Chapter 94

Swallowing a mouthful of the brandy that had just been brought by a liveried footman, Kendall knew one thing. This private room at his club was ideal-especially when he didn't want the damn woman calling at his house, and if he was caught with her here, it would further his reputation-but he should have put his father's watch back in his pocket and walked on. Now the door opened, and she sailed in, Chasens trailing in her wake, instead of the other way about uneasiness streaked like a March hare across his gut. Of course he had eaten nothing since breakfast.
"Your Grace."
He put the glass down on the table. "You came?"
What a stupid thing to say. Would the lamplight glint on the flaming gold streaks in her hair, if she hadn't? He had chosen to play her at the club because he wanted to dominate the situation. He could just as easily have given her the ten thousand, but do that, and he'd have every odd and sod in London calling at his door with a begging bowl. What wasn't perfect was the scenario. Obviously, by his to do what he wanted with he meant dinner, theater, maybe even a game of chess. A proper one.
Yet there was no denying that as his gaze roamed her tall yet not unfeminine form, his heart pounded. He hadn't chosen this venue, her dressed as Nathan, to protect her reputation, had he? He'd chosen it because it was safer.
"Yes, I came," she replied. "As much as I'd like it to be, it's not my shadow, Your Grace."
The measured look about her eyes wasn't just different. It was as mysterious as smoky skies. This wasn't the awkward, gauche, misguided woman who'd nearly blown his toe off, or the one whose eyes had counterfeited a siren's at the theater either.
He shifted in his chair, largely to mask the surprise that tingled through him.
How the hell could she be like a smoldering jewel? And she was dressed in those stupid breeches, that ill-fitting jacket. It was as well he'd chosen here. He cleared his throat.
"Would you care for a drink? I mean-"
"Oh, the last time I drank in your company, it was a bad idea, Your Grace. No. I shall have some coffee, please, if that is all right?"
He frowned. She'd had wine at Almack's, but he supposed she meant the theater.
Perhaps it was as well she only wanted coffee. Focus and concentration were no bad things. It showed she meant business, meant to win. Win? If he had to hand her every one of his pieces on this board, she'd win.
"But of course," he said. "May I ask what you've said to your betrothed?"
A leather cushion squeaked as she slipped onto the winged chair opposite. "That might be time consuming. Can we just begin? Thank you."
Fair enough. The sooner this started, the sooner it ended, and the sooner he wrote her out the check for the ten thousand pounds. Brought it out of his pocket, rather. At the back of his mind, the thought hammered that he should just bring it out now, but that would be stupid of him. It would signify he didn't think he could win. Choosing not to win was entirely different.
"Of course we can begin. I take it you want to be white?"
"I shall be whatever, Your Grace."
Odd how her smile had driven him to distraction at times, and suddenly it was what he waited to see with a longing that bordered on the insane. She wasn't nervous, was she? The room he'd chosen was toasty, no gaps in the window panes for the wind to jab its fingers through, but her face was stark. So white it made her lips berry red, when they were usually pink.
"Well." Aware he stared, he lowered his gaze. The thing was, he actually hadn't ever really played her, had he? "May the best man win then. Chasens will keep time."
"What?"
"Timed chess. A simple precaution. We don't want to be here all night." Unless it was for certain things.
Christ, why think that? What was important here was concentrating on the pieces, the black ones swimming on the board before him. Any idiot could lose. To do it with style and panache, as opposed to giving her the game on a footman's platter, meant he needed to keep his wits by his side. He moved the first floating black piece on the board before him. Or it could have been his brandy glass on the board before him for that matter. What he knew was that he lifted something and set it down somewhere on the board-obviously-or her eyes wouldn't smolder like that. Or was it simply that she didn't play timed chess? All while her betrothed was waiting for her somewhere too. Wondering where she was, what she was doing. With him.
She glanced at him. "But I thought I was white and consequently should open first?"
"Of course." He straightened his cuffs. A damnable habit really, but one he was suddenly glad of. "I was merely getting the feel of ... " Damn ... did she know the slit in her shirt fastening showed more than enthusiasm? That what it showed would be quite nice to feel? He dug his fingers into his waistcoat pocket, brought out his fob watch-a lot better than what he could dig into and bring out. "The feel of the board."
Well, really, if he'd said white didn't open in timed chess, he'd have looked even more of a damnable fool, which was why he made a play of unhooking the watch and tossing it to Chasens. "Here."
"But ... sir ...I have my own watch here."
Kendall sat forward. Cleared his throat ... again. "I am sure you think your watch is sufficient, but we want one that works, don't we? Three minutes for a move seems more than adequate. Now." Another clear of his throat. He flicked his gaze across the table. "Go ahead."
She knitted her brows as if he was trying to discomfort her because his throat needed clearing and because he'd produced his watch. Did she think he was going to cheat when he'd put her name on that ten thousand? And really, she was so foolhardy-in love and going to get married-wasn't she actually worth every farthing? "Well?" He cocked an eyebrow. "Didn't you hear me?"
"I'm just thinking, if it's timed chess ... "
She hesitated, and he riveted his attention on the beige and brown squares, the Florentine pieces before him-the naked Florentine pieces. Why had he never noticed that about them before? That they were salacious enough to make his head sweat?
Venus was naked as the day she was born.
"I explained about that. Look, I am assuming you have said nothing to your betrothed about where you are right now, let alone whom you are with. But if you'd prefer we won't time it. Chasens, hand me my watch. Now. Thank you."
"No. No. It's fine, Your Grace. We'll do it your way."
Could she not have said that before Chasens lobbed the watch forcefully enough to almost take his head off? However, she grabbed a piece from the board, so the clunk as the watch struck his left temple was something he would ignore.
"I simply meant if it's timed, then I'll move there."
The move was the straightest, most ordinary move she could make involving a pawn. She wanted to play it safe, and he would too. He slid his pawn forward, sat back in the leather chair. Damnable, wasn't it? How tense he was. It must be that the chair back stood like a baker's board against his shoulder blades. He had never noticed before that this was a pleasant room, with its potted palms and cerise chairs and the gold-rimmed painting of Westminster Bridge above the fireplace, even if it wasn't to his taste and he far preferred claret-stained rugs and empty hearths. Or was it the company that made it seem so pleasant?
Nonsense.
He should concentrate.
Not that he was going to need his wits about him especially. All he had to do was lose.
He was going to, wasn't he?