High Stakes Chattel

by Blue, Andie

  “Thank you. I really appreciate this… and everything else you’ve done for me.” Samantha stood and excused herself, not wanting to let him know how much she’d miss him.

  ***

  After packing her bags and getting ready for bed, Samantha sat staring out the window and contemplating the end of her time with Lord Chattel. Things between them seemed incomplete somehow.

  Before she could change her mind, she tiptoed down the hall and knocked on his door.

  “Come in,” he called.

  She opened the door and found him lying in bed, reading. His beautifully sculpted chest was bare, golden in the firelight. The sheet was drawn up to his waist and she had no idea whether he wore anything at all beneath it. She swallowed dryly, stricken by the sight of him.

  “Samantha,” he murmured, obviously surprised to find her there.

  She drifted toward him and sat down on the edge of his bed. They stared at each other for a moment and then she leaned forward, wrapped her arms around him and kissed him, trying to show him how very much the last few weeks had meant to her. This kiss was completely different from the others they’d shared, filled with sweetness and emotion.

  “Please don’t do this to me, Sam,” he whispered, pulling slightly away.

  She was surprised by his use of the nickname her family had given her and how right it sounded coming from his lips.

  “I’ve tried so hard to resist you. It’s not only that I don’t want to take advantage of a woman seeking my help. I also don’t want to complicate things and give you expectations for a future between us.” His eyes pleaded with her. “Don’t you see that I can’t be what you need?”

  “What do you think I need?” Samantha fought to keep emotion out of her voice.

  “Not to be someone’s mistress. Or, to be married to someone who spends the majority of his time working. It would only end in bitterness when I want to work and can’t give you the love and attention you want.”

  Just the mention of the word marriage made her heart skip a beat as she pictured it.

  “You deserve so much more than that.” He squeezed her hand. “And you deserve the chance to make your mark in the Chattel tournament. If any woman can do it, it’s you,” he said as he squeezed her shoulders.

  She smiled, trying hard to hide her disappointment. “You’ve already given me enough,” she said. She needed to stop pining for this man who was so far above her station. Obviously, she wasn’t good enough for him. The rest of his excuse sounded like hogwash.

  She collected herself and lifted her chin. “Thank you for helping me. I will think of you often.”

  He lifted his hand and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll think of you, too.”

  Biting her lip, she slid off the bed and strode to the door, determined not to look back. But when she reached her room, she cried herself to sleep.

  ***

  When Samantha returned home, she found her mother resting so she went into town to speak with Jolene. After everything that had happened, she desperately needed her best friend’s advice.

  Once they were comfortably ensconced in Jolene’s parlor, she told her everything. Well, almost everything. She left out the naked spanking part, unable to even imagine admitting such a thing to her friend.

  “Oh, my goodness. I’m not sure whether to think of him as a villain or a Greek God,” Jolene said, her eyes wide. “So, is that it? It is finished between you?”

  “Yes,” Samantha admitted regretfully. “It’s finished.”

  “Not to worry, Sam, you will find someone less complicated who would rather choose you over work. It’s only a matter of time. Before you know it, you’ll be madly in love. Probably with some Chattel expert that you beat at the competition.”

  Samantha smiled at her friend’s optimism. Jolene was right, she deserved more.

  “Now, let me show you the disguise I’ve come up with for you to wear to the tournament,” Jolene said, obviously trying to cheer her by changing the subject.

  Jolene was not only a schoolteacher but also the designer for all the village plays, creating amazing costumes that transformed the actors into their subjects. She was famous for taking material scraps that should be garbage, adding a little artistry and turning them into magnificent creations.

  Glad to have something else to think about, Sam joined her friend in her bedroom, and dutifully tried on the boy’s outfit Jolene had created. After Jolene adjusted the fit of the loose trousers, she also put on the long coat, mustache, spectacles, and cap.

  Jolene clapped her hands together in glee. “Oh, my goodness, Sam! You really do almost look like a boy.”

  Samantha went to the full-length mirror on the other side of the room and inspected herself critically. “Almost won’t do. I have to really look like a boy or this will never work.”

  Jolene bit her lip. “It will be far more convincing once we complete the last step.”

  “Cutting my hair,” Samantha said, staring at her wild locks in dismay.

  “Yes. Are you sure you want to do that, Samantha? You have such beautiful hair. It will take forever to grow back. What about Lord Chattel? Or other possible paramours?”

  Samantha thought of how Nico had forever been tucking her hair behind her ear, his eyes filled with passion and tenderness. Resigned, she shook the memory away. “Really, Jolene, that’s finished. I’ll probably never see him again. It’s time for me to take control of my own future and stop waiting around for a white knight. Get out the shears.”

  Nico stopped reading his notes and looked out the window of the steam train headed for Paris. Samantha would be preparing at this moment to go to the tournament, and he wished that he could witness her courage. Most of all, he hoped he had prepared her enough to win. He wanted her to be cared for and not to struggle through life. He wanted her to be able to help her mother while she was still living. If she didn’t win, he would find a way to give her the money himself.

  He was glad to be on his way to the institute, where he wouldn’t have time to think about her or to regret the choice he had made to let her go. He spoke the truth when he told her that he could never make her happy. Hopefully, she realized that he was right. What woman wants a husband who spends night and day inventing things or discovering cures? He needed a wife who would be happy to have him on her arm for the occasional party and content to spend the rest of her days spending his money in the shops. He tried to convince himself that was the kind of wife that he wanted.

  His mind turned back to the tournament and he felt that familiar worry he’d been having since Samantha left. He knew John would be at the tournament, but he still felt concerned. Perhaps he should have worked harder to discourage her plan. If she were discovered, who knew how the men would treat her? They may even brand her as insane or imprison her. It was hard to tell, since it had never happened before. One thing was for sure, she would never again be treated well by society and her life would be much more difficult.

  ***

  Samantha spent the next two days in a kind of dress rehearsal in the town of Barkston. She wore her costume and walked around pretending to be a man, getting the feel of the walk, and talking to people using a low voice.

  She walked as though she was still riding a horse, jaunty and slightly bow legged. She even went to church in the costume and pretended to be a man while praying to God for help and protection during the contest. She would definitely need protection from the wrath of the men in the contest if they discovered she was a woman.

  To her relief, no one seemed to question her manhood. She’d learned that people were usually so self-involved that they tended to take things at face value. With a pang of longing, she wondered if Nico would be fooled by her disguise if she ran into him today. Somehow she doubted it. He struck her as someone who always looked a little deeper than everyone else.

  On the morning of the competition, she took extra care with her costume, spending nearly an hour in front of her mirror before she
finally deemed herself ready for the charade.

  As she entered the great hall where the tournament was to take place, anxiety rose within her. Her hands were sweating as she went to the center table to register. What if she couldn’t even get through this first hurdle, and the registrar immediately saw through her disguise and ordered her from the building?

  The minutes drug slowly by as she waited in line for her turn to register. To her relief, the rotund man at the table just thrust the signup sheet in her hands without sparing her so much as a glance. With slightly shaky hands, she signed up as Sam Taylor, from Shropshire, a cousin to the family of Taylors who lived in Barrowby.

  “One success down, several more to go,” Sam muttered to herself as she walked into the large hall. It was an open room with a lot of smoke and few windows. There were at least twenty tables with Chattel boards, and men everywhere milling about, talking and laughing.

  It comforted her to see all of the Chattel boards, though none were as fine as Nico’s set had been. Boisterous challenges rang through the air as the men crowded in, waiting for the competition to begin.

  Pretend you’re in Nico’s study. She took a deep, steadying breath. Don’t let anyone intimidate you. You’ve played with the true master.

  At last a whistle blew to start the play, and she went to sit at her assigned table. While waiting for her opponent she looked through the crowd of spectators sitting in chairs on the sides of the room. There were no women, since women weren’t even allowed to watch the tournament, for fear they may get hurt if a scuffle broke out. To her surprise she saw John, Lord Chattel’s groom, in one of the chairs. He looked straight at her and gave her a little wink. She felt comforted to know that someone she knew would be silently cheering her on.

  She was soon joined at the table by a young man who introduced himself as Joseph Brown. He was fair haired and pale, and probably younger than she was. He talked entirely too much, but she was grateful for all of his blabbering because she wasn’t forced to contribute to the conversation at all.

  He told her his entire history and all that he loved about the game. She couldn’t help but feel some pride about her relationship with Lord Chattel. What would this man say if she told him she’d trained with the inventor of the game? She almost wished she could tell him, just to see the look of surprise on his face.

  She won the game quickly and easily and relief washed over her. One game down. Perhaps she really did have a shot.

  For the next match, she found herself sitting across from an old and rather disgusting man named Mr. Carstairs. He was morbidly obese, and although his clothing was finely made, it was filthy, with dried food sticking to the lapels. His odor was nearly unbearable, and it was all she could do to keep from wrinkling her nose. He said he played every day and bragged about being the best Chattel player in his village. His village must not have very many good players, she thought, because she also beat him easily.

  As the afternoon wore on, she beat half a dozen other men. She was surprised that instead of feeling weary from the stress of so many encounters, she felt energized by her success. Most of her competitors had been self-obsessed blowhards filled with braggadocio. For the most part, she simply let them talk, answering in monosyllables and concentrating on her game. No one seemed to pay undue attention to her or notice anything amiss with her disguise.

  Finally, by the time that twilight fell, most of the men who still filled the halls were no longer players but observers. They ringed the hall, watching from a respectful distance and murmuring strategy and bets amongst themselves. John was still there among them, conversing with someone next to him. She heard herself referred to as “the quiet one” more than once by some of the observers. To her secret amusement, bets seemed to be running high in her favor.

  She was proud of how she’d played so far. She’d been focused and methodical, and none of her opponents had really given her any trouble at all. The rabble of men she’d been paired with were mostly amateurs. She wished that Nico were there to see her play. She knew he’d be proud of her.

  The freedom she enjoyed in her costume made her heady with power and excitement. How wonderful it would be to dress like this all the time, to go wherever she wanted and do whatever she felt like, without the censoring eyes of other women. It simply wasn’t fair that her every move was weighed and measured. No one took any note of Sam as a man, and she liked it that way.

  By nightfall, only three tables remained in the hall, and she was matched against a fierce-looking gentleman of about thirty. He had dark hair, flinty eyes, and looked as though he could personally slay a dragon.

  “Ainsley,” he introduced himself shortly as he set up the board.

  “Taylor,” she said gruffly, keeping her eyes on the board.

  “You have hands like a girl,” he told her a few minutes into the game.

  She glanced at him warily, but said nothing. He was the first one who’d noticed anything amiss, and a new bout of nervousness streaked through her.

  Ainsley snorted at her refusal to rise to his bait, and they played in silence for the next half hour. She fought to keep from hiding her hands beneath the table in between turns. Her hands were not girly, she assured herself, counting the callouses and scratches that marred them. How often had she despaired of her unladylike hands and wished for Jolene’s pale, lovely skin?

  “I’m not sure why you’re still in the game, young man. The others who are left are the cream of the crop.” He’d just been trying to shake her up, insulting her as men do, trying to make her feel inferior. Still, his comment had rattled her, and this was the first game she really felt challenged by.

  Seeming to note her unease, Ainsley became cocky. He talked about his previous wins in other tournaments. It sounded like he considered his only competition to be Douglas Wright. He seemed impatient to get to a better opponent and took a short cut. She breathed an inward sigh of relief as she saw he’d backed himself into a corner. Sam knew she had him now and she moved aggressively to overtake him. With a final move, she quickly finished him off and killed the dragon. The look of shock on his face was priceless.

  If ever there was going to be a fight, it would be now. He gave her a murderous look, stood up and pounded his fist against the table. “You do not deserve to win. You’re just a young, lucky fool and probably a cheater. Have you ever even been in another Chattel tournament?”

  Samantha struggled to look unafraid and stood up to face the man without speaking. Although she was intimidated, there was no way this bastard was going to get in the way of her winning the purse she so desperately needed.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw John stand up. She knew instinctually that he would not let this man hurt her.

  “Foolish young men like you should bloody well stay away from these games,” Ainsley said, moving menacingly closer to her and spitting a bit into her face as he spoke. “I'll be watching you.”

  It definitely sounded like a threat. She swallowed and ignored him, as other men came to her defense. Thank goodness the bloke turned away and walked out the door without causing more of a ruckus.

  Samantha was determined not to let him ruin the moment for her. After all, she had succeeded in becoming one of the final three competitors. No matter what happened now, she would take home a purse. The rewards for second and third were not nearly as much as the grand prize, but at least now she’d have something to show for the whole charade.

  The other two games were finishing and soon there were only three competitors left in the hall: Sam, Douglas Wright and David Barley. The three final competitors’ names were put into a hat so they could choose who would play each other first. She held her breath as they read off the names. To her relief, her name was not called. This meant that Douglas and David would play each other. It also guaranteed that she would take at least second place.

  As the two men sat down to play each other, Samantha decided she needed some fresh air and stepped outside. This had been the most exha
usting day of her life.

  Outside, she leaned against the wall and stared up at the stars, hardly daring to believe she’d made it this far. The grand prize was nearly in her grasp. Only one game stood between her and security. If she won, her farm would be safe, and she’d no longer have to worry about her mother. For the first time in so long, she’d be able to go to sleep at night without lying awake deep into the night worrying about her future.

  Five hundred pounds wouldn’t last forever, but it would definitely give her some breathing room. All she had to do was play one more game. Unfortunately, it would probably be against Douglas Wright, the man Nico had warned her about.

  She reviewed in her mind the things Nico had said about him and hoped that his strategy remained similar to what he had done in the past.

  As she turned to go back inside, Ainsley, the disagreeable man who’d threatened her, stepped out of the shadows and deliberately blocked her path. “Where do you think you’re going?” He looked like a dog ready for a fight.

  “I'm just taking a break,” she said in her roughest voice. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. His breath smelled of liquor and he was holding a bottle that appeared to be empty. All the warnings she’d heard from Nico and Jolene suddenly seemed very real.

  “I don't think you're going to make it back to that tournament,” he said with a smirk on his face.

  “Let me pass,” Sam said, putting her hand up to warn him. Ainsley took a step closer and lifted the bottle to strike her. She did the only thing she could think of and tried to kick him in the groin. Before her foot reached its target, he grabbed her leg. With a loud thud, she fell to the ground.

  Ainsley moved menacingly toward her. “Bloody little cheater,” he snarled viciously and kicked her squarely in the chest.

  Samantha coughed and sputtered, the wind knocked out of her.

  Before he could do more, John appeared and quickly moved between them. “I think that is quite enough. This young man won against you fairly and now it’s time for you to go.”