High Stakes Chattel

by Blue, Andie

  “We’re here,” he told her unnecessarily as he gently set her down so he could open the front door. While his back was turned, she scrambled to remember which ankle she’d been limping on out in the park. Left, she decided, just as he turned back around and put his arm around her shoulders, helping her into the house.

  “Joseph,” he called, as he led her into the foyer. “I need your help.” He guided her to an oak bench and helped her sit, then turned around, seeming surprised that his words hadn’t instantly summoned whoever Joseph was.

  “Joseph!” he bellowed once more. He turned back to her with an embarrassed shrug. “I don’t actually keep many servants. Joseph is my butler, but now that I think about it, he may have gone into the village to do the weekly shopping. Maybe I can find a maid to help you with your ankle.”

  As he moved toward the stairs, she reached out and caught his hand. “It’s all right,” she told him guiltily. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.” It certainly wouldn’t help her cause any to have to sit still while a maid wrapped her completely unharmed foot.

  He sighed. “Stay right there. I’ll do it myself.”

  As he strode off toward the stairs once more, she remembered that he’d had some medical training and her relief that he wasn’t dumping her off on the help was tempered with unease. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be able to tell she was faking it.

  When he returned, he had a length of cotton cloth with him. Sitting on the bench beside her, he lifted her right ankle into his lap. She feigned a wince and hoped he hadn’t been paying attention when she’d limped into the house.

  “I’ll try and be gentle,” he told her, as he carefully slid off her boot and then her stocking. She shivered as he drew one strong, elegant finger across her ankle. He had beautiful hands, and his touch was warm on her skin. “Did I hurt you?”

  She bit her lip and shook her head. He made her feel a lot of things, but pain definitely wasn’t one of them.

  “Your ankle doesn’t appear to be swollen,” he said with a frown. “Where exactly does it hurt?”

  Heat suffused her face as she leaned forward and brushed her fingertips over the top of her foot. “It might not be my ankle exactly. More here.”

  As he ran his own hands over the place she’d indicated, she had the insane wish to feel his hands on the rest of her body. What had she gotten herself into?

  “Well, I’ll wrap it up, and hopefully that will allow you to put some weight on it until you can get safely home. As soon as my coachman and Joseph return, I’ll have him drive you home.”

  “That isn’t necessary,” she hastened to say, feeling guiltier with each passing moment. “I can walk.”

  “You most certainly will not,” he said sternly as he began to deftly wrap the bandage around her foot. She was certain if her ankle had actually been strained, his careful ministrations would have made it feel better.

  “Well, if you insist that I wait for a ride home, it seems as though you’ll be stuck with me for a while,” she said cautiously.

  “Yes, it does,” he said, his voice sounding grim and resigned.

  She hid a smile by ducking her head. “Well, do you think you could play a quick game of Chattel with me while we wait? I understand why you don’t want to mentor me, but perhaps if we play before I go, I can pick up a few pointers.”

  Nico stared at his beautiful, unwelcome houseguest in dismay. He hardly felt as though he could deny her request, yet the last thing he wanted was to get out his Chattel board after so many years.

  “I doubt if one quick game will teach you anything,” he said with a sigh. “It’s been so long since I played, I probably don’t even remember the subtleties myself.” That was a lie, of course. He was cursed with a strong memory, and the intricacies of the game haunted him.

  “Good,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “Then I shall beat you quickly and you’ll be begging for a chance to learn from me.”

  He laughed at that, doubting it, and as he did so, he realized how long it had been since anything struck him as funny. Even though he didn’t want to teach her Chattel, he didn’t want her to go. Not until he’d had a chance to see that she wasn’t really as lovely and interesting as she seemed.

  “All right,” he finally said, bowing to the inevitability. Maybe if he played the game with her, he could show her just how unskilled she was, and she’d give up her foolish plan. “Come this way. I think I have a board around here somewhere.”

  Her green eyes grew luminous with gratitude. “Thank you,” she breathed. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, feeling a bit awkward. This small favor hardly seemed worth such praise.

  He helped her limp into his study, still entranced by the sight of her in those scandalous trousers. They hugged her bottom in a way that left nothing to the imagination, and he took every opportunity to steal glances at her backside. After he got her comfortably situated in a deep leather chair in front of the fireplace, he pulled up another chair and a small table to make a cozy area for them to play.

  “Would you like some wine?” he asked, as he put the carved teak board with its ebony and ivory squares down on the table in front of her.

  “That sounds nice,” she murmured; picking up one of the carved marble hunters and rolling it between her long, slim fingers. “Your board is beautiful. I’ve never seen the like.”

  “Well, I suppose that’s one of the perks of having invented the game. This board was a gift from the Prince of Wales. Apparently, he’s an avid enthusiast.”

  She looked awed and quickly put the piece down, as though she’d somehow break it. “You’ve played with some very powerful people, haven’t you?”

  He went to the sideboard and poured them both a glass of wine, reminiscing of his early twenties, when he’d been the most sought after guest at every party and occasion. All the invitations and notoriety had gone to his head. He’d quite enjoyed it, in the beginning, a never-ending stream of people courting his favor.

  “It grew old after a while,” he told her as he handed her the glass of wine and took his seat across from her. “No matter where I went, Chattel was all anyone wanted from me. I couldn’t go through a single day without having to play the game, or teach it to someone.”

  Samantha took a sip of the rich, red wine and looked at the handsome man before her. There was hardness about him and a strong will that told her to beware.

  “I understand why you decided to give it up,” she said, peering at him over the rim of her wine glass. “It’s not pleasant when people pigeonhole you as one thing and then refuse to see you as anything more.”

  He frowned as he began to set up the board. “You sound as though you’ve had some experience with that yourself.” He tried to remember the details of her letters. She’d been recently widowed, he recalled, and had an ailing mother. Her careless husband had left her penniless, and she needed the Chattel purse to save her family farm and retain her mother’s nurse.

  “People in Barrowby see me as a fortune-hunter. No one could understand why Henry chose to marry me, since I came from such a poor family.” The rush of color that stained her delicate features intrigued him.

  He gave her a teasing smile. “Well, I doubt the men in Barrowby are of that opinion. It’s obvious to me why he chose to marry you.” He looked her up and down; imagining her naked before him. “You’re very lovely.”

  She dropped her gaze, her face flushing even brighter. “Thank you.”

  He decided that if he deliberately kept trying to make her blush she might spontaneously explode, so he turned his attention back to the game. “Do you understand the basics of Chattel?”

  She nodded, staring at the board with complete focus. “The king has tasked two hunters, one from the north and one from the south, to kill the dragon, which is located here.” She picked up the carved jade dragon and placed him in the correct spot. “We each start with a purse but no weapons. As we roll the dice, we land on diffe
rent squares. Depending on the square we land on, we may be entitled to buy a weapon, advance forward, take a penance card or pay the troll at the troll bridge.” She smiled up at him over the pun, but he did not return the smile, so she continued her explanation. “There is strategy to which weapon a hunter chooses to buy and which path they choose to take.”

  “Very good,” he murmured, handing her the dice. “Since you are my guest, you may go first.”

  While she took the dice, he brushed her hand with his, marveling at her renewed blush. Despite the fact that she’d been widowed, wore men’s trousers, and was determined to make her fortune by sneaking her way into a Chattel game dressed as man, she seemed surprisingly innocent.

  As they began to play the game, attraction crackled in the air between them. She was surprisingly good. Her moves were cautious, yet obviously well thought out. As one hour stretched into two, he actually found that he was enjoying himself. It had literally been years since he’d played, and he supposed some of the bad memories, which had driven him to stop, had faded.

  He leaned forward in his chair, watching her moves with great interest, finding that he had to exert himself a bit to make sure she didn’t win. Amazed, he decided she might have a chance in the local tournament, if she could really pull off her male disguise, which he found highly unlikely. What man could possibly sit across from this enchanting creature for any extended period of time and imagine that she was anything less than a beautiful woman?

  The blushes alone would give her away.

  “Can you tell me the way to the powder room?” she asked suddenly, proving his point as her face stained red once again.

  “Of course. Through those doors and then down the hall, last door on the left.” He started to get up to help her, but before he gained his feet she was already to the door, walking swiftly, with no hint of a limp. He sank back in his chair, watching her practically skip away as anger built within him.

  Bloody hell! That little minx wasn’t hurt at all. She’d simply feigned her injury as a way to get him to play a game of Chattel with her. He could have used this time to work instead of playing a game. Though he supposed he had to admire her commitment, he couldn’t help but be angry. She must think him such a fool for believing her lies. The need to teach her a lesson and gain back his masculine pride built within him. He’d heard Joseph and his groom, John, return a little while ago, and an idea began to form.

  By the time she left the powder room, Nico had managed to get his temper back under control, and he watched with passive amusement as she limped slowly toward him, obviously having realized her mistake while she was gone. She had also taken the time to pin her hair up in a more feminine style. He said nothing about her hair or renewed limp and pretended to be concentrating on the board before him. When they’d taken up the game once more, he sprung his trap.

  “The way I usually play the game, the victor gets to request something of the loser. Are you agreeable to those terms?”

  She bit her lip, thinking. “It depends on the request. I don't have any money.”

  “No money would be involved.”

  She hesitated a long time until a new idea came to her. He could see the return of determination in her eyes. “I will agree to your terms, but only if you promise that if I win, you’ll mentor me. It would only be for a few weeks, and I’d be eternally grateful.”

  He smiled, feeling like the cat that ate the canary. He wasn’t worried about her demand. There was no way she was going to win. “Your terms are acceptable.”

  She frowned, obviously wondering what he’d demand of her if she lost. Her nervousness made her a bit sloppy, and her next few moves proved it. He had her on the run, forcing her hunter to retreat.

  “I’m afraid you’ve backed yourself into a corner, my dear Mrs. Blake.” As he captured the dragon, she took a deep breath, meeting his gaze with trepidation.

  “You won,” she said, her tone forlorn. A tiny frisson of guilt assailed him, because he knew this had been her only shot, but the way she’d tricked him quickly squashed his sympathy.

  Oh, he was definitely going to enjoy teaching her this lesson. He even told himself that it was for her own good. She could have gotten herself into a very dangerous situation, if he’d been a different type of man, and it was time she realized that.

  * * *

  Samantha stared at her handsome host and was filled with trepidation. She’d already told him she had no money, and even she knew that she had only one thing left with which to barter.

  He glanced down to the swell of her breast rising slightly above her neckline. Her breath caught in her throat and her stomach did a little flip. While staring at her breasts he pulled a white silk handkerchief out of his pocket. She wondered what he planned on doing with it.

  He stood up and moved toward her with predatory grace until he was standing behind her. “In Chattel, it is important to use your intuition to understand your opponent. The more you develop this, the more you will be able to predict the amount of risk your opponent can handle.” He slowly placed the handkerchief over her eyes, knotting it at the back of her head like a blindfold.

  “Lord Chattel?” She swallowed nervously, as the world became dark. She had heard he was eccentric, but this was a little much. Surely he wouldn’t hurt her or force her to do something against her will. The loss of visual stimulation made her other senses far more sensitive, and she could feel him move close to her.

  “Tell me what your senses tell you,” he whispered in her ear.

  She knew somehow that he was deliberately trying to scare her. She defiantly raised her chin and took a deep, calming breath. “I can smell you.”

  “Be more descriptive,” he said in a low, velvety voice as he ran his hands across her shoulders and down her arms.

  She trembled a bit at his touch. “I can tell you’ve been running and have been on the ground. You smell like pine needles and something, well … it’s a very masculine smell.”

  “Very good.” He moved to stand in front of her. “What else do you sense about me?” His voice was deep and she felt a frisson of fear.

  “You seem angry with me,” she said, hoping she was mistaken.

  His fingertips lifted her chin. She began to quiver a bit beneath his touch. “I am. I’m very angry with you for pretending to be hurt,” he whispered, his voice husky in her ear.

  She gasped, shamed that he’d realized she’d been lying. She’d forgotten to limp when she’d gone to use the powder room, but since he hadn’t said anything when she returned, she’d thought he hadn’t noticed. What a fool she was! She’d already gotten to know the man well enough to realize that very little escaped those shrewd dark eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” she hastened to reassure him. “I didn’t mean any harm—”

  “You’ve cost me an entire day of research,” he replied, cutting her off. “And I fully intend to be paid back.” He kneeled down in front of her and picked up one of her trembling hands, stroking it softly. “Do you often lie, Mrs. Blake?”

  “No. These were exceptional circumstances.” She nervously licked her lips and wondered absently if he would kiss her.

  He dropped her hand. “You may take off the blindfold.”

  She removed the handkerchief and looked into his handsome face. Samantha found herself wondering if that were the only piece of fabric he would ask her to remove. She was strangely torn between fear and desire.

  Nico looked up at her from his crouched position in front of her. “Listening to your intuition is the most important thing I could teach you about Chattel, or any game.”

  “Now,” he said, standing up with a self-satisfied smile. “My victor’s request and the price for your dishonesty…” He paused for a long time, deliberately trying to make her nervous. “You may go assist my groom in mucking out my stalls.”

  She gave him a blank stare, sure she’d misheard him.

  “I assume you know how to do this, since you live on a farm.” With one last
chiding glance, he walked away, leaving her confused and slightly disappointed.

  As Samantha entered Lord Chattel’s barn, she stared around in amazement. The beautiful stone building with its many architectural details was much too big and fancy to be called anything as pedestrian as a barn. More like a mansion for horses.

  Not all the stalls were full. Only about a half dozen horses were spread out amongst the easily twenty stalls. She breathed a sigh of relief. If his barn were full, this would take all day.

  She still couldn’t believe he’d asked this of her. Not that she minded. She deserved the punishment after the trick she’d tried to play on him. But in those moments while she’d been blindfolded, the air was hot with the attraction between them. He’d had her completely at his mercy, could have done almost anything to her, and he’d chosen this. Strange.

  Shaking away those thoughts, she walked down the aisle, admiring Lord Chattel’s horses. Most were common carriage horses, though even those were very fine, but there was a chestnut at the end that was absolutely gorgeous, easily rivaling Henry’s horse. She was a large mare with white markings above her eyes, a braided mane and a shiny coat.

  When she reached the chestnut’s stall, the mare came over to nuzzle her hand, obviously expecting a treat. Samantha stroked the horse’s beautiful, satiny neck, smiling. “I wish I had a treat for you, but I didn't know I was coming here.”

  “The boss says I’m to take the afternoon off while you do my work,” said a voice behind her.

  Startled, she whirled around, finding a young, blond-haired man standing in the middle of the aisle. He was about twenty years old, short, muscular and attractive.

  “Yes,” she admitted reluctantly. “I suppose I am.”