roots every day. They ought to dry in between watering. I’ve got your fern in the greenhouse. Come and collect it after your lesson.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Jane turned and hurried back along the path to where Mrs. Driscoll stood waiting.
“Leaf,” the earl called.
Jane stopped.
“Leaf?” she repeated.
“Leaf. Transposed it’s flea. The answer to your riddle.” He almost smiled. Almost. “Bastian tells me your sister’s fond of puzzles as well.”
“Oh, yes, my lord. But Lydia’s are more difficult than mine. All about numbers and sums and such.” A rush of pride in Lydia filled her, and she added, “My sister is brilliant, Lord Ruston. There isn’t a puzzle in the world Lydia can’t solve.”
“Is that a fact, Miss Jane?” A faint air of challenge crossed his expression. “We’ll just see about that.”
Chapter Eleven
He was here. He was coming up the front step right this moment. Lydia gripped the heavy curtain in her fist, trying to remember if her grandmother had left the house. Yes, she had; she’d taken Jane to attend one of her charities with Mrs. Keene.
Relief mixed with a combination of fear and anticipation as Lydia hurried down the stairs to the front door. Before the bell rang, she pulled the door open. “Lord Northwood.”
He scowled. He looked terrible. Dark circles ringed his eyes, his jaw sported coarse whiskers, and his clothing was abominably wrinkled, as if he had been in the same coat and trousers for the past two days. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was Sebastian Hall rather than the impeccable Lord Northwood.
But of course she knew it was him. She knew it by the way her skin warmed, her heart thumping like a metronome. She knew it by the way his gaze slid over her as if he were a man starved and she a warm, soft muffin. And she knew it by the way her entire being flooded with something suspiciously close to joy.
She smiled. Ridiculous, really. The man had caused her nothing but trouble, and yet here she stood, unable to deny this sheer happiness at the sight of him. It made no sense, but at this stage in her life, she knew that emotions had little sense to them.
She couldn’t stop smiling, which only intensified Northwood’s scowl. “What is so blasted funny?” he growled.
“I’m not laughing.” Lydia stepped aside to allow him entry. “Come inside. You look as if you could use a good strong cup of tea. Or perhaps whiskey or brandy would suffice. We have—”
“Nothing, thank you.”
Lydia closed the drawing room door behind them, watching with curiosity as he reached into his coat and removed several sheets of creased, smudged paper. He thrust them toward her.
“Your bloody problem, Miss Kellaway.”
Her eyebrows rose. “You’ve solved it?”
“I’ve no idea.”
“I don’t understand.” Lydia took the papers and smoothed them out. Her original question was grubby almost beyond recognition, the other pages filled with a scrawl of numbers, letters, and numerous erasures. Heavy black lines crossed out several of the equations.
Northwood folded his arms across his chest, his jaw tightening. “I think I have the solution, but I can’t be certain.”
Lydia stared at him, knowing to her bones that it cost him dearly to admit his doubt about his own abilities. She ran her hand over the pages, imagining that they still contained the heat of his touch, the intensity of his thoughts.
“I… It will take me some time to figure out your—”
He pointed to a small secretaire near the window. “Do it now.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Sit down, Miss Kellaway, and tell me if I’ve got it right or not.”
“Right this very moment?” The slight teasing note to her voice did nothing to ease his scowl.
“Yes. The parameters of your time frame end this evening. I intend to know who has won this particular wager before then.”
“Very well.” Lydia crossed to the table and sat, spreading the pages on the desktop. The back of her neck prickled with awareness when he moved to stand behind her.
She picked up a pencil and began reviewing the process of his solution.
“This page is next.” Northwood leaned over her shoulder and shuffled the pages into order. “This is the problem, isn’t it? I’ve got the cubic equation wrong.”
His arm brushed her shoulder as he pulled back. Lydia suppressed a tremble of response.
“No, this part is correct,” she said, attempting to concentrate on the task at hand. “But you didn’t need to actually calculate a, b, and c to determine the sum of their fourth powers. They