A Study In Seduction (16 page)

“Christ, Lydia—”

She tightened her grip on him. Northwood sucked in a breath. He shoved himself against her, burying his face in her thick hair. Blood rushed through her veins, as hot and fast as a firestorm.

“I won’t last,” he hissed in her ear, his voice taut.

“I don’t want you to,” Lydia breathed. She drew back, her skin flushed with heat and her body filled with a longing so intense she didn’t know if it could ever be sated. “But I want…” She shifted against him, sliding a leg between his thighs, her hips rocking. “I want more, Northwood, please—”

With a groan of surrender, he grabbed her skirts, pushing them up around her waist to expose her long slender legs encased in cotton drawers. Lydia’s gaze jerked to his. He stopped, his chest heaving. Then she grasped his hand and pulled it down between her legs to the opening of her drawers.

Dear God. One kiss and she was so ready. Everything in her ached to feel him naked and heavy between her thighs, to grip his powerful shoulders and wrap her legs around his. Her body surged with swirling heat.

“Wait. Oh, wait.” Lydia looked down, her fingers trembling as she struggled to unfasten his trousers. He didn’t help, instead staring down at her as she bit her lower lip in frustration. “Northwood, I can’t… I’m shaking… oh, there… let me…”

She gave a breathless little laugh as the buttons yielded. She hastened to push his trousers over his hips. Her gaze flew to his. Need filled his eyes with heat.

Trembling, Lydia lowered her hand again and took him in her palm. The sensation of his rigid, pulsing length against her cool fingers caused her heart to jolt.

“Tighter,” he muttered, reaching down to wrap her fingers around him. “Like that, Lydia. Just like that.”

He pushed his hips forward and slipped his hand to her drawers again, finding the opening and parting the material for access to her bare, intimate flesh. When his fingers touched her, she moaned, her back stiffening against the wall.

“I need… oh, please.”

He lowered his head to her ear, murmuring soothing noises as he stroked his finger against her. At the same time, Lydia caressed him, sliding her thumb across his length.

What little restraint she had left evaporated under the need to make him lose control. His body tightened as the pressure mounted and spilled, his low groan vibrating against her mouth. Her grip on him loosened as her own pleasure spiraled upward, her legs parting and thighs trembling.

He stroked her with his thumb and eased a finger into her. A moan stuck in her throat as she closed around him. She came apart almost instantly, her arms tightening on his neck as pleasure shot to every corner of her being.

Northwood braced one hand against the wall to hold both himself and her upright as they recovered. She tucked her head beneath his chin, her whole body shaking and her skin hot. He held her until her trembling abated before he eased away and lowered her skirts. He adjusted his own clothing, his gaze on her.

Lydia lifted her head. His eyes contained a strange light, a mixture of fading shock and lust. Her skin heated with a flush, but she could not muster up even the slightest twinge of regret. Not for something that felt so unbearably good. So right.

He continued looking at her. Then he reached out to cup her face with his hand, his thumb brushing across her lower lip.

“You…” His voice tightened.

He swallowed, his fingers moving to the pulse still pounding hard at the side of her neck. He rested his hand there for a moment before lowering it to his side. Then he turned away, appearing rather uncharacteristically discomfited.

Lydia sagged against the wall, pressing her hands to her heated cheeks as she waited for her lingering arousal to ease. Warm, pulsing sensations continued to throb in her blood, between her legs.

Silence stretched between them; then the noise of horses’ hooves and carriage wheels came from outside.

Lydia pushed loose tendrils of hair away from her face and went to take the pages of his work from the desk drawer. Holding them close to her chest, she preceded him into the foyer just as the front door opened.

“Ah, Lydia. I’m glad you’re home.”

Lydia winced as her grandmother entered, followed by a petite blond woman with delicate features and peach-blushed cheeks peeking out from beneath a fashionable hat.

Lydia became acutely conscious of the dampness on her drawers, the material clinging to her thighs. The musky scent of Northwood on her body. She glanced at him. He appeared entirely composed, only the wrinkles on his shirt evidence of their behavior.

“Good afternoon, Lord Northwood,” Mrs. Boyd said as Sophie came to take the women’s coats. “Lydia, this is Lady Montague. She just arrived from Paris yesterday for
a visit. My lady, this is my granddaughter Miss Lydia Kellaway and Viscount Northwood.”

“A pleasure, Miss Kellaway. Lord Northwood.”

He responded in kind, stepping forward to greet her.

My God, Lydia thought—or rather,
mon Dieu.
What if the two women had walked in fifteen minutes prior?

A bubble of laughter worked its way up her throat. “Yes… yes, and you as well, Lady Montague.”

“Jane is still at the church with Mrs. Keene, but Lady Montague was kind enough to agree to come and meet you,” Mrs. Boyd explained. “Please tell Mrs. Driscoll we’re here, and then you can join us for tea.” She frowned. “What is so amusing?”

“Nothing. I…” Lydia pressed her lips together.

“You’re welcome to join us of course, my lord.”

“I was just leaving, Mrs. Boyd,” Northwood said. “Miss Kellaway and I had several accounting matters to discuss. And I wished to invite her to visit my father’s estate next weekend.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Boyd glanced at Lydia. Anticipation sparked in her eyes—though Lydia knew quite well it had nothing to do with the proposal and everything to do with the fact that Viscount Northwood had extended her an invitation.

“You’re welcome to join us, Mrs. Boyd,” Northwood added. “Jane as well.”

“Oh, thank you, my lord, most generous. But I must decline. Jane will be starting dance lessons, and I’ve several charities of my own I must attend to. But Lydia would be delighted to accept, wouldn’t you, my dear?”

“Delighted.”

“Delighted,” Mrs. Boyd echoed. She flashed a
brilliant smile at Northwood. “Thank you, Lord Northwood. We are much obliged. You know, Mrs. Keene has spoken quite highly of you and the good works in which you are engaged.”

“Oh, yes,” Lydia agreed. “Lord Northwood is very generous with his endowments, which are indeed considerable.”

Northwood laughed.

The door clicked open. Jane pushed the letter between the pages of sheet music and turned to greet Mr. Hall. Except that it wasn’t Mr. Hall who entered the fancy drawing room, but Lord Northwood.

“My lord.” She smiled as she pushed herself up from the piano bench and gave a little curtsy. “I was waiting for Mr. Hall. Mrs. Driscoll’s just gone for tea.”

“Hello, Jane.” With an answering smile, Lord Northwood closed the door behind him and approached the piano. He paused beside her, running one finger across the pristine keys. An F-sharp sounded.

“Sebastian had this specially made by a piano manufacturer in Germany,” he said. “Cost a fortune. The man who made it accompanied the delivery himself to ensure it was intact and properly tuned when it arrived.”

“We just… we have a little cottage piano at home,” Jane explained. “I think my mother used to play it when she was alive. But no one plays it anymore. Well, I do now sometimes for practice. We had it recently tuned.”

“Do you like piano lessons?” Lord Northwood asked.

Jane hesitated, her flush deepening. She liked Lord Northwood a great deal and didn’t wish to lie to him. But neither did she want to sound as if she didn’t appreciate Mr. Hall’s lessons.

“I like Mr. Hall,” she finally said. “He’s quite a good teacher. And he’s kind. But I just don’t think I’ve much talent for music.”

He continued looking at her, his fingers still idly playing with the keys.

Jane glanced at his hands. “Do you play, sir?”

His mouth quirked. “No. I know I don’t have talent for music, though I do still recall one tune.”

He sat down, flexing his hands and fingers in an exaggerated imitation of the exercises his brother did before playing. Jane giggled and edged a little closer to the piano. Lord Northwood plucked out a tentative version of “Greensleeves” before stopping and turning back to her with a grimace.

“That’s all I remember,” he confessed. “I had lessons for a time as a child, but it appears my brother hoarded all natural musical ability for himself. Always thought that was a bit unfair.”

Jane smiled again. A strange sense of relief flowed through her, though she didn’t quite know why. “It’s funny, isn’t it, sir? That some people are so effortlessly good at something that’s not at all easy for others.”

“Mmm. Very odd, that. Though you’ve got your encyclopedic knowledge of insects.”

“That’s not exactly a talent, though. Anyone can learn about insects. Not everyone can learn to play the piano the way Mr. Hall does. Or solve algebra problems the way Lydia does. Not everyone has something… inside them to offer.”

Lord Northwood looked down at his hands resting on the keys. “Everyone has something to offer, Miss Jane.”

“I don’t.” She winced, worried she sounded self-pitying when she meant to merely state a fact. But Lord Northwood only gave her a considering look.

“Why do you say that?”

“I don’t have something like Mr. Hall or Lydia. Or my father. He had such an instinct about his translations. Few people could do what he did.”

“Someday you might study insects in depth. Write books. Give lectures. Discover things about entomology that no one has learned before.”

Jane had never considered such a thing. A little tingle of excitement went through her at the idea of discovering something that no one else in the world knew—and at the idea that Lord Northwood believed she could.

“Well.” Jane gave him a wry smile. “Quite difficult to discover things when one is busy learning to dance and hold a fork properly. Not at the same time, of course.”

Lord Northwood laughed. He had a wonderful laugh, deep and booming, his face creasing and eyes twinkling.

“Ah, Alexander, you’ve finally consented to let me teach you a thing or two.” Mr. Hall stepped into the room. “Rather than the other way around.”

Lord Northwood rolled his eyes conspiratorially at Jane. She grinned at the mischievous look.

“On the contrary, Bastian, you’ve got a lovely young woman to instruct about the fine art of piano.” Lord Northwood pushed himself to his feet. “See you don’t bore her to tears.”

He picked up a coat that lay over the back of a chair near the piano. As he shook out the creases, a thump sounded on the carpet, the glint of metal flashing.

Jane bent at the same time as the viscount to retrieve the item. He reached it first, scooping the object into his hand, but not before Jane recognized the
fenghuang
engraving on the silver locket.

She straightened, confusion filling her chest. Lord Northwood and Mr. Hall exchanged glances, Mr. Hall clearing his throat with an awkward sound.

Jane scratched her head, the sudden tension in the air adding to her bewilderment. She knew the locket had belonged to her mother, that Papa had had it specially made as a wedding present. After Theodora Kellaway
died, the locket was tucked away in a box with several other pieces of jewelry. As far as Jane knew, it hadn’t been taken from the box in years.

So the fact that the necklace was in Lord Northwood’s pocket was utterly baffling.

The viscount stepped toward her and extended his hand. The locket looked delicate and small against his big, rough palm.

Jane took it from him and rubbed her thumb over the engraving. She’d only seen the locket, held it, once or twice. Her chest hurt a little.

“It was my mother’s,” she finally said.

“I know.” Lord Northwood’s deep voice sounded tight. “Your sister told me.”

“Did she give it to you?”

“No. I’d never intended to keep it.”

“But why do you have it at all?” Jane asked.

“Through a rather odd set of circumstances that are perhaps best left unexplained. I have every intention of returning it to your sister.”

“I see,” Jane said, though she didn’t really.

She stared at the dragon engraving on the back. Something was happening between Lydia and the viscount. Jane sensed it now more than ever. Something ominous yet inevitable, like the darkening of a sea before a storm, long shadows of dusk spilling over the streets, flower buds closing to the night. A dragon spreading its wings.

She twisted the chain around her fingers and opened the locket. She stared at the picture of her lovely, smiling mother, and Papa, his expression serious, his face so dear, so familiar. Tears stung Jane’s eyes.

The voices of Lord Northwood and his brother
created a deep hum. Jane glanced up to find they had stepped away from her to speak in lowered tones.

She started to close the locket, then noticed that the casing seemed oddly thick—too thick to house mere paper images. She closed the compartment and examined the edges.

The case hinging appeared thick as well, almost as if it were holding together a double seam. Jane pulled the case open again to reveal the pictures, then turned it to look at the seam. She wiggled her fingernail into the edge again, blinking with surprise when the casing popped open to reveal a second compartment hidden behind the first. An object dropped from the case to the floor.