A Study In Seduction (31 page)

He doesn’t want Jane.

Lydia’s greatest fear, the one that had haunted her for the last decade, eased a little. She didn’t care what he wanted, what he did, as long as he didn’t try to take her daughter away.

“If you get the money, will you go away?” she asked. “For good?”

“Perhaps. Though I will require the
acte de naissance
to ensure I can control the situation. With that document in my possession, with you knowing I have proof of Jane’s true birth, I will know you cannot renege on your word.”

“You cannot blackmail me forever.”

“Actually, I can.” Cole tilted his head as he studied her. “Why did you agree to marry him, Lydia? For the title and money? You’ve put both in jeopardy, haven’t you?”

Lydia didn’t respond, her throat constricting so hard it was difficult to draw in a breath.

“I will not let you touch Lord Northwood.” She steeled her voice and loosened her hold on Jane in the hopes her daughter would run. “Tell people whatever you want, Dr. Cole. I’ll take full blame. You’ve no idea how things work, how they can be manipulated. Northwood can
emerge from scandal intact if I’m the one who is vilified and liable. Then how effective will your blackmail be?”

Her words didn’t appear to disconcert him in the slightest. “Suppose the revelation doesn’t destroy Northwood. What do you think it will do to Jane?”

Lydia flinched. Cole smiled.

“I’m not a fool, Lydia. I know how much you want this kept secret, though I suppose your willingness to sacrifice yourself for your fiancé is admirable.” He leaned forward to peer into Jane’s face, lowering his voice to a gentle cadence. “It’s quite simple, my dear. I will have either that document or you. Which shall it be?”

“You will not have Jane.” A cold, deep voice lashed into the growing darkness. “Ever.”

Alexander.

Lydia’s mind registered his presence, his voice, even as her heart refused to believe it. And yet he emerged from the shadows, an ice-cold rage emanating from him.

“Lord Northwood.” Cole raised an eyebrow, his expression wary but unafraid—as if he knew he was the person in control. “Perhaps you’re the one who will prove sensible. The female mind is prone to emotional decisions, I’ve found.”

Alexander moved closer, pulling Jane away from Lydia. He pushed her behind him to shield her from Cole. Without taking his eyes from the other man, he said, “Lydia, the carriage is at the Langley entrance. Take Jane and go.”

Before Lydia could take one step toward her daughter, Cole moved as swift as a wasp, his hand clamping around Lydia’s arm. Jane shrieked.

A gasp stopped in Lydia’s throat, her body tensing to fight. The cold muzzle of a pistol pressed against her
neck. Cole pinned her to him and dragged her toward the gallery railing.

“Miss? Miss!”

A flood of workers swarmed the floor below, staring up at the sudden commotion. Several men started up the stairs.

“No one move!” Cole shouted. “No one! I’ll kill her.”

The men froze. Alexander cursed and started forward, but Cole pushed the muzzle harder. Fear swamped Lydia.

Alexander stopped, his muscles bunched with tension beneath his coat. Behind him, Jane looked at Cole wide-eyed, then turned and ran. Relief over her daughter’s escape overwhelmed Lydia’s fear.

“Let her go, Cole.” Alexander held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Whatever amount of money you want, you will have.”

“No.” Lydia flinched. Sweat trickled down her back, Cole’s breath hot and harsh against her ear.

“Who’s worth more to you, Northwood, the girl or Lydia?”

“They are of equal value.”

Cole laughed. “Are they? Suppose I leave Lydia with you? Take Jane with me? I’d have myself quite a trump card, could bring her out any time as the daughter of Viscountess Northwood, the eminent—”

“Stop!”

Cole whirled, turning as Jane hurried along the length of the gallery, her hand outstretched. A piece of paper fluttered in her grasp.

“Let her go.” She thrust the paper toward Cole. “And I’ll give you this.”

Cole stared at the girl, then gave a low laugh. “Perhaps I underestimated your intelligence, Jane. Even among
this illustrious group, you might well be the smartest one here.”

He held out a hand to take the paper, but Jane kept it from his reach. Determination hardened her features.

“First release Lydia,” she ordered.

Cole shook his head. “Not until I have the document.”

“How do I know you’ll let her go?”

“You’ll have to trust me. I am your father, after all.”

“No, you are not.”

A vibration of impatience went through Cole’s body. “Give me the paper, Jane,” he snapped.

Jane’s eyes darted to where Alexander stood beside the fire. Lydia’s heart jumped at his sudden movement. He hurled himself forward, his big hand coiling around Lydia’s arm as he tore her from Cole’s grasp.

The gun went off. Lydia stumbled to her knees. Jane screamed. A collective gasp rose from the crowd below, followed by a surge of movement.

Alexander plowed into Cole and slammed him against the gallery railing. The wood fractured and cracked. Cole grunted, swinging his arm back to catch Alexander on the side of the head.

Jane ran to Lydia. The document fell as she gripped Lydia with both hands and tried to drag her away from the brawling men. Lydia pressed a hand to her stomach, her vision blurring. She blinked and tried to focus, tried to…

“The girl!” a man shouted. “Get her away!”

Lydia pushed Jane toward the stranger’s voice. The crowd below seemed to swell and shift like an ocean’s tide.

A sickening thud echoed through the room as Alexander gripped Cole’s collar and shoved him against the railing again. A bloody gash bloomed on Cole’s forehead.

He cursed and kicked his foot upward, catching Alexander hard in the knee. The crack was enough to make Alexander loosen his grip. Cole tore away from him.

The gun.
Where was the gun?

Lydia pushed to her feet, desperate, but Cole was advancing, closing in. He grabbed the gun from where it had fallen by the hearth. He swung it up, firing at the men advancing on the stairs, then toward the crowd.

People screamed. Doors slammed open and closed. Footsteps thundered.

Alexander crashed against Cole’s back, bringing him to the ground. The gun went flying. Both men grunted, bones cracking.

Jane darted forward and grabbed the birth certificate. Cole twisted, breaking from Alexander’s grip. He plunged forward and dove for Jane.

Lydia knew what was going to happen before it came to pass. Just as she knew she could do nothing to prevent it.

Horror flooded her as she watched Cole plow into her daughter, breaking through the splintered railing with a thunderous crack.

Unable to stop the forward movement, Cole shoved Jane aside before he crashed through the railing. With a shriek, Jane skidded against the floor as pieces of wood crashed onto the globe display below.

The crowd swarmed in a mass of confusion, shouts and gasps rising.

“Jane!” Alexander yelled.

He lunged for the girl, his hand clamping around her wrist just as she started to slide over the edge. He yanked her to a halt and braced one foot against a post.

Panic swamped Lydia. She stretched to reach for Jane’s
other hand and sent up a million prayers of gratitude when her daughter’s fingers closed around hers.

She looked over the edge. Cole had grasped a broken post to prevent himself from falling. Beneath them, a dozen globes gleamed, the round surfaces of earth and sky undulating in the twilight.

Fear and exertion contorted Cole’s features. His legs thrashed in midair. The wood cracked again, jerking him downward.

Alexander and Lydia hauled Jane back to the safety of the gallery. Jane flung herself into Lydia’s arms, sobs tearing from her throat and her body shaking.

Alexander reached his hand to where Cole still hung suspended. Cole’s sheet-white face glistened with sweat. Alexander cursed and stretched farther. Cole released one hand from the post and tried to grab Alexander’s hand. His legs kicked to find purchase. The post splintered with a noise like a fired bullet.

Oh, dear God.

Pressing Jane’s face to her shoulder, Lydia stared down at Cole. His gaze, wide-eyed and panicked, met hers.

The post broke. With a cry, Cole fell, his arms flailing. His head smashed against a massive glass globe, a sickening crash splitting through the hall. Blood sprayed over the clear surface before Cole crumpled to the floor and lay still.

Screams rent the air as chaos erupted below.

C
ommotion flooded St. Martin’s Hall—shouts, thundering footsteps, the shrill noise of constables’ whistles.

The throng from outside mobbed the foyer and lower floor, though whether the confusion started inside or out, Alexander didn’t know. A man yelled for order. Women shrieked. Windows cracked under the impact of thrown objects.

Alexander pushed Lydia and Jane into a corner of the darkened gallery and prayed they would be safe. “Stay here. Do not move until I return.”

Outside, police and a detachment of infantry swarmed the street, trying to restore order. Alexander helped pull the wounded out of the way, bile rising in his throat at the sight of a bleeding man lying amid the rubble. He grasped the man beneath the arms and dragged him to an empty doorstep.

“All right?” he asked. He yanked off his cravat and pressed it to the wound on the man’s head.

The man nodded, his eyes glazed. Alexander yelled for a constable, then went back into the hall. Crowds of people surged through the displays and sent them crashing to the floor. Bird feathers floated in the air, musical instruments lay shattered, the model schoolhouses smashed. Alexander’s heart plummeted at the sight of the destruction.

He pushed through the crowd to the globe display, where two constables stood over Cole’s prone body. Bits of paper tore and glass crunched beneath Alexander’s feet. He turned away from the congealed blood.

He searched the broken glass, the splintered wood. His fist closed around a piece of paper stuck beneath a globe of the stars. He shoved it into his pocket, then ran back out into the street.

They sat in silence amid the chaos. Shouts and noise flew upward from the lower floor. Several people ran past in the gallery, but Lydia and Jane remained concealed in the shadows of the hearth.

Lydia clasped Jane to her chest, Jane’s arms wrapped around her neck. Her small body rippled with tremors.

Memories flashed through Lydia’s mind of holding Jane as an infant, a toddler. All those years of watching her daughter grow and learn—her first steps, first words, her endless curiosity. Cherishing Jane’s smiles and laughter. Loving every moment of time spent together.

She pressed her lips to Jane’s cheek. How she wished her own mother had experienced such joy. And perhaps… perhaps in those first five years of Lydia’s life, she had.

“I love you,” Lydia whispered. “Whatever happens, please know that. I have and will always love you more with every beat of my heart. You are everything to me.”

Her daughter didn’t respond. Instead she sought Lydia’s hand with her own and curled their fingers together.

Alexander wiped sweat and grime from his forehead with the back of his hand. Beside him, Sebastian hauled a woman away from the crowded street. Somehow his brother had found him, and they worked through the commotion together. They brought people back into the hall offices, yelled at others to get inside, lock the doors, close the shutters.

Over the course of several hours, the mob dispersed. Destruction lay in its wake—shards of glass and wood littered the streets, and broken wagons lay among scattered rubbish. Darkness fell in a heavy sheet as the noise began to settle.

Alexander dragged a hand down his scratched face. He and Sebastian returned to St. Martin’s Hall. Fear tightened his chest as he went up the stairs to collect Jane and Lydia. They still sat huddled together near the hearth, pale but appearing unharmed.

Relief and gratitude streamed through Alexander, banishing his fatigue. He hauled Jane into his arms. Sebastian extended a hand to help Lydia to her feet, and they went downstairs.

“Oh, Alexander.” Lydia’s whisper of dismay cut through him as she saw the disaster that had once been the exhibition.

Outside, people still milled around the street, but the police had restored order and blocked off the entrance to the hall. Still holding Jane with one arm, Alexander pulled Lydia to him with the other. The tightness in his chest eased a little as her body pressed against his side.

“Lord Northwood.” Sir George Cooke of the Society council strode toward him, his expression grim. “The police inspector is heading to Mount Street now. You’d best meet him there. Hadley is on his way as well.”

With Sir George accompanying them, they returned to Alexander’s town house, where the servants rose in a bustle of activity. A doctor was summoned, warm water and clean clothes procured, tea and brandy offered. Lydia sent Jane upstairs with the housekeeper to look after her and wait for the doctor.

“Preliminary reports, Lord Northwood, indicate that you are responsible for causing the riot.” Police Inspector Denison peered at Alexander with a faint air of sympathy.

“Which,” Lord Hadley added, “destroyed the interior of the hall and the Society’s exhibition. We’ll have to send word to the lenders and the foreign commissioners.”

Alexander tried to muster up some concern at the ominous tone to the man’s voice, but he was too tired. He rubbed his burning eyes.

“And?”

“We’ve got to conduct an investigation, my lord,” Denison replied. “We’ve statements from several people who witnessed your altercation with Mr.”—he consulted his pad—“Cole. They saw you push him over the railing.”

“No.” Lydia’s voice sounded choked. “No, Inspector, that’s not correct. That man was after my… my sister. Lord Northwood was protecting us both. He was trying to—”

“Miss Kellaway, no need for a defense at the moment,” Denison interrupted. “More will come to light during the course of the investigation. However, I ought to warn you that the newspaper correspondents will be seeking
people to give their account of events, and his lordship ain’t appeared to be cast in a favorable light.”