Obsession Wears Opals (8 page)

Especially my queen.

The tiny feminine carved face was calm and unyielding, her lips in an eternal imperial pout. Isabel liked the look of her with her ivory crown and robe encrusted with dots of paint that resembled pearls. Here was a woman who was powerful and unafraid.

The first game was less a battle and more a series of lessons on how a battle unfolded and the consequences of every choice she made. He held his Black army in check, never striking aggressively against hers but advising where he
could
have, letting her retrace her steps and weigh out her moves. The first loss of a knight made her almost tearful, but Darius walked her through the realities of a necessary sacrifice to achieve a greater goal.

“You must try to see all the pieces as part of a larger entity, all working together.” He turned the board just a few inches to the left. “Take a deep breath. Sometimes I like to imagine that my men are all eager to do their duty and consider sacrifice a great honor—especially when I promise to resurrect them for the next battle.”

She laughed. “Such absolute power!”

“Heady, isn’t it?” He squared the board again between them. “When you play chess, nothing happens on the field without your command.”

“But I’m not commanding you.” She eyed the intimidating lines of his pieces. “And your men don’t look happy about dying just to please me!”

It was his turn to laugh. “True! The Black army seeks only to please their dark queen, but let’s see if you cannot outwit them.”

“I will do my utmost to make her rage in frustration.” Isabel bent her head in concentration, trying to see the board as he did. Her poor knight stood forlornly next to Darius’s hand—a captured piece. “But only if you sign a treaty not to mistreat any of my men who fall into your hands.”

“Agreed.” Darius solemnly held out his hand. “I shall be merciful.”

“Good.” Isabel took his hand to shake it, her bare palm pressed to his and the warmth of his firm touch enveloping her slender fingers. It was meant as a jest, her proclamation of the articles of their little war, but the spark of sensation she experienced drained her of humor. There was nothing funny about the seductive pull of the heat shimmering across her skin. Isabel knew it was forbidden, this pleasure, but suddenly—it was hard to accept why.

I’m married—and already so far down a path to scandal that I may never recover. But this—God, how is this even possible? When I thought never to want any man’s touch again for as long as I lived?

“And you?” he asked, still holding her hand across the board. His gaze was steady, the green in his eyes deepening as the contact between them lingered.

“M-me?” Isabel tried to regain her mental footing and ignore the sweet fire curling up inside of her.

“Will the White Queen also pledge to be merciful? My army stands ready in either case, but a gentleman must ask if the treaty is to be balanced.”

“Of-of course.” Isabel conceded, then reluctantly let go of his hand. “I’ll serve them jam and biscuits while they wait for you to pay their ransoms.”

“Very kind of you.” He dropped his hand too quickly and clumsily knocked over his rook and two pawns. “Whoa! Disorder in the ranks!”

Darius reordered his pieces and Isabel took the opportunity to catch her breath and press her cool fingers against her cheeks.
Mutiny abounds and I should take care that my growing affections for him don’t add to the mess I’ve made of my life. I’ll have caused Mr. Thorne enough trouble without abusing his offer of friendship.

***

Darius silently cursed his clumsiness, praying she hadn’t noticed the way her touch derailed his thoughts. The game was meant to be a diversion but not like this. He’d hoped to teach her something new and cheer her. In the firelight, she’d transformed her ethereal beauty into a feminine figure of fey glory, and her quick grasp of the game and willingness to play along with his fanciful stories had humbled him. He’d never revealed to anyone else as much of the odd workings of his mind. Chess was a serious game but Darius had never played it without folding in a bit of drama.

Instead of laughing at him, Helen had openly approved, proclaiming herself enchanted, and revealed that her imagination outpaced his. Even now, she took his breath away as she announced, “My lone knight is melancholy to think of his lost twin, Mr. Thorne, but I warn you, he is getting a fireside speech from his comrades to rally his spirits. They’ve reminded him of our cause and inspired him to avenge his brother!”

Darius was entranced—a man held in thrall. “No less inspiring than the cries of my generals to my battered men-at-arms. He is promising extra rations of ale and a parcel of land to the first common man to take down one of your bishops.”

“How wicked!” she exclaimed, her eyes gleaming. “The White army needs no such bribery.”

“Well”—he leaned in conspiratorially—“they do need one thing.”

“And what is that?” she asked, her attention instantly diverted to the board, her expression anxious. “Is someone in danger?”

“No, not necessarily,” he conceded. “But the White army does need the lady ruling the White Kingdom to make her next move, or my wicked forces will start to conclude that she has forfeited.”

“Oh yes, of course!” Helen bit her lower lip, her gaze narrowing as she concentrated. She touched her rook, but hesitated. “Hold on to the tapestries, gentlemen, for we are moving.”

She slid the rook forward to plant it boldly just out of reach of a pawn, an unsubtle threat to his knight, and lifted her fingers. “There!”

Darius winced playfully and reached for his chest as if he’d been struck. “My scouts have betrayed me!” He let out a slow deep breath and then reassessed the board. “I’ll retreat and see if I can’t turn the tide.”

The game continued with mourned losses on both sides and celebrated advances, but Darius deliberately made sure she had an opportunity to ultimately win. The fierce joy on her face after her careful trap sprang on his weakened court and yielded a kneeling black king at her queen’s feet was priceless.

Hell, I may never win another game, for she makes losing such pleasure.

“Checkmate!” she exclaimed.

“You are victorious,” he said, ritually knocking his king over with a flick of his forefinger to formally surrender. “I am yours.”

Mrs. McFadden cleared her throat as she entered with an empty tray to collect their half-empty plates with a fleeting look of disapproval. She said nothing as Darius met her gaze openly, daring her to spoil the evening’s fun.

“Thank you, Mrs. McFadden,” he said calmly.

“Yes, thank you, Mrs. McFadden,” Helen added, her expression anxious. “We . . . didn’t mean to be a bother.”

The housekeeper’s stern look softened. “No matter. I’ll serve your dinner here in the future if you’d rather and save myself a few steps. But you should mind the time, Mr. Thorne. It’s getting late and the lady should be resting.”

Darius looked over at the clock on the mantel, amazed at how they’d lost track of the hours. “So it is!”

Helen stood and he immediately did the same. “I’ll retire if only to allow me to withdraw while I’m victorious. It was a wonderful evening, Mr. Thorne. Thank you for being such a patient teacher.”

“We’ll have a rematch tomorrow night and see if you’re as graceful in defeat as you are in triumph,” he teased her.

“You
let
me win this first time but I’m enjoying it all the same, sir!” She curtsied and left the room with the carriage of a queen.

Darius forgot his housekeeper and simply watched Helen go.

Best game of chess I’ve ever played!

Mrs. McFadden cleared her throat again and Darius sighed. It was too much to hope for that she’d keep her opinion to herself for very long. “She’s not a kitten come in from the cold.”

“Why? Was I offering her milk and discussing the vermin population in the stables to give you that impression?”

She ignored him. “I’ve said nothing of her arrival to anyone and have no intentions of betraying my promises, but have you decided what you’re to do?”

“I’m already doing exactly what I should be doing. I’m letting her heal and recover until I can come up with a good plan that doesn’t put her in jeopardy.” He walked over to the center of the room, collecting papers from the chairs and various surfaces as he went. “Besides, Hamish said her mount won’t be fit for at least another three weeks, so there’s no need to rush.”

“I don’t see that her horse has anything to do with anything. There are other means of travel in this world! You’ve a good carriage of your own and—”

“I’m not packing her off until I know that she has somewhere to go.”

Mrs. McFadden grunted her disapproval. “I’m getting fond of her, so don’t you dare misunderstand. It would be impossible not to melt a bit, but it’s no harmless game for you. You’re a bachelor and it’s all kind of scandal, this! If her husband finds her here . . . in your company . . .”

“He won’t and we’ve broken no law taking her in from the cold.” Darius started folding away his maps. “But I’ll be damned if I—”

Darius didn’t allow himself to finish the thought. What threat could he make? He’d vowed to keep her safe, but if her husband appeared and demanded her, if Helen herself agreed to return to him—it could be a lost cause. It made no sense for her to forfeit her hard-won freedom, but he’d experienced firsthand the deadly, illogical turns of abuse. Helen was terrified enough of her husband to run from him.

But nothing was certain.

Darius sighed. “I don’t care what the risk is. If things turn ugly, then I’ll be sure to proclaim your and Hamish’s innocence in all of it. It was my decision and I’ll take the blame.”

“It’s not really myself or that brute I was worried about. She’s so pretty,” Mrs. McFadden said more quietly. “Mind you don’t lose more than a chess game in this nonsense!”

“You’re the one encouraging entertainments!” Darius’s temper gave way at last. “Mind your manners, Mrs. McFadden. I’m not a schoolboy in need of a chaperone and you are not a relation to be so familiar and so unkind! Helen has done nothing wrong and I . . . I will be responsible for my own actions. I am a gentleman and a scholar; and there’s an end to it!”

He braced himself for a waspish reply but none followed. He’d never chided her before but he couldn’t take it back.

“I see.” Her hands fell away from her hips. “Are you to town tomorrow? It’ll be Tuesday.”

There’s an unexpected show of mercy!

“Yes. Let Hamish know we’ll make the rounds in Edinburgh as usual.” He laid the stack of maps down haphazardly on his already cluttered desk. “And, Mrs. McFadden, please determine what things our guest needs and I’ll try to acquire them as discreetly as I can in the city.”

Mrs. McFadden pressed her lips together in a thin line but nodded. “Yes, sir.”

She closed the door firmly behind her as she left with her tray, and Darius sat down slowly behind his desk.

Helen was a lady of quality and good breeding. He knew he was in denial of just what level of quality he might be contending with.

Could she be the wife of a recently elevated man? Some self-important baron or squire, God willing! Please, God, be willing!

He abandoned his chair and began to pace the room.

And what if he is a baron? My logic’s flawed. As if being some country gentleman means I can afford to buy out his wounded pride or that he’d be more easily persuaded to release his wife or be less stubborn. A small terrier can be worse than a deerhound, and I’ve known enough village bureaucrats and university officials to know that even a small dash of power can transform men into tenacious vipers.

But even vipers have their price.

The Jaded already possessed one unknown enemy, and Darius wasn’t oblivious to the fact that by complicating his own situation, he could inadvertently add to everyone’s troubles. But he knew there wasn’t a man in the Jaded who wouldn’t have done the same to protect a woman in need—and not a single man who would advise him to set her out.

He pulled the heavy curtains back from the window, rewarded with nothing more than his own reflection in the glass. The sight interrupted his thoughts. He’d never been a vain man. Darius had spent a lifetime more focused on his internal landscape and the capacity of his mind than anything else. Ashe Blackwell had chided him more than once in their friendship for ignoring fashion or forgetting to savor the finer things in life. But he’d never seen any value in peering at one’s own skin.

He wondered how a woman saw him.

How Helen sees me . . .

His gaze narrowed as he assessed the man in the glass. His features were well-defined but Darius thought them a bit too sharp. The eyes were unremarkable, in his opinion, and his coloring hardly exotic enough to evoke the prose that ladies seem to favor. He was paler than he liked but knew he had himself to blame for all the days spent indoors with his books. He was tall and lean, broad in the shoulders, but not overly athletic.

Darius leaned forward, pressing his hot forehead against the icy glass, and closed his eyes.
What does it matter if she thinks I’m a bespectacled troll or an Adonis?

I’m forgetting my place in the world.

He didn’t possess the pedigree to aspire to marry even the second cousin of an impoverished country squire. He knew the worst of his past, and before he’d put on his first pair of long pants, he’d determined to live alone and it wasn’t just because of the simple stains of poverty.
They say blood will tell. Why am I dwelling on it now?

He’d vowed to protect her. It was a flimsy excuse for keeping her.

Mrs. McFadden is right. I’m in danger of losing more than a chess game.

He crossed his arms defensively and turned back to survey the room. “Perspective, Thorne. One puzzle at a time.”

He worked late into the night, reading texts from other travelers to Bengal and from local sources until the words began to swim on the pages and Darius conceded his efforts. He retreated to a wide couch to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep, where the tangle of the Jaded and his fears for Helen disappeared.