A Study In Seduction (21 page)

He followed her outside. The cool evening air bathed her skin. Her heart beat with unaccountable speed.

Alexander stopped beside her, resting his hands on the railing. For a moment, he stared out into the darkened garden as if it held the answer to a question with which he’d been struggling. In the ambient light, his profile appeared rough and shadowed, his eyes shimmering beneath thick dark lashes.

The sound of a Beethoven sonata drifted from the piano, mingling with the chirps of insects and night-bird calls.

“My father has not engaged in company for a very long time,” Alexander finally said. “He only agreed to come this weekend because of Talia.”

“She’s a lovely young woman.”

“Yes, she is. She could marry astonishingly well if she’d—” He broke off with a shake of his head.

Tension infused his shoulders, the line of his body. Lydia swallowed, a surge of anticipation and apprehension mingling in her chest.

“Alexander?”

His forehead creased, and his jaw appeared to tighten. Lydia’s apprehension intensified. “What is it?” she asked.

“We’ve not known each other long,” he said.

“No.”

“And forgive me, but neither of us is in the bloom of youth.”

“True.”

He looked at her, his dark eyes direct as always, but
with a trace of uncertainty that troubled her. In the short time she’d known him, she’d come to think he would never be uncertain about anything.

“For several years, my father has expressed his wish that I marry and produce an heir,” he said. “I haven’t done so in part because I’ve been occupied with my business and family matters, but also because I haven’t found a woman I could imagine marrying.” He paused. “Until now.”

Lydia pressed a hand to her chest. Her heart thumped wildly against her palm like a leaf whipped by a strong wind. She tried to speak, but her voice tangled around the words and stifled them.

“I believe we are well suited for each other,” Alexander said. “I find you interesting, if somewhat baffling, and your family maintains a respectable status. We are… ah, physically matched, if recent events are any indication.”

He cleared his throat and tightened his hands on the railing. Lydia realized with a start that he was more than uncertain. Alexander Hall, Viscount Northwood, was actually nervous.

“My—,” she began.

“There is, of course, the issue that your consent might give rise to renewed gossip surrounding your mother,” Alexander continued. “Though it is of little consequence to me, I do not wish for possible rumors to cause you or your family further distress.”

A sheen of unexpected tears stung Lydia’s eyes.

“However, I can promise you that marriage to me would not be disagreeable,” Alexander said. He paced away from her a few steps, heading toward the door, then circled around back to her. “You will be free to pursue your interests, to continue your work in mathematics.”

“I’m sorry, I—”

“You may run the household as you like,” he continued. “I pledge my fidelity. I do wish to travel again, though I would welcome your company should you—”

“Stop.” Lydia held up her hand, the tears spilling over. Her breath hitched, her chest tightening to the point of pain. “Please, please, stop.”

He looked at her, the uncertainty in his expression evaporating into concern. “Surely it’s not that horrid a thought.”

“No. It’s not that…. I’m sorry.” Lydia pressed her hands against her eyes. Her heart swam beneath a surfeit of emotions that she couldn’t even begin to comprehend. “I’m so terribly sorry.”

His warm fingers curled around her wrists, pulling her hands away from her face. “Sorry about what?”

“I can’t marry you.” Lydia swiped at her eyes, regret and outright fear slicing through her. A sob rose to flood her throat, and her knees began to buckle.

Alexander caught her before she could fall. His breath heated the side of her neck. The warmth of his body spread through her. His heart beat heavy and strong against her. His arms were like taut, secure ropes preventing her from sinking beneath a wave-lashed surface of darkness.

Lydia pulled in a breath, her emotions twisting, her mind wrestling for an equation, a theorem, a proof—but she could seize nothing, not even a simple sum. The sheer and complete feeling of Alexander overpowered coherent thought, and she lost all ability to anchor herself with numbers.

She took another breath and placed her hands on Alexander’s arms, urging him to release her. He did, though
not without reluctance, his palms sliding flat against her midriff.

Lydia stepped from the circle of his arms.

He was cold suddenly without the warmth of her body against his. Alexander fisted his hands as he watched Lydia pace away from him.

“Lord Northwood, I wish to… to apologize…” Her voice wavered, her hand coming up to coil a stray lock of hair around her fingers. “I can offer you no detailed explanation, but—”

A look of defeat overcame her, her rigid shoulders slumping, her eyes brimming with tears.

Alexander fought the urge to enfold her in his arms again but allowed his tone to soften. “You’ve no need to apologize. Believe me, I’m not worth this much distress.”

Lydia managed a faint smile through her tears. She wiped her eyes and looked up at him. “You must understand. I cannot marry you because I will never marry anyone. Ever. But please know that I’m deeply honored by the offer.”

“You’ve an odd way of showing it, Miss Kellaway.”

Lydia gave a watery laugh. “Oddness appears to be my modus operandi, Lord Northwood.”

He moved forward, lifting a hand to brush it over her hair in a gesture that first made her flinch before she stilled and let him touch her. He smoothed a few tendrils of hair from her forehead, then lowered his hand.

Her smile faded. “I owe you more of an explanation—I know that—but there isn’t much else I can tell you.”

“I cannot believe that.”

“I’m sorry.”

The air between them thickened. She pulled back. He gripped her shoulders.

She stared at him, those blue eyes searing through him like a slice of the sky. He put his hand on the back of her head and pulled her to him, pressing his lips to hers in a kiss that made them both shudder. He drew her lower lip between his as he eased away, every part of his being aching for her.

She lifted a trembling hand to his mouth, sliding her finger across his lips. Something seemed to open inside her, a spilling light, a fateful certainty.

“I can’t marry you,” she whispered. “Please never ask me that again. But I will… I want to be your lover.”

Alexander’s heart slammed against his ribs. “I will not compromise you.”

“No, you won’t.”

Confusion rose hard and fast, frustrating Alexander with his ever-present urge to fully understand this woman.

“Why?” He tightened his hands on her shoulders. “Why engage in something so scandalous when there is another way? If you would—”

“Don’t. Don’t ask me again.” She put her lips against his cheek, her hand sliding across his chest, her whole body curving into him. “Take what I’m offering you, Alexander. Please.”

Alexander fought a hard but brief battle with his conscience. God knew he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted a woman. Yet he knew the cost of scandal, and it was a price he never wanted Lydia to pay.

He forced his fingers to uncurl from her shoulders, to release her.

“Go back to your room,” he said, his voice strained from the tension pulling between his mind and his body. “I will leave for London first thing tomorrow morning.”

She stared at him for an instant, then turned and fled back into the house.

L
ydia wanted to breathe. She wanted to pull great gulps into her lungs, to feel her body filling, her ribs expanding, her blood singing with sweet, delicious air. And she wanted to exhale, to slacken, to sink into a chair with repletion. Then she wanted to do it again, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Over and over and over.

She closed her eyes. An hour had passed since she’d left Alexander on the terrace. She feared he might never return, that perhaps he’d decided to return to London that very night…

“God.”

The whispered oath made her turn. Alexander stood in the doorway of his bedchamber, staring at her. She was clad in her corset and underpetticoat, her dress and overpetticoats in a crumpled heap on the floor. Lydia’s blood thundered in her ears, nerves and fear twisting through her belly.

“I told you to go to
your
bedchamber.” His voice was unsteady.

Lydia shook her head. Although he hadn’t acquiesced to her offer, she knew he wanted her. He would not—could not—resist her blatant invitation.

She waited for a heart-stopping instant for his reaction to her undressed state but saw not the faintest hint of aversion cross his features. Only a desire so deep, so seething, it stole her breath.

She almost couldn’t speak. “Y-you’re really leaving tomorrow? Because of me?”

Lydia took a tentative step toward him, but he held up a hand.

“Don’t.”

“But—”

“You look…” His throat worked as he swallowed. “The fire behind you… like you’re filled with light.”

Light. No.

Once perhaps, many years ago, when she’d clambered over the pebbled beaches at Brighton. When her mother was whole and well and laughed with Lydia’s father as the salty wind nipped their faces and the sea swept up to meet them. Then Lydia was whole too. Then she was filled with a light bright enough to illuminate the blackest of caves.

“The fire. I… I was getting cold.” Her voice sounded unnatural, hoarse. She forced a smile, reaching a trembling hand to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. Gooseflesh skittered over her skin.

Alexander closed the door, his boots soundless as he crossed the room to her. With every step that brought him closer, Lydia drew back into herself, her hands moving to rub her bare arms.

She expected him to grasp her shoulders, to pull her to him, but instead he stopped several inches from her
and looked at her, his hot gaze settling on the generous swells of her breasts above her corset before moving back to her face.

Lydia shifted, her corset chafing against her torso, the place between her legs warming with Alexander’s proximity. She watched him warily, questioning for the hundredth time the wisdom of her boldness.

“You make it impossible for me to withstand you,” he said.

“That was my intention.” A faint smile pulled at her lips. “And you did once say you thought I should be reckless more often.”

“It appears I was correct.”

Despite her admission, nerves continued to spiral through her. She stepped back toward the fire, the heat burning through her chemise and drawers. “Alexander, I…”

She looked at the buttons of his shirt, unable to meet his gaze. How could she ever tell him? How could she confess to the utter sordidness of her past and the horrific price she’d had to pay?

Perhaps she didn’t have to. It was
her
past, fixed in her soul like a fossil—but there was no need for Alexander to know the full truth. She would never agree to marry him. Perhaps they would be lovers for a time, but their relationship would not extend beyond that. She owed him nothing except the loyalty due any lover.

At least this time, she knew the terms.

“I’ve done this before.” Her murmur was almost inaudible, even to her own ears.

“I know.”

Lydia jerked her gaze to his. “You do?”

He nodded, his features expressionless as he continued to watch her.

“H-how do you know?”

“No woman responds so swiftly to a man’s touch, to passion, without having experienced it before.”

A sting of tears blurred Lydia’s vision for an instant.

It’s not merely a man’s touch
, she wanted to cry out.
Not a nameless passion. It’s you. You, you, you.

Alexander stepped closer, catching her arms in his hands as he pulled her away from the fire. “Much as I wish to see you go up in flames, I’d rather it be in the metaphorical sense. And by my hand rather than an errant spark.”

Her skin grew hot. Alexander slipped his hand beneath her chin and drew her head up. He frowned, brushing a stray tear from her cheek.

“I’m really not so horrible.”

“I never thought you were. Quite the opposite, in fact.” Lydia managed a smile as she brought her hand up to his coarse-whiskered jaw. She moved her thumb across his mouth, tracing its shape, feeling the slightly dry ridges of his lips. His breath on her fingers.

“Kiss me,” she whispered.

His eyes darkened. Sliding a hand around the back of her neck, he pulled her to him, his mouth hovering over hers for a breathless instant before he closed the distance. Lydia shut her eyes and sank into the feel of him, parting her lips as he swept her mouth with his tongue.

Flowers of heat bloomed deep inside her, dispelling the last threads of cold. She could never be cold in Alexander’s arms. She would never feel a bitter chill, not even from the depths of her own soul—not while wrapped in his all-encompassing warmth.

He angled her head, his tongue sliding across hers, his teeth gently biting down on her lower lip. Lust sparked and caught. She spread her hands over his shirt, feeling the hard ridges of his chest through the linen, his heart pounding against her palm.

He stroked his hands down her back to her buttocks, cupping them and lifting her against him. The bulge in his trousers pushed against her thigh, eliciting a renewed firestorm of arousal. Lydia squirmed, her breath coming faster and faster as she slid her lips across his cheek to his ear. She moaned. Alexander muttered something into her hair, his fingers kneading and parting her bottom so that she was splayed against his hard thigh.

Lydia gasped, her hips moving involuntarily as she strove to release the tension beginning to wind through her lower body. She pressed down, pushed forward and back, her fingers tightening on his shoulders. Alexander urged her movements with the grip of his fingers before he gave a hoarse laugh and eased them apart.

“Sweet Lydia, you’ll be the death of me.” His voice was uneven, edged with roughness. “A fate I’d gladly suffer a thousand times over.”