by Julia Ross
Fenborough walked over to a gaming table at the side of the room and flipped open the top. An inside leaf was inlaid with black and white squares. He picked up a box and shook out the chessmen, glanced at the clock, then grinned at Alden.
"If you plan to best the lady before midnight, Gracechurch, you had better start playing."
The furniture was instantly rearranged so the table stood in the center of the room with two small upright chairs on opposite sides for the players. Juliet's skirts billowed in waves of pink, brushing under the table against Alden's silk-covered shins. He felt the electric contact, silk-on-silk, like a small shock.
The audience refilled their wineglasses and gathered around. Lord Edward remained standing alone at the fireplace, a small smile fixed - like his patches - to his face.
Α studied silence fell over the room.
She played a classic opening without surprises. Alden tried to plan his strategy - a fast, ruthless strike straight to victory. He knew her style of play, her weaknesses and strengths. It shouldn't be too difficult.
But what should he ask for when he won?
He could not read what she was thinking. Candlelight made a halo of her powdered hair, charmingly set with white bows. As she moved, flames glimmered around the edges of her ribbons like a miniature sunrise. Her low neckline offered shadowed curves, lush, tempting, beneath the erotic folds of the three rosebuds.
Tendrils of desire for her unfurled, blurring his judgment. He wanted her. He wanted her with an intensity that dazed him. Yet whatever the outcome of this, he would never, never be able to touch her again.
He glanced up at her shadowed face.
Her lashes formed a sweep of dusk on her cheeks. Her features were still, as if carved. It was as if all of her energies had coalesced into a bright, hard shaft of white light, focused on the board, on the grouping of pawns and bishops, knights and queens.
Where had she found the courage that enabled her to take her rage and terror to forge this intense determination? Why had she insisted on this one last game?
She made her move without looking up. He began to long for her glance, for her to meet his gaze. She did not.
Yet as black and white patterns formed and broke apart, a small frown chased the hint of a smile, then gathered again like storm clouds. Still Juliet did not look at him. Was she afraid of what her glance might reveal? That her emotions were worn too openly on her face? It seemed suddenly dishonest even to try to read them.
He looked down at her hands. Α sparkle caught his eye as she moved her rook. She wore a ring. Α diamond set in gold. With a sickening certainty he knew that Lord Edward had given it to her-along with the dress and the fan and the rosebuds. Α ring! Would she truly marry the duke's son?
Cold sweat drenched his spine.
What should he ask for when he won?
Only that, Juliet! That you not marry this monster! You were wise enough to refuse him once and run away with your father's steward. Faith, don't marry him now!
Was he so noble? Unbidden, a small voice whispered of horrendous alternatives, temptations…to let her become a society wife like all those other discontented, sumptuous wives. To set her in a place where he could finally pursue his desire for her without scruple…where he could make her his paramour under her husband's nose…And to ask - as his boon, if she became Lord Edward's wife - for a return of his fortune and his freedom?
Yet the thought of her marrying the duke's son, only to become mistress to an unprincipled rake like himself, only added more fuel to his mysterious, deep-seated fury.
He had already lost his fortune and his freedom. The outcome of this chess match could not change that now. There was only one gift he could in honor ask for when he won: that she leave Marion Hall and the company of all these dissolute rogues and never return.
She moved a knight. He glanced at the board in vague surprise. She had taken his king's bishop. It created a new balance on the board.
Well done, Juliet! Ι didn't see that coming
He sat back to reassess the game. It was time for his final, fast thrust, an unassailable gambit for victory. Then, when he won, he must attempt to guess what she wanted him to claim. Idly she played with the captured bishop. In marked contrast to her ring and the lace cuffs that foamed over her round forearms, her hands were visibly worn by work. Hands that had cradled a baby chick; made wine from pale, whimsical cowslips; held hot compresses to his arm when he'd been stung by a bee.
Hands that had taken his face in a sweet caress as he had kissed her and put his soul into that kiss.
Emotions seemed to ferment and boil. He moved one heeled shoe clumsily, shaking the table. Her skirts enveloped his legs. Heat flooded his blood. Hot and cold, as if winter sprites and summer elves took turns to torment him. Devil take it! She could not marry Lord Edward, even if Alden Granville-Strachan, Viscount Gracechurch, had to commit cold-blooded murder and hang on a scaffold for his crime.
What should he ask for when he won?
Α farewell kiss? Lord Edward's ring to give to Peter Primrose for Sherry? The ring and a promise that she would go back to Manston Mingate to live out her lovely, ordered country life forever? He thrust his remaining bishop along its diagonal. Lace trembled on the back of his hand. She could not go back to her secretive life in the redbrick house. Lord Edward Vane had found her. If she did not marry him, the duke's son would destroy her as surely as he had decided to destroy Alden - who was no longer in a position to help her.
Cold shivers seemed to emanate from some deep-seated reserve of ice buried in his heart. He couldn't think clearly. He knew only this: whether Juliet married the duke's son or not, if Lord Edward continued to persecute her, his new servant would undoubtedly kill him.
Juliet finished her next move and glanced up under her lashes. Distress seemed to have blinded him. Alden could no longer read her expression at all. She stood up suddenly and moved away from the table. The swish of pink satin and hooped petticoats broke the tense silence. The watching men let out a collective breath. Energy flowed suddenly, as if ice cracked to release streams of floodwater.
Bracefort pummeled one hand on the back of his chair, shaking the gilded wood. Fenborough turned and threw his glass with a crash to shatter in the fireplace. Trenton-Smith laughed aloud.
"Well done, ma'am!" Dovenby said quietly.
Lord Edward stepped forward to stare down at the board. The other men waited, visibly expectant, but he only smiled and turned away.
"Faith!" the duke's son said over his shoulder. "Very pretty." The others broke ranks and followed Lord Edward to the wine table.
Juliet walked around the table and put her palm on Alden's shoulder. She leaned close to whisper a single word in his ear.
"Checkmate!"
CHAPTER NINE
JULIET HAD WON?
Shock left Alden stunned for a moment, then incredulity gave way to a mad spurt of hilarity. He suppressed his wildly inappropriate mirth behind his handkerchief and wondered why laughter felt so deuced close to pain.
The prize was hers to demand, yet what could she ask of him now, when he had already lost everything, when he was about to become Lord Edward's property?
The duke's son turned from the wine table, glass in hand. "I am glad Ι did not wager on the outcome of this game," he said dryly. "I would have lost,"
Fenborough's titter was echoed by Bracefort.
Dovenby walked away from the others to lean against the mantel. His gaze washed slowly over the chessboard, then fixed on Lord Edward's face.
"Lord Gracechurch now owes you a boon, does he not, ma'am?" the Dove asked, though he continued to look at the duke's son. "What do you demand for winning your game?"
Skirts rustled. Juliet sat down again. She closed her eyes.
Tiny sounds seemed to amplify in the silence. The slide of silk over silk. The slight clink of a wineglass. Then the hush became absolute as each man held his breath. What public humiliation would she demand? Infinite u
npleasant possibilities presented themselves. Whatever she suggested, Alden would have to fulfill it, at whatever cost in degradation or embarrassment to himself.
"Madam," he said softly. "Your wish is my command." Her lids flew open, revealing that stunning blue gaze.
"Very well, sir," She spoke clearly, concisely, without coquetry or shame. "All your worldly goods were lost last Sunday night at cards, unless you win them back by securing my favors before midnight tonight. Ι wish you to do so."
Pain flooded his chest.
Hideously aware of the watching faces, Alden stood up. The scrape of his chair and the rap of his heels rolled like thunder in his ears as he walked to the door. His mind seemed to have stopped working. He wanted nothing except fresh air and escape. Even the latch felt odd under his fingers, as if he had never opened a door before. He paused for a moment and stared at it.
In a susurration of skirts, she walked up behind him. He glanced down at her powdered hair. Her breath was coming too fast. The locket rose and fell over the enchanting swell of her breasts. Lovely. Desirable. Juliet.
She was willing? Why?
"Since your person is all that you have left, your favors are the forfeit Ι claim," She fluttered her fan and glanced at the clock. "It is just thirty minutes till midnight. That half hour is what Ι want,"
Alden felt choked. "You would allow me to win my wager with Lord Edward?"
"Ι not only allow it," she replied, "I demand it."
His pulse hammered painfully. She would give him his heart's desire. She would grant him possession of her delectable body. She would save him from ruin.
She did not know about the one further stipulation of his infernal wager with the duke's son: her locket.
He tried to speak so only she would hear, but his words sizzled about the hushed room. "Juliet, don't ask this!"
She raised her chin in a gesture of pure defiance. "Ι insist on it."
In a sudden white rage Alden hated her. He hated the entire situation - that they should have such a conversation, like this, in public. Didn't she know she would become the sensation of the year? For a man, such an escapade was only another feather in his cap. For a woman it meant devastation. She would be a pariah. Whether he agreed or refused, she would be destroyed.
Furiously he determined to save her from this blind desire for sacrifice, turn her demands into a joke, save her reputation – if he could.
Alden bowed his head. "Ma'am, you have succeeded in achieving the unattainable: making Lord Gracechurch plead. As that was our true last wager, you have now won everything-"
Dovenby jerked, stepped back and caught his elbow on a tall candelabrum shaped like a standing goddess. The brass figure fell into the fireplace with a crash, catching a side table on its way. Another set of candlesticks started to slide. Flaming wax rolled across the floor. Heeled shoes pounded out a cacophony as men leaped to catch the flying objects and stamp out the fire.
Alden and Juliet were caught in a sudden cocoon of privacy. "Ι insist on it," she repeated quietly. "Ι wish to throw Lord Edward's schemes in his face."
He retreated into his chilliest court manners, offering her only a tiny nod of the head, almost an insult. "You don't know how very tempting that is, ma'am. Ι must still refuse."
"Then Ι ask it to save a child named Sherry, and a deaf driver named John, and Mr. Primrose, and all of your other dependents at Gracechurch. You cannot refuse me."
"Ι can and do, ma'am."
"You cannot." She sounded furious. "When Ι have asked aloud in front of all these witnesses?"
"It pains me to embarrass you, ma'am, but Ι do not wish-"
"You selfish blackguard! Do you think Ι give a damn about your wishes? When you won our previous chess games, Ι allowed all of your forfeits, even the Italian evening."
Alden pressed his handkerchief to his mouth, dismissive. "My forfeits were designed to enhance my wicked reputation. Your absurd wish is guaranteed to destroy the purity of yours. You are a widow. You have no one to defend or protect you. If you’re determined on self-destruction, Ι would rather not be a party to it. Ι am trying my damnedest to allow you to retreat with some shred of dignity."
Her lip curled in scorn as she snapped open her fan. "Lud, sir. You have been trying to seduce me all week. Are you incapable of fulfilling that intention?"
Α strange frenzy roared in his ears.
As if his body acted without conscious volition, his left hand pressed down on the door latch; the fingers of his other hand locked around her wrist. With a small cry, she shut her fan. Alden pulled her with him into the corridor. The door slammed closed behind them. The ruckus of swearing, half-drunken men was cut off, as if by a knife.
Alden barely registered the tranquil hallway. His hands closed on her bare shoulders. His palms feasted on warm skin, then slipped down over ripe, female curves. He pushed her against the wall, letting his thumb brush over one sweet arch of breast. Rosebuds shredded in his fingers, so he tore them away.
Without compunction he seized her head in both hands and brought his mouth down over hers. Ecstasy. He held nothing back, used no subtlety. One need overwhelmed: to invade her, possess her, transport her to the heights of sensual pleasure. To thrust into this one woman, to plunder her tenderness, plumb her mysteries and her sweetness and her heat, until she writhed and gasped beneath him - to hell with the consequences!
Overwhelmed by the stridency of his desire and his rage, he ravaged, not caring if he scorched her. Yet her mouth met his with a white-hot rage and passion of her own. It was a kiss born of desperation, seared by anger, that almost forced them both into hatred.
Alden tore his mouth away. Juliet leaned back against the wall, cheeks flushed, lips bruised. Her eyes swallowed darkness.
"You think to frighten me?" she asked. "Ι am not afraid of you. You are nothing but bravado and show, an empty man with an insufferable conceit. This is for me."
He stared at her pulse, rapid and hot in her throat. Hot breath roared in and out of his lungs. "Is this truly your own wish, ma'am? Ι thought perhaps you were Lord Edward's puppet."
He didn't know why he said it. It wasn't what he believed. If she wished to, she could throw those words in his face and walk away.
Instead she turned her head and took a deep breath. "Ι did not come here to Marion Hall of my own free will. Apart from what you owe me, that is the third reason you cannot refuse me."
As if a snuffer were dropped over a candle, his rage died. She faced him with that high, bright courage, tinged with a desperate bravado. It seemed essential to offer her every possible escape, to make at least that recompense for his theft of her peace.
"I am- Juliet, Ι am sorry. That is not how Ι have dreamed of winning you. There must be some other way out of this. You're an earl's daughter. Your father, surely, will protect you from Lord Edward?"
Juliet glanced back at him. She looked every inch a lady. "My father will not receive me. We have not spoken, nor corresponded, in five years. Why do you suppose Ι was living alone in Manston Mingate?"
Α world of unspoken questions hung between them, yet throughout the house, clocks were ticking . . . to midnight. . . to midnight. . . to midnight.
"How did you come here?"
"Lord Edward walked into my cottage and told me about your wager in London: my body for a stranger's fortune. What an exquisite moment! To know the true reason for your attentions. To know that everything you said and did was a lie since the moment we met. Perhaps you can imagine the humiliation of that?"
"Believe it or not, an almost equal humiliation is mine." He tried to speak gently. "Thus, whatever your motives, I'm not sure Ι can bear the generosity of what you offer now. Why would you reward me for my venality?"
"Because Lord Edward also told me, with exquisite finesse, of my husband's death. Recently, apparently, in London. It was a . . . shock, unlooked for. While Ι struggled to comprehend that, he suggested Ι marry him. Ι refused, but he had menservants wit
h him. Ι was thrown into a closed carriage and brought here."
"You were kidnapped?" His voice sounded raw.
She shuddered. "Ι have been washed and painted by strangers, dressed in this silk gown that he purchased for me when we were engaged to be married. He wants us to begin again."
"Then why did he arrange the unholy wager with me?"
"Lord Edward thinks he has now taught me a lesson about his power, so he can forgive my rejection of him five years ago. Perhaps he can. However, Ι prefer his disdain. There is only one way for me to avoid his persecution. His pride will never forgive another public insult. Win your wager and he will wash his hands of me. Otherwise, he will never leave me be."
"If he wants you so badly, why the devil did he risk the wager to begin with? Ι might have won."
"Might you? Lord Edward was supremely confident you would lose. Thus he could help himself to your fortune, while offering me a nice punishment." She glanced back at him, her eyes the color of bruised violets. "He learned of my husband's death and knew Ι was at last a free agent. He will try to force me to marry him. Nothing else will confound him, but this: you must win the wager."
Pain spread into every muscle, as if he had fenced until exhausted. The pieces fit, each move part of one overall gambit, bringing them both to this intolerable conclusion.
"With hindsight, it would appear that Ι was peculiarly thick-witted-"
"None of that matters." She tugged off the diamond ring and let it drop to roll away on the floor. "This is all I care about: Lord Edward will be forced to abandon his interest, if Ι publicly spend the next half hour in another man's bed."
It was true. Lord Edward was undoubtedly repudiating her right now and cared nothing for how it was done. He listened as a swell of masculine laughter echoed through the closed door behind him.
"Indeed, Ι see Ι am trapped, ma'am. You have pinned me and toppled my king, robbing me of dominion. The price, it seems, is my body-"