Chapter 67

She hesitated. She'd thought everyone was looking at her. But if Stillmore was known for being looked at, perhaps they weren't looking at her at all. Perhaps she could wait one more moment and see? She didn't just need that ten thousand pounds to get Gabe bought into the clergy. She needed it to pay off Madame Renare-without Gabe finding out. If he found out about her dressmaking bills, he'd kill her.
"Splen..."
"Shh."
"But-"
Win the prize money. Clear her account with Madame Renare. Buy Gabe with his soft dark hair and soulful eyes into the clergy. Marry him. Benefit the poor. Live happily ever after. Stop spending money like water.
This, as her dear papa always said, wasn't over till it was done. Stillmore could bluster all he wanted about duels. When it came to it, she'd beaten him fair and square, and that was all he could have on her. Not who she was. What she was from.
Stillmore's chair clattered to the checkered floor. "No, I don't mind if I don't. I abhor sitting down." Crystal clinked on the silver tray floating in her vision. "Especially in the presence of cheats."
"Well, that's a great pity." The Duke of Brampton's voice was silky smooth. "But perhaps you haven't noticed this is a chess tournament? In love, in war, challenging a man is all very well. But surely even you can see it's not the done thing to go around shooting your opponents in a chess tournament?"
"When they cheat, I damn well don't."
"Oh, for God's sake man, have you any idea of how unreasonable that makes you sound?"
"Not half as much as you telling me, me, who's won this damned thing three years in a row, that I've just been beaten in five minutes in the first round by some nincompoop schoolboy in britches. Some ... some jackass turkey just out of the nursery."
Won this thing three years in a row? If this was the standard, then never let it be said that his cheek wasn't something she couldn't rise above.When she'd served as the Starkadder Sisterhood's skivvy, she'd burned holes in petticoats, cinderized the odd stocking or two, and suffered sundry pots, pans, and ladles bouncing off her temples. But she never forgot one thing. To remove the sting from the situation, even if humiliation burned in the very pit of her breast, at having to serve women who were jewel thieves, she'd always smiled. She did that now.
"And what, pray tell, would be the purpose of me cheating, exactly, Your Grace?
Hmm?"
"Ten thousand bloody pounds. That's what." The growl froze her smile to her teeth backs. "Anyway, I didn't say you cheated. I said there has been some ... "
He stepped closer. A heady concoction of mint, brandy, and sandalwood tickled her nose.
"Some ... "
Her heartbeat froze. Please God, don't let her look over her spectacle rims. Tousled black hair, black brows knitted with perfect disdain above coal-black eyes that were coldly leveled on her, sinfully sensuous lips and a dusting of stubble on his jaw that gave him a wolfish air. She had looked over the rims, hadn't she?
He canted his jaw, drawing his brows together. "Some discrepancy ... of play.
Forgive me for saying so, but ... "
Oh God. Her jacket hadn't burst so that her breasts hung out, had it?
"Your Grace." She darted her gaze back behind the thick lenses. "I don't forgive you anything. Certainly not you looking ... " Down her front? Looking more handsome than any man she'd ever seen? "Saying ... Saying I've cheated you. It was bishop to that square, and you ... well, you ... "
Stillmore sniffed deliberately.
Her soap. Essence of Violets. She froze. How, in all the preparations she'd undertaken at Mrs. Hanney's, binding her breasts, tying her strawberry-blonde hair back with a brown ribbon, had she forgotten that one vital thing? Perhaps she should have kept her mouth shut and let the Duke of Brampton deal with this after all.
"For goodness' sake, Kendall, sit down, now, before you fall. Or you'll leave me with no choice but to throw you out." The duke set the spindle chair back on the tiles. "Everyone here knows you're foxed over that business with Baxby."
"Baxby?" Crystal shattered as the stem of the snifter in Stillmore's hand snapped in two.
Baxby, whoever he was, apparently inflamed the earl almost as much as being checkmated. But so long as the Duke of Brampton didn't mention him again, this was going to be fine. It was Gabe's dearest dream to become a clergyman, and it was down to her to see he succeeded. Then there was the little matter of the dressmaking bill. That was down to her too. Benefiting the poor was all very well. But sometimes, to do so you had to look the part. Spend in order to receive. Papa had always said so, although he had liked to spend money he didn't have, as well.
If the earl shot her tomorrow at Blackfield Heath, it would certainly solve her bill problems, though.
"You think this is about Baxby?" The earl's voice held notes of the darkest modulation. "That it's of any consequence to me that the sneaky, damn, bastard son-of-a-whore is here? Dancing on my grave?"
"We're hardly in the cemetery. But yes. Baxby." More glass tinkled. What had she thought about the duke not mentioning that name again? "And a certain lady with whom you are the talk of London, my boy. So if you want to continue making a damned fool of yourself, please don't let me stop you."
"I'm not your boy unless my mother was as big a whore as that certain lady. And even if I were your boy, do you think familial loyalty would stop me from calling you out for that?"
Splendor's breath tightened. Did the earl descend from wolves? Growling, trigger-happy, pistol-toting ones who thought nothing of calling half the hall out at dawn? What if he shot the Duke of Brampton who couldn't seem to shut up about Baxby? She'd hoped Brampton would but perhaps Gabe was right, and they should leave now?
The earl drained the contents of another glass down his lace-clad throat. "If you must know, this has nothing whatsoever to do with Baxby and Lady Langley."
"Well, then, if it isn't, you will see that this boy here-"
"This boy? This boy? Oh, that's a good one. This boy."
Splendor's heart hammered as if a boa constrictor had slithered across the polished floorboards, climbed her leg, and wrapped itself around her rib cage. At all costs she couldn't afford to sink to the floor. Imagine the sensation it would cause if she did and someone loosened her, or rather Gabe's shirt?
In another minute the Earl of Stillmore would succumb to the pleasant, manly smile she cast him. If he didn't, she'd have to accuse him of cheating.
The Duke of Brampton shifted beside her, obviously perusing the board."Kendall, now tell me if I'm wrong, but from where I'm standing the last move was this bishop here to that square there- "
"I don't give a bull's toss whether the last move was the Archbishop of Canterbury to that square there. The Archbishops of York and Durham too. Every damned archbishop in the country to that square. I know what I saw. Exactly what I saw." The earl jabbed a finger into her chest. "Now boy, find yourself a second. And be on Blackfield Heath at eight. Don't waste time with a physician; by the time I've finished with you, an undertaker is all you'll need."