back of her neck. His palm rested in the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Her skin was as smooth as percale; tendrils of her dark hair brushed the back of his hand.
Want. That surge pulsed through him, hot and heavy, the desire to strip her dull clothes from her body and touch her bare skin. As if in response, her pulse quickened like the beat of butterfly wings against his palm.
A soft thud sounded on the carpet as her notebook fell to the floor.
He lowered his mouth to hers. She didn’t move forward, but neither did she back away. Her flush intensified, her chest rising as if she sought to draw air into her lungs. Multiple shades of blue infused her eyes. Her breath puffed against his lips. His hands tightened on her shoulders, the side of her neck.
The cracks within him began to smooth, the fissures closing. Instead he was filled with the urge to prolong this strange attraction, to savor the mystery of what would happen when their mouths finally met.
“Later.”
His whisper broke through the tension like a pebble dropped into a pool of still, dark water. Lydia drew back, her lips parting.
“What?” Her question sounded strained, thin.
Alexander slipped his hand away from her neck, his fingers lingering against her warm skin.
“Later,” he repeated. “I will require the payment of your debt at a later date.”
Lydia stared at him before stepping away, her fists clenching. “My lord, this is unconscionable.”
“Is it? We never determined payment would be immediate.”
“It was implied.”
“Ah, that’s your mistake, Miss Kellaway. It’s dangerous to assume your opponent holds the same unspoken ideas. Dangerous to assume anything, in fact.”
He almost felt the anger flare through her blood. For an instant, she remained still, and then something settled over her expression—a resurgence of control, of composure.
She started for the door, her stride long and her back as stiff as metal. Just before she stepped out, she turned back to him.
“Though I prefer a more systematic approach to proving a theorem, my lord, I appreciate your assistance.”
He watched her disappear into the shadows of the foyer; then he smiled faintly. He picked up her notebook from the floor and slipped it into his pocket.
Chapter Two
If the linear differential equation were to demonstrate the emotions of two lovers, the equation would be governed by the variables assigned to each lover: a = Ar + bJ and J = cR + dJ.
Lydia stared at the page of equations on her lap, then put it aside and wrapped her arms around her waist.
The emotions of two lovers…
Emotions were one thing. Sensations were something else entirely. A memory tried to fight its way to the surface—the memory of how it had once felt to be wild, naked, and unfettered.
She remembered that it had felt astonishing. That all those years ago she’d felt free for the first time in her life—until she learned that the price for indulgence was one no person should have to pay.
… governed by the variables assigned to each lover…
She would never be able to assign a variable to the sensations that still bloomed through her body after her encounter with Lord Northwood.
Every thump of her heart resounded through her, the slow unwinding of something sweet and rich. Her breasts felt full, heavy, her skin stretched tight over her body, her thighs tense with anticipation.
She closed her eyes. Shame trickled beneath her skin, smothering some of her lingering desire for a man she hardly knew. A man she could never have. Should never want.
Three, four, five: the first Pythagorean triple.
Her heartbeat slowed, her breath stabilizing into a smooth, even rhythm. The unnerving sensations of the previous night began to sink beneath the precise form of a perfectly constructed right triangle.
“You’re up early.”
Lydia’s eyes flew open. Charlotte Boyd stood in the doorway of the study, her hand clenched around her cane. Her white skin was creased with only scant evidence of her age, and her fine features retained vestiges of youthful beauty.
“I couldn’t sleep.” Lydia pushed her hair away from her forehead, hoping her expression bore no evidence of her thoughts. “Mrs. Driscoll said breakfast will be ready in a half hour.”
Mrs. Boyd settled into the opposite chair, her blue eyes sharp. “You’re not still upset about the locket, are you?”
Lydia suppressed a rustle of irritation. “Of course I am.”
“For heaven’s sake, Lydia, I told you to forget the locket. It is a foolish, sentimental thing, and neither you nor Jane should attach any meaning to it except