A Study In Seduction

chapter Thirty-Two




The great room of the Society of Arts building in the Adelphi bustled with people and voices. The Society council members and all union representatives had attended—whether out of curiosity or a sense of duty, Alexander couldn’t say. Three police inspectors sat on the other side of the aisle.

Alexander sat beside Sebastian and Rushton in the front row. The council members presided over the meeting from a dais at the front of the room. Frowns creased their faces as they spoke to each other, consulted papers, glanced at Alexander.

“You ought to have shaved, at least,” Sebastian remarked, his voice low in the din. He rubbed his hand across his own jaw. “I did.”

“Bastian’s right.” Rushton looked at them both from the corner of his eye. “You look like a vagrant, North.”

Although he didn’t care, Alexander dragged a hand through his hair in an attempt to smooth it down. He’d hardly slept for the past five nights as he struggled to find a way to convince Lydia to give him a chance. But no matter how many ways he tried to find a solution, he knew she would not concede. Even if she wanted to.

He cursed beneath his breath and tried to focus on the council members as Lord Hadley stood from behind the long table.

“Order, everyone! I call the meeting to order.”

Hadley waved his arms to indicate everyone should be seated. As the commotion waned, he cleared his throat. “As you all know, we have convened this meeting in order to address the issue of the educational exhibition as presided over by Lord Northwood. We have been aware for some time that his close ties with the Russian Empire, as well as his trading company, were perhaps at odds with the stated goals of the exhibition, namely to promote the supremacy of the British educational system and British industry and to continue to foster free trade with France.”

Murmurs of agreement rose from the crowd. Alexander remembered that first time he’d told Lydia about the exhibition, when she’d sat in his drawing room and offered to assist with the mathematics display. If he’d known then how desperately he would come to ache for her…

I have a talent for mathematics.

She didn’t know she also had a talent for stealing his heart.

“We have heretofore been willing to overlook Lord Northwood’s Russian connections owing to his strong support of the Society of Arts,” Hadley continued. “However, the recent onset of war has prompted us to weigh more carefully the value of his contributions versus the detriment of his… er… personal situation.

“The week before last, Lord Northwood was involved in an altercation with a gentleman who purportedly was attempting to kidnap a young girl, the sister of Lord Northwood’s fiancée. The police have concluded, and we can all certainly agree, that Northwood acted to protect both his fiancée and the girl.”

The girl. Alexander’s chest squeezed at the thought of what might have happened to Jane. Such a bright, pretty girl, so full of hope and promise. He imagined Lydia might have been like Jane as a child if she’d been given the chance at a normal life.

“Several people claim to have seen him push the man to his death over the gallery railing of St. Martin’s Hall,” Hadley droned on.

Alexander shifted impatiently. Didn’t everyone know this already?

“Others claim the man fell as a result of his own actions,” Hadley said. “I do not know that either claim can be credibly substantiated, but suffice it to say that the police have not seen fit to charge Northwood with any crime in connection with this incident.

“Unfortunately, it sparked what we can only describe as a riot. A crowd had already gathered on the street outside St. Martin’s Hall to witness an accident between two wagons, and the ensuing fistfight between the drivers caused further commotion.

“A number of people went into St. Martin’s Hall to take shelter from the increasingly raucous fray, but upon witnessing the struggle between the two men, they, too, began to create an uproar. And when Dr. Cole plunged to his death… well, I’m certain you have all read the reports about the pandemonium that erupted following this tragic event.”

“In addition to people sustaining injuries in the riot,” Lord Wiltshire added, “the exhibition displays have been very badly damaged, several irreparably so.”

“Northwood ought pay for that, then,” called a man from the back of the room.

The council members exchanged glances.

Alexander stood, half turning toward the man. “I’ve offered to do so,” he said. “The council has declined.”

Hadley coughed. “We’ve been obliged to decline, sir, owing to the—”

“Not acceptable, Lord Northwood.” A wiry man with spectacles rose from the other side of the aisle. “I am Henri Bonnart, the French commissioner to the Society. We cannot abide accepting monies from a man who owns a trading company based in the Russian Empire.”

“Merci, Monsieur Bonnart,” Hadley said. “However, the point of this meeting is to consider Lord Northwood’s position as director of the exhibition and vice president of the Society of Arts. I’m afraid the police strongly believe his actions incited the ensuing riot, and in the absence of other conclusive evidence—”

“Lord Hadley!” A woman’s voice rang out from the back of the hall.

Everyone turned. Alexander’s heart pounded. Lydia strode through the door, her back ramrod straight and her expression resolute. Satchel in hand, she walked down the aisle toward the council.

Alexander stared at her for a second before realizing she was followed by a half dozen men carrying cases, books, large bristol boards, and rolls of paper. He recognized them as her mathematician friends—the men of the journal editorial board as well as Dr. Sigley and Lord Perry, all marching behind her like a military regiment following their commander.

Lydia didn’t spare him a glance as she stopped before the council. Color rode high on her cheekbones, but her voice was steady and firm as she spoke.

“Gentlemen, forgive the interruption, but I’ve something of great importance to impart. My name is Lydia Kellaway, and these gentlemen accompanying me are professors and mathematicians of the highest order. Upon learning of the pending charge against Lord Northwood, and knowing of its utter falsity, I asked my colleagues for assistance.”

“Assistance with what, Miss Kellaway?” Wiltshire asked.

Lydia turned to her colleagues and gave a swift nod. The men assembled to the side, directly in front of Alexander, so they could be viewed by both the council and the audience. Two of them set up a stand and placed several display boards atop it, while another removed a stack of papers from a case and distributed them to the council members.

Mystified, Alexander looked from the men to Lydia. Not fifteen feet away, she stood watching him, color still flushing her pale cheeks but her blue eyes soft. She started a little as their gazes met. Alexander swallowed hard, clasping his hands together to prevent himself from going to her, grabbing her around the waist, and hauling her against him.

An unmistakable heat flared in her expression, as if the same thought had occurred to her.

Lydia. Lydia.

She gave a quick shake of her head and reached for a pointer. She turned to the board, which was covered with a map of some sort, and delicately cleared her throat.

“This, gentlemen,” she said, “is a diagram of the first floor and gallery of St. Martin’s Hall on the night of the riot. My colleague Dr. Sigley has conducted extensive research on the dynamics of crowds, and he will explain how it is impossible that Lord Northwood could have incited a crowd to riot.”

She smacked the pointer against the map. The audience shifted, rumbling a little with both bafflement and curiosity. Alexander leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.

Lydia nodded at Dr. Sigley. “If you would, please, sir.”

“Delighted, Miss Kellaway.” Sigley stepped forward to address the crowd. “Dr. Edward Sigley, gentlemen, FRS, DCL, FRSE, Lucasian professor of mathematics at the University of Cambridge, and editor of the Cambridge and Dublin Mathematical Journal.”

He paused as if to allow everyone to absorb the illustriousness of his accomplishments. Silence filled the room, then was followed by murmurs of approval. Sigley nodded with satisfaction.

“I have conducted numerous experiments regarding the dynamics of crowds in relation to a flow-density relationship,” he continued. “This can be written as…” He paused and scribbled an equation on the board.

“I beg your pardon, Dr. Sigley.” Hadley held up a hand, a frown creasing his forehead. “If I may speak for my own colleagues, I would venture to suggest that we are about as interested in flow density as we are in women’s fashion.”

Several men barked out a laugh. Irritation flashed across Lydia’s face. A large man with a bushy beard stood in the center of the room.

“Here now, my lord,” he called. “Plenty of Society members are interested in mathematics, or at least know something about it. Part of the Society’s division of subjects for the examination, isn’t it? The professor here is talking about applied mathematics, isn’t that right, Professor? We ought to listen to what he has to say.”

A rumble of agreement rose from the audience. Alexander twisted around to see the man who had suddenly challenged the president of the Society on behalf of the mathematicians. Then he turned back to look at Lydia. She winked.

“Quite,” Sigley replied with a nod of appreciation to his supporter. “Applied mathematics is pure mathematics, such as geometry or the properties of space, applied to establish the principles of statics and dynamics, which is what I speak of here.”

“Good God, man, get on with it!” shouted a voice in the crowd. “What’s this got to do with Northwood?”

The audience shifted again, more restlessly this time. Alexander and Sebastian exchanged glances. Sebastian looked rather worried.

Alexander returned his gaze to Lydia, who stood stiffly with her hands clasped, her white teeth biting her lower lip.

Look at me.

She did. A faint smile tugged at the corners of her beautiful mouth. Alexander allowed his eyes to sweep across the slopes of her shoulders encased in her stiff black dress, down to the curves of her breasts and waist. Even that first night, he’d known how lush and supple she was beneath her layers of clothing. Even then, he’d known he wanted her.

He hadn’t, however, known how much he would love her.

Lydia flushed again, as if his gaze were a caress. Her hair was smooth and shiny beneath her hat, every strand pulled into an impeccable knot. Alexander wanted to yank all those pins out—damn them for confining Lydia’s beautiful hair—and then feel the sweep of all that polished silk against his skin.

Christ. He shifted in his chair and tried to focus on the other mathematicians. That, at least, worked to dampen his arousal, but his awareness remained fixed on Lydia.

Dr. Sigley turned to his colleagues, and two of the other mathematicians stepped forward with charts. A third unrolled a scroll of paper covered with calculations.

“First,” Sigley said, “in these studies, I have observed numerous situations involving large crowds. We can speak of the flow of information in a crowd much as we might speak of the flow of information in a pond. Suppose a lad throws a stone into the air. It lands at point A, and the dynamics of incompressible fluids dictate that the gravity waves spread out in a circular manner from the point of impact.

“Knowing as I do the equations that govern these dynamics, I could tell you when the first ripples from that stone would strike the shore. Now, here is where things get interesting. I could also solve the inverse problem. That is to say, if I came along some time after the lad threw his stone and merely observed the wavelets washing at my feet at some time, T, I could tell you very well where that stone hit the water even though I never saw it with my own eyes. I can make time move backward, if you will.”

He stepped aside and nodded at Lydia, who wrote an equation on the board. Alexander gave the numbers a cursory glance but couldn’t keep his eyes from the graceful movement of Lydia’s arm as she wrote, the studious concentration on her lovely features.

Warmth and pride filled Alexander’s chest. He loved watching her mind work, knowing the complexity of the wheels and gears turning behind her blue eyes. Knowing that every other man in the room must be astonished by her brilliance.

Lydia turned to face the audience again.

“Therefore, we assert, gentlemen,” she said, “that it is the same with the riot. A crowd is very much like a pond, a dense aggregation of particles that transmit information by colliding with one another.”

“And we can solve the inverse problem as well,” Dr. Sigley continued, pointing at the equation. “Though I was not there, I can state unequivocally that if Lord Northwood was indeed where you say he was at the time stipulated—and there are numerous credible witnesses who can corroborate this very thing, as I’m certain the inspectors can verify—then the laws of motion preclude his having initiated the disturbance that propagated through the medium at the nominal rate of fifty feet per minute—”

“What the devil is he on about, Miss Kellaway?” Hadley interrupted.

“My lord,” Lydia said. “The very basic conclusion of Dr. Sigley’s calculations is that Lord Northwood was not the slightest bit at fault for causing the riot. He was here.” She smacked her pointer against the gallery on the map. “And the flow-density calculations, which you are all welcome to observe more closely, indicate the riot started here.”

Another strike at the entrance of the hall emphasized her point. The audience was silent for a moment before a rumble began—questions, a couple of shouts, people standing to peer at the evidence.

“I’ll be damned,” Sebastian muttered.

Hadley stared at the map, then down at the papers Lord Perry had given him. The police inspectors approached the council table, lowering their heads to speak with the members.

A great deal of discussion and gesturing ensued, with Sir George Cooke approaching the mathematicians to point out items on the papers. Another council member began a discussion with Lord Perry, while the police inspectors scratched their heads and a couple of the other council members merely appeared bewildered. Union representatives from the crowd approached the dais to confer with the mathematicians and council members.

Lydia stood to one side, speaking with several men, her expression serious and confident. Alexander waited until she was alone for a moment before he stepped in front of her.

She lifted her gaze, her eyelashes like dark feathers against her white skin. Desire and… more simmered in her expression. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to kiss her. His fingers curled into his palms as he fought the urge.

“Why?” he asked.

She blinked, her gaze slipping to his throat. Her shoulders lifted in a shrug, though the casual gesture contradicted the multitude of emotions in her eyes.

“The calculations work,” she said.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I can give you.”

“Beg your pardon, Miss Kellaway?” Lord Perry touched Lydia’s arm to garner her attention and cast a faintly hostile glare at Alexander. “Your opinion on the ratio equation, if you please?”

Alexander stepped back and returned to his seat, not taking his eyes off Lydia as she moved to the board and commenced a discussion with two other men.

After a good half hour of buzzing and commotion, Hadley waved his arms about again. “Order! Everyone be seated, please. We’ve come to a sort of conclusion…. I think.”

He waited for the din to settle, then cleared his throat. “We believe that Miss Kellaway and Dr. Sigley have provided compelling—if rather complex—evidence that Lord Northwood’s actions did not, in fact, cause the riot to commence. Is that correct, Inspector?”

“Correct, my lord,” Inspector Denison said, though he didn’t appear entirely certain.

A rustle of movement came from the mathematicians, who turned to give each other handshakes and nods of approval. Lydia looked at Alexander and smiled in triumph.

He returned her smile because she was Lydia and he loved her for everything she was, all she had done for him, but caution kept him guarded.

“Yet while we can safely say that Lord Northwood is absolved of blame for actually inciting the riot,” Hadley continued, “we cannot ignore the fact that he was involved in an altercation that ended in one man’s death and that the ensuing chaos—whatever its origin—caused the destruction of the exhibition.”

“Not to mention his connections with the Russian Empire,” Sir George added. “And we have been informed by Lord Clarendon that…”

Alexander stopped listening. He knew what was coming—a public announcement of his dismissal from the Society.

He looked at Lydia. She watched the council with wariness, one of her hands twisting and untwisting a lock of hair that had escaped from beneath her hat. Alexander almost smiled. He wondered if she knew she did that when she was nervous.

Sir George droned on—enemies, breaking of diplomatic relations, fleet in the Black Sea, the Ottoman Empire, French anti-Russian sentiment, acts of hostility…

As Alexander kept his gaze on Lydia, an emotion he couldn’t quite name filled him. It overwhelmed his anger, his despair, his need for control, with a sense of expectation and hope. Of freedom.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt such things. He never wanted to see his family hurt again, but the duty of protecting them could no longer be his alone.

He looked at his father. Rushton stared at Sir George, his hard features set. Alexander had the odd thought that he’d never wondered if his father had ever been truly happy.

He put his hand on Rushton’s arm. His father looked at him.

“Forgive me,” Alexander murmured. He stood and addressed the council. “I beg your pardon, gentlemen.”

All eyes turned to him. A buzz rippled through the crowd. Rushton tugged on his sleeve to try and make him sit down. Alexander pulled away and stepped to the front of the room.

“If I may?” he asked.

Hadley glanced at the other council members, who nodded.

“Go ahead, Lord Northwood.”

“I would first like to apologize for the events of the night in question. People were injured, property destroyed. A man died. I was most categorically involved, and I am deeply regretful for the negative light this has cast upon the Society.

“For two years, I’ve worked hard as vice president of the Society to bring the exhibition to fruition in honor of the Society’s one hundredth anniversary. No one wanted the exhibit to be an international success more than I did. However, in light of all this, I must resign my position as director of the exhibition and vice president of the Society. Effective immediately.”

Gasps and shouts came from the audience. Hadley smacked his hand on the table. “Order!”

Alexander couldn’t bring himself to look at Lydia. His mind, his soul, filled with images of a vast city where canals wound through crystalline squares and town house walls, where gardens bloomed amid crowded, bustling streets and wedding-cake palaces.

“I will be pleased to work for a time with whoever the council puts in my place,” he continued, “to ensure a smooth transfer of duties. As has been pointed out numerous times, I own a trading company based in St. Petersburg. I believe now that is where I will be most useful. Therefore, I would have you all know that before the summer ends, I intend to leave London.”


No.

Lydia suppressed a gasp of shock, her hand going to her throat. Alexander continued speaking to the audience, his deep voice rolling like ocean waves. He was close enough that she needed to take only a few steps to touch him. Around her, the other mathematicians stirred and muttered, but she heard nothing beyond the roar of dismay filling her ears.

Alexander—her Alexander—wanted to leave? This brave, strong, proud man who could face down the world without flinching… now he was going to run away, leave London… leave her?

Her blood began to throb with anger and despair. She stared at him—his hair glossy under the lights, the strong column of his throat, the unyielding lines of his profile. Desperate love bloomed through her, causing her breath to stick in her throat.

With effort, she skirted her gaze from Alexander to his father and brother. Sebastian was grinning, while Lord Rushton looked somewhat perplexed. The council members bent their heads together and conferred.

Hadley cleared his throat. “Well, Lord Northwood, if that is your intention, then the council is forced to accept your resignation and wish you well on your journey.”

The rumble in the room erupted into a sea of chatter as people surged forward to speak to the council and Alexander. A group of men surrounded him, several reaching to shake his hand and others to chastise him.

“Disgraceful, Northwood.” One man scowled at him. “The lot of it.”

“Good riddance to you,” another representative muttered.

“Pay them no mind,” a third man said, dismissing the naysayers with a shake of his head. “Most of us are well aware of the good works you’ve done, my lord. I agree with Hadley and wish you well.”

Lydia turned to her colleagues, steeling herself against the urge to run to Alexander and… and what? She didn’t know whether she wanted to hit him or kiss him senseless. Perhaps both.

“We’ll take our leave, please, gentlemen,” she announced. “Our work here is done.”

They loaded up their books, rolled pages of calculations, stacked papers. Lydia snapped her satchel closed, grabbed her pointer, and strode toward the exit while trying very, very hard not to turn for one last look at Alexander.

“Lydia!” His urgent voice rose over the noise of the crowd.

Lydia’s stride hitched as a brief hope edged past the despair, but then his words echoed through her mind. I intend to leave.

And why should it matter? He knew as well as she did their relationship could never be, so shouldn’t she simply wish him Godspeed on his journey and cherish what memories they had?

Of course, her heart did not care what she should do. It only cared what she longed to do.

“Er, Miss Kellaway?” Lord Perry touched her elbow to indicate she needed to keep moving as the crowd rustled behind them. A wall of people closed between her and where Alexander stood.

Lydia swallowed, gripping her satchel tighter. She straightened her shoulders and continued to the lobby.

“Lydia!” Frustration filled Alexander’s voice.

A tremor shook her. She quickened her pace, trying to conceal herself within the circle of her colleagues. She could not face him, could not allow him to see how the mere thought of him leaving nearly broke her heart in two.

“Gentlemen!” Sebastian’s voice now, lifting over the cacophony. “Gentlemen, drinks served in the meeting room!”

The voices surged in appreciation as the men began making their way across the hall. Unable to help herself, Lydia glanced back once as the crowd parted in front of Alexander.

He pushed forward, his fists clenched, his expression determined. Their eyes met across the distance, and the dark frustration radiating from him prickled the hairs at the back of Lydia’s neck. Her chest constricted as she turned away.

Dr. Grant pulled the door open and held it while she hurried into the entrance hall. Her colleagues bustled around her, their voices humming with confusion and concern over the haste of her departure.

“Is the carriage ready, Lord Perry?” Lydia stopped, searching the crowded street in front of the building. “Please, we must hurry—”

A curse sounded behind them, followed by the bang of a door.

“Lydia!”

She froze. The other mathematicians turned, their stances guarded as Alexander stalked across the hall. His expression clouded, his hair disheveled and hanging over his forehead, sweat beading his brow, he looked like the devil himself come to collect her soul.

Several of the mathematicians crowded closer to Lydia in a semicircle of protection. As Alexander neared, she schooled her features into an impassive expression, even as a swarm of emotions rioted through her.

“Lydia.” Alexander stopped, his chest heaving. An instant passed as his gaze swept over the other men, and then he made a visible effort to regain his composure. He took a breath and exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. “Gentlemen. Lord Perry, Dr. Sigley, my deepest thanks for your efforts on my behalf.”

“Glad to help, my lord, though you ought to know assisting Miss Kellaway was foremost in our minds.”

“As well it should have been, Dr. Sigley.” Alexander straightened, his gaze going to Lydia. Her heart fluttered at the sensation of that mere look, urgent and insistent. “I… a moment alone, Miss Kellaway?”

The mathematicians rustled around her. At least two of them puffed out their chests in warning.

“Lydia.” Her name was an entreaty. “Please.”

Although her resolve was beginning to crack, she tried to muster the courage to withstand him. To withstand her own overwhelming desire to surrender.

“I’ve no idea why you need to speak with me alone, Lord Northwood,” she replied, surprising even herself with a tone that would have chilled a penguin. “You indicated quite clearly to the entire assembly that you’ve no wish to continue your work with the Society or fight to restore honor to your name, which we”—she indicated her colleagues—“worked for several hours to help you do. Lord Perry even canceled a lecture so that he could meet with us at Dr. Sigley’s office to formulate our evidence.”

Beside her, Lord Perry made a noise of agreement, narrowing his eyes at Alexander.

“I don’t—,” Alexander began.

“Moreover,” Lydia continued, pulling her satchel in front of her like a shield, “since you’ve made plans to return to Russia, there is no further reason for us to—”

“Lydia, be quiet, for pity’s sake,” Alexander snapped. “I did not say I wished to return to Russia alone.”

She blinked, her heart stilling for an instant. “Well, what else—”

“I did not say that because I don’t intend to.”

“You don’t?”

“No.” He took another breath. “I want you and Jane to come with me.”

Lydia gasped. She took a step back as if to evade the desperate hope in Alexander’s words, the hope that slipped into her blood and warmed her to the core. The mathematicians shifted and muttered. She took another step back and bumped into Dr. Grant.

Alexander did not take his gaze from her face. Lydia pressed a hand to her chest, the wild beat of her heart thumping against her palm, traveling the length of her arm. She turned to her colleagues.

“Er… excuse me, gentlemen, please. Alexander?”

Her mind whirling, she led him to a spot beside the staircase. She closed her eyes, drawing in a breath and blocking out the images, the promise, his words evoked. Then she turned and gave him a mutinous glare, slapping him hard on the arm.

“What are you going on about, you foolish man?”

Alexander rubbed his arm, amusement flashing beneath his desperation. “I’m going on about our future. I want you and Jane to come and live in St. Petersburg with me.”

“Are you mad?” Why would her heart not still at those words, at the expectation in his beautiful eyes? Why was hope coursing like brilliant light through her blood? “I can’t live with you in Russia.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t marry you, Alexander!” Speaking the words aloud diminished the gleaming emotions that had begun to shine through her resolve. She sobered. “Haven’t we been over this time and again? Nothing has changed.”

“Why did you bring your troupe of geniuses to the meeting, then?”

She stared at him, her mouth opening and closing as she struggled for detachment. “I knew they could assist me with proving your—”

“No. Why did you bring them? Why did you want to see me absolved?”

“I didn’t want you to be blamed for something that wasn’t your fault,” she replied. “I know how hard you’ve worked. You don’t deserve to have it all cast aside because you tried to save Jane and me.”

“So you felt you owed me?”

“Well, in a sense, yes, but—”

“Why else did you do it, Lydia?”

Lydia let out an exasperated sigh and stared past his shoulder at the opposite wall. What did it matter if he knew the truth? It changed nothing. Why not allow him to leave with at least the memory of what they meant to each other, even if a future together could never be? Especially since that future could never be.

“Lydia.”

“Oh, all right,” she snapped, swinging her gaze to his. “I still love you, Alexander. I wanted to help you because I still love you and I couldn’t stand the thought of those men belittling your character in front of such a large audience, and you there with no one to defend you. All right? I’ve said it. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Most definitely.”

He gave her a wide grin, his happiness searing her with a love so potent it nearly took her breath away. Hope brighter than the sun glowed in Alexander’s eyes. He gripped her hands as if restraining himself from pulling her into his arms.

Lydia tightened her hands on his in return, loving the sensation of their fingers clasped together, his big hands engulfing hers. Yet she was unable to prevent sadness from clouding her pleasure.

“It still doesn’t matter, Alexander. Loving you with all my heart, everything I am… it changes nothing.”

“Marry me.”

She clutched his hands, praying for the strength to resist the beauty of everything those two simple words encompassed.

“Please stop,” she whispered. “If you want to run away—”

“I’m not running away from anything,” Alexander said, his voice threading with renewed urgency. “I’m running toward something, and I want to go there with you and Jane. Don’t you see? It’s the answer to our dilemma.”

Wariness flashed in her. “Going to a foreign country?”

“No. Going home.” His throat worked as he swallowed, the strong lines of his features edged with nervous tension. “Do you remember that night you told me we always have a choice? You were right. For too long I’ve let other people’s decisions, circumstances, dictate my life. No longer. Now I’m making the choices I want to make. And I choose you.”

“I can’t—”

“You can,” he insisted. “It will work, Lydia. I promise you. Make a life with me. Please.”

Her heart pounded so hard she heard the beat in her ears. She knew then why he’d come to this decision—in St. Petersburg they could live among people who knew nothing of their past circumstances. The reputations of both their families would not suffer further. They could live in freedom. Even hope. Joy.

Oh, God. Her mind worked frantically, shifting through all the arguments, weighing the risks, discarding the doubts. It was true. He was right—they could leave London together and start a new life in a city that belonged to Alexander, a place of white nights, troika bells, and cherished memories. A place that could be theirs alone, a place where they could live a life of their own making.

Was it possible? Was happiness within their reach? Could she trust him, trust herself, enough to take such a leap of faith?

“Choose, Lydia,” Alexander whispered.

“I… I choose Jane,” Lydia finally said, then put up a hand when he tried to speak. “I choose Jane and you, Alexander. I choose us.”

A huge smile broke across Alexander’s face. Happiness flooded Lydia’s veins and overflowed into her heart. He grabbed her and pulled her to him, lowering his mouth to hers.

She gave a squeak of surprise as he kissed her without restraint, claiming her as his, surrendering to her. The tension in her slipped away, her body relaxing against his as the kiss seemed to go on forever… until they both remembered where they were.

Alexander grasped Lydia’s shoulders, his gaze searching her flushed face, his dark eyes filled with love and hope.

“I love you,” he said. “More than life.”

“I love you,” she replied, and smiled. “More than numbers.”

Alexander chuckled. Lydia’s blush deepened as she glanced toward her colleagues, who still stood near the doors. All watching them.

Alexander cleared his throat and stepped away from Lydia. An awkward, embarrassed silence filled the lobby.

“Er… quite well done, Lord Northwood,” Dr. Sigley finally said.

Dr. Grant snorted. Another man clapped his hands, and then all the mathematicians started chuckling. Even Lord Perry, who appeared a bit gloomy at first, soon joined in the laughter and scattered applause.

Alexander grinned and looked at Lydia. Her eyes sparkled with amusement as she tilted her head toward the mathematicians.

“Perhaps they would be interested in my theories of love after all.” She slipped her hand into his, knowing she would forever cherish the warmth of his gaze, the touch of his fingers. “In the end, I think we’d all choose love, Alexander. Every last one of us.”