A Study In Seduction(70)

“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?”