A Dream of Desire (27 page)

His hands closed around hers as the priest began the ceremony. She tightened her grip, their gazes locked together.
He will not let go. He will never let go.

“I will,” she murmured, when the minister prompted her response to love and cherish James Forester.
I always have.

He responded with his own vow, then lowered his head again to give her what was likely a somewhat indecent kiss in front of the spectators.

“He’s lucky another fellow didn’t get to you first.” Sebastian smiled as he enfolded Talia in his arms. “Pater will be delighted. Old bird deserves to be delighted for a change.”

“What do you think Alexander will say?” Talia asked.

“He’s already sent a telegraph.” Sebastian reached into his pocket for a piece of paper, which he gave to her.

Talia unfolded the paper with trembling hands.
Most excellent. Agreement settled beyond expectations.

Pleased, Talia tucked the note away to put with her other keepsakes. They returned to King’s Street and went into the dining room for the wedding breakfast before Sebastian and Clara excused themselves to take Andrew to the park for an outing. James left a couple of hours later, telling Talia he wanted to ensure his house was prepared for her arrival, and she spent the rest of the afternoon determining what she wanted to bring with her.

As supper neared, Nicholas strode into the drawing room.

“All right, brat, I’m off then.” He gave her a big, warm embrace.

“You’re really leaving again so soon?” Talia asked.

“Heard tell there’s a ship heading off for a southern Siberia expedition,” Nicholas replied, scooping his hat up from the sofa. “In want of a commander. Thought I might apply.”

He clasped Talia’s hands and bent to kiss her cheek.

“Castle will take care of you,” he said. “We all know that.”

Bittersweet love curled through Talia as she watched him stride toward the door. “Nicholas.”

He turned.

“Visit Darius en route, would you? Tell him I miss him.”

A shadow passed across Nicholas’s face, but he gave a swift nod. “Take care, brat. Couldn’t be more pleased about Castle, honestly.”

Then he was gone. Talia stood in the empty room for a moment, remembering when her father’s house had once been filled with her brothers’ raucous shouts and laughter. She pressed a hand to her chest. This was the only house she’d ever known, and now for the first time ever, she was embarking on an entirely new life. With the man she loved.

With a smile, she started upstairs. She’d told James she would be
home
before supper, as soon as she finished organizing more of her belongings. She went to her bedchamber, where trunks and suitcases lay open and overflowing with dresses, petticoats, and shifts. Talia started toward the wardrobe, then stopped.

An old wooden crate sat on the floor beside her bed. Her heart thumped. She went to pry off the lid, then stared at the contents—James’s letters and mementos. She picked up a seashell, running her thumb over the spiral grooves.

“Talia, did you want me to ask Madame Gaston to send your latest order to James’s house?” Aunt Sally sailed into the room, her blue gown swirling like a whirlpool around her.

Talia straightened. “Aunt Sally, do you know how this came to be here?”

“What is it, dear?” Sally peered into the crate.

“Just some things I’d asked Soames to dispose of. You don’t know why he brought them back here?”

“Why, no. Why should I?” Sally reached into the crate and removed a letter. “Why on earth would you want to throw away letters from James?”

“I was…er, well, I wasn’t very happy with him at the time.”

“Hmm.” Sally dropped the letter back into the crate. “Considering he’s now your husband, I imagine you’re quite relieved to have such treasures back in your possession.”

Talia narrowed her eyes suspiciously at her aunt. Seeming oblivious, Sally spun and headed to the door.

“Best get to James soon, dear. I’ll have the rest of your things sent this week.”

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.”

T
alia 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.

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 her 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
.

London
March 1854

E
very 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.

“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.

“It’s called a
fenghuang
, a bird of virtue, power, and grace.”

He flipped the locket over to the design on the other side. “And the dragon?”

“When the
fenghuang
is paired with a dragon, the two symbolize the union of… of husband and wife.”

His dark eyes moved to hers. “Of male and female.”

Lydia swallowed in an effort to ease the sudden dryness of her mouth. “The… the
fenghuang
itself is representative of yin and yang.
Feng
is the male bird,
huang
the female. The bird and the dragon together speak of marital harmony.”

“And the woman?” Northwood asked.

“The woman is yin, the bird called
huang—
”

“No.” He flicked open the locket, turning it toward her to reveal the miniature portrait inside. “This woman.”

She didn’t look at the image. She couldn’t. She stared at Lord Northwood. Something complex and strangely intimate shone behind his eyes, as if he knew the answer to his question yet wanted to hear the response from her.

“That woman,” she said, “is my mother.”

He snapped the locket closed between his thumb and forefinger. “She is very beautiful.”

“She was.”

The sine of two theta equals two times the sine of theta times the cosine of theta.

Lydia repeated the trigonometric identity until the threat of disturbing emotions had passed.

“Why did you purchase the locket from Mr. Havers?” she asked.

“I’d never seen anything like it.”

“Nor will you again. My father had it specially made. It is pure silver, though I suspect you know that.”

“I do recognize excellent craftsmanship.” As he spoke, he lifted his gaze from the locket and looked at her. “And this locket must be very valuable, indeed, if it brought you here in the middle of the night.”

Lydia nodded. She slipped her hand into her pocket and closed her fingers around a small figurine. She extended it to Lord Northwood. “My father brought this back years ago from a trip to the province of Yunnan. It’s a jade sculpture of an elephant, quite well crafted. I’d like to offer it in exchange for the locket.”

“Why didn’t your grandmother pawn that instead of the locket?”

Lying would serve no purpose. Not with this man.

“It isn’t as valuable,” Lydia admitted.

“You expect me to make an uneven exchange?”

“No. My father also has several Chinese scrolls, one or two paintings—if you would consider several items in exchange?”

Northwood shook his head. “I do not collect Chinese art and artifacts, Miss Kellaway, so that would be of no use. As I said, I bought the locket because it was unique.”

“Surely there must be something you want.”

“What else are you offering?”

Although the question appeared innocent, the undercurrent of his voice rippled through her. Warmth heated its wake—not the tenderness provoked by emotions of the heart but something edged with wildness, lack of control. Danger.

Her eyes burned.

The locket. The locket.

“I… I have not the immediate funds to repurchase it from you,” she admitted, “though I’ve been recently offered a position that involves payment, and I can offer you a promissory note in exchange for—”

“I trust no one to uphold a promissory note.”

“I assure you, my lord, I would never—”

“No one, Miss Kellaway.”

Lydia expelled a breath, unable to muster any indignation at his decree. She wouldn’t trust anyone to uphold a promissory note, either. Almost twenty-eight years of life had taught her that well enough.

“Nor would I accept money that you… earned?” Northwood added.

The statement had a question to it, one Lydia had no intention of answering. If she told him she’d been offered a position on the editorial board of a mathematical journal, he’d likely either laugh at her or… Wait a moment.

“Lord Northwood, I understand you are in charge of a Society of Arts exhibition. Is that correct?”

He nodded. “An international educational exhibition, which I proposed well over a year ago. It’s scheduled to open in June. Preparations are under way.”

An international exhibition. Lydia’s fingers tightened on the notebook.

“Is there by chance a… a mathematical element of the exhibition?” she asked.

“There is a planned display of different mathematical instruments used in various parts of the world.”

“I see.” She tried to ignore the shimmer of fear in her blood. If he did accept her offer, she would have no reason to take on any kind of public role. All of her work could be conducted before the exhibition even opened. Perhaps no one except Lord Northwood would even know.

“Lord Northwood, I should like to offer my assistance with your exhibition in exchange for the locket.”