havers’s shop less than a week ago, along with a Russian icon.” Her chin lifted. “It was a locket my grandmother pawned.”

  Pushing himself away from the doorjamb, Lord Northwood stepped forward. Lydia started before realizing he intended to take her cloak. She pushed the hood off her head and fumbled with the clasp.

  He stood behind her, close enough that she could sense the warmth of his body, close enough that her next breath might have been the very air he exhaled.

  “Come to the drawing room, Miss Kellaway. You’d best explain yourself.”

  Lydia followed him into the room and sat on the sofa, making a conscious effort not to twist the notebook between her fingers. Lord Northwood lowered himself into the chair across from her. A stoic footman served tea before departing and closing the door behind him.

  Lord Northwood took a swallow of tea, then put the cup on the table and leaned back in his chair. His long body unfolded with the movement, his legs stretching out in front of him. Although his outward bearing was casual, a tautness coiled through him. He reminded Lydia of a bird of prey elongating its wings, feathers ruffling, poised for flight.

  “Well?” he asked.
<
br />   “I found the ticket in my grandmother’s desk.” She leafed through the pages of her book before finding a small slip of paper. “I hadn’t known she’d pawned any of my mother’s jewelry.”

  His hand brushed hers as he took the pawn ticket, the hard ridges of his fingers discernible even through the protection of her glove. She jerked away, curling her hand into a fist at her side.

  “Your grandmother had a month to redeem her pledge,” Lord Northwood said after looking at the slip of paper.

  “I realize that. And I would have attempted to do so on her behalf had I known about the transaction to begin with. I thought Mr. Havers might not have put the locket up for sale yet, or if he had, perhaps it hadn’t been sold. But when I arrived at his shop, he informed me he’d sold it last Thursday.”

  “How did you learn the name of the purchaser?”

  Color heated her cheeks. “Mr. Havers refused—rightly so, I suppose—to divulge the purchaser’s name,” she explained. “When he became occupied with another customer, I saw his book of sales behind the counter. I was able to… borrow it long enough to look up the transaction.”

  A smile tugged at his mouth. She watched with a trace of fascination as a dimple appeared in his cheek, lending his severe, angular features an almost boyish glint. “You stole Havers’s salesbook?”

  “I did not steal it.” She bristled a little at the disagreeable term. “I removed it from his shop, yes, but for less than ten minutes. I gave a boy sixpence to return the book to its proper place without Mr. Havers seeing him. You were clearly listed as the purchaser of the locket. Do you still have it, my lord?”

  Northwood shifted, his hand sliding into his coat pocket. Lydia’s breath caught in her chest as she watched him withdraw the silver chain, capturing the locket in his palm.

  He studied the locket, rubbing his thumb across the engraving that embellished its polished surface.

  “Is it a phoenix?” he asked.