“You’re correct about this.” He tapped the book with a forefinger. “My mother ran off with another man. Younger than she, even. Horrified society. Ever since, people have thought of us as rather extraordinarily disreputable.”
“Are you?”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know. I give little credence to gossip. It’s not easily proved.”
“You require proof, do you?”
“Of course. Mathematics, after all, is built on foundations of proving theorems, deductive reasoning. It’s the basis of my work.”
“All in this book?” He paged through it again with disbelief. Scribbled equations, lists, and diagrams filled the pages, some smudged, some crossed out, others circled or designated with a star.
“Those are notes, ideas for papers,” Lydia explained. “Some problems and puzzles I’ve devised for my own enjoyment.”
Alexander laughed.
Lydia frowned. “What’s so amusing?”
“Most women—indeed, the vast majority of women—engage in needlepoint or shopping for enjoyment,” Alexander said. “You devise mathematical problems?”
“Sometimes, yes. May I have my book back, please?” Her frown deepened and she extended her hand. “You needn’t find it all so funny, my lord. It can be very satisfying to craft a complex problem.”
“I can tell you a thousand other ways to find satisfaction.”
Her lips parted, shock flashing in her eyes as the insinuation struck her. He held out the notebook but didn’t loosen his grip. Lydia grasped the other end of it and appeared to collect herself, her chin lifting.
“Well,” she said, “I daresay you couldn’t solve one of my problems.”
He heard the challenge in her voice and responded as if she’d just asked him to place a thousand-pound bet. He let go of the notebook.
“Couldn’t I?” he asked. “How certain are you of that?”
“Quite.” She cradled the notebook to her chest.
“Certain enough to wager your locket?”
She wavered an instant before giving a swift nod. “Of course, though I’d insist upon establishing the parameters of a time frame.”
The parameters of a time frame.
The woman was odd enough to be fascinating.
“If you can’t solve my puzzle in five minutes’ time,” Lydia continued, “you must return my locket at once.”
“And if you lose?”
“Then you may determine my debt.”
He gave her a penetrating look that might have disconcerted any other woman. Although she bore his scrutiny without response, something about her demeanor seemed to deflect it, like tarnished silver repelling light.
“Lord Northwood,” she prompted, her fingers so tight on the notebook that the edges crumpled.
What would move her? What would provoke a reaction? What would break through her rigid, colorless exterior?
“A kiss,” he said.
Lydia’s gaze jerked to his, shock flashing in the blue depths of her eyes like lightning behind glass.
“I… I beg your pardon?”
“Should you lose, you grant me the pleasure of one kiss.”
A flush stained her cheeks. “My lord, that is a highly improper request.”
“Not as improper as what I might have proposed.” He almost grinned as her color deepened. “Still, it ought to give you proof of the theorem of my disrepute.” He tipped his head toward the notebook. “You can add that to column four.”
He knew he was being rude, but he’d spent the last two years holding himself, his words, even his thoughts, so tightly in check that something inside him loosened at the sight of this woman’s blush. Something made him want to rattle her, to engage in a bit of bad behavior and see how she responded. Besides, wasn’t bad behavior exactly what society expected of him?
“Do you accept?” he asked.
“Certainly not.”
“All right, then. I’ll tell John to take you home.”
He started to the door, unsurprised when she said, “Wait!”
He turned.
“My lord, surely there is something—”
“That’s my offer, Miss Kellaway.”
Her hand trembled as she brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. The brown strands glinted with gold, making him wonder what her hair would look like unpinned.
Lydia gave a stiff nod, her color still high. “Very well.”
“Then read me one of your puzzles.”
“I beg your pardon?”
He nodded at her notebook. “Read one to me.”
She looked as if she were unable to fathom the reason for his request. He wondered what she’d say if he told her he liked the sound of her voice, delicate and smooth but with a huskiness that slid right into his blood.
“Go on,” he encouraged.
Lydia glanced at the notebook, uncertainty passing across her features. He’d thrown her off course. She hadn’t anticipated such a turn of events when she’d planned this little encounter, and she didn’t know how to react.
“All right, then.” She cleared her throat and paged through the notebook. “On her way to a