Kellaway disappear into the Mount Street town house, the tall silhouette of a man at her side.
Joseph chuckled. She might be older, but apparently her needs were the same. She was rising above her station, though, if the neighborhood was anything to judge by.
Or was she?
He knew the Kellaways had been in financial straits, even before Sir Henry’s death. What if Lydia had found a way to earn money using the talents of her body rather than her mind?
Fancy town houses here on Mount Street. Belonging to wealthy people. He would soon find out who lived at number twelve.
Chapter Four
After ordering tea, Alexander watched as Lydia sank onto the sofa in the drawing room. Her hands trembled as she lifted them to smooth back her disheveled hair, confined only by a ribbon at the back of her neck. Red blotches marred her smooth skin, and puffy circles ringed her eyes. She stared at the floor, her chest hitching with every breath.
A surge of something fierce and protective rose in Alexander. He stood behind a chair, his grip tight on the polished wood.
He wanted to pull Lydia hard into his arms, to feel her slacken against him, to fix whatever it was that caused her such distress. The realization, the intensity of the feeling, startled him. He dragged a hand over his hair, unable to stop looking at her.
“Miss Kellaway.” He forced his voice to remain steady, not wanting to frighten her away with the urgency of his need to know. “Has someone harmed you?”
She laughed, a bleak, harsh sound. “Not in the way you think.”
“You can tell me the truth.”
“That is the truth.”
“You’re certain.”
“Yes.” She nodded, her fingers twisting and untwisting the folds of her skirt. “I’m not… It’s not what you imagine.”
“Then what is it?”
“A personal issue, a… It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.”
“Does it?” She lifted her head, her blue eyes dark with anger and frustration. “Don’t you merely want the payment of my debt? That’s why I’m here. Take it. Kiss me.”
Alexander shook his head. “Not like this.”
“There was no condition attached to your request.”
“There is now.”
A knock at the door preceded the footman’s entry with a tea tray. Alexander nodded his thanks as Giles turned to leave. He waited until the door had closed before reaching to pour the tea, adding sugar to one cup before pressing it into Lydia’s hands.
“What condition?” she asked.
“I will not kiss you when you are in evident distress. Aside from the fact that such an act would be misguided, if kissing me were to intensify your misery… well, I don’t believe my pride could withstand such a blow.”
The shadow of a smile curved her lips. “Your pride appears quite capable of withstanding much worse, my lord.”
“Perhaps. Though I’ve no intention of finding that out.” His eyebrows drew together as he watched her take a sip of tea. Her lips closed around the thin edge of the cup, her throat rippling.
Alexander waited an interminable few minutes for her to further compose herself. Then he asked again, “What happened?”
Her eyes darkened to the color of lapis lazuli. She shook her head, tendrils of thick hair moving against her neck. When she spoke, sorrow weighted her voice.
“I sometimes feel… very powerless.”
Alexander had no idea how to respond to that simple statement. On the one hand, it made no sense coming from a woman with as brilliant, as perceptive, a mind as hers. On the other hand, she spent her time devising equations about love, a task Alexander knew would lead nowhere.
Silence stretched, flexed between them like a living entity.
He cleared his throat, wishing for a fleeting instant that Sebastian were here. Sebastian would know what to say. His brother possessed a natural ability to make women feel safe, protected. They confided in him, trusted him. Not like Alexander, whose reputation for remoteness had some basis in fact, especially after the catastrophe of his failed engagement.
Lydia’s mouth twisted as she set her cup on the tray. “But that’s neither here nor there, is it?”
“What sort of power do you seek?”
“None that I might obtain, so why bother naming it?”
He studied her, the bend of her neck, the way her eyelashes made shadows on her cheekbones. “I know you possess a fine, sharp mind. That your aptitude for numbers has earned you respect among the highest academic echelons.”
“How did you come by such knowledge?”
“I asked about you. Your name carries respect, Miss Kellaway.”
“My name carries curiosity, my lord. Like that of a South American tapir