Chapter 6
Later that evening at Kirby Place, London.
Oh please be here, please.
After nearly six hours in the coach, Hermy sat on a hay barrel covered with a horse blanket. She’d been locked away to the country and came back to Town smelling of it.
She’d asked a local farmer to bring her to London and promised he’d get paid. The entire time in the carriage, she hadn’t been able to stop crying. She knew she had to speak to him, although it had been five years since…
“You are so beautiful,”Greg said as he trailed a line of kisses down her chest, stopping for just a quick suckle of each nipple.
Hermy chuckled with delight. “You feel so good!” She stretched her arms above her head and reveled in Greg’s touch.
“Me?”
She nodded and inhaled sharply when his palm reached her navel.
“Where do I feel good?” His voice sounded hoarse, but it didn’t crack anymore. In fact, it hadn’t for a while now—not this summer at all, actually. He was broad-shouldered now, his pecks pleasingly defined and his ridged stomach much like the British museum’s marble statues.
Slip! He entered her in a swift motion.
Hermy arched her back and pressed against his hand, instinctively welcoming him as he started to move inside her.
“Tell me what you want me to do,” Greg whispered into her ear. He climbed atop her, his hand never stopping the sweet torture.
“Everything.” And she meant it. She wanted everything from him, with him, for him. Her love hadn’t been a secret between them, but this year, it kept growing and overpowering her.
There’d been a tiny butterfly in her stomach, flapping its wings and sending tingles through her since she was fourteen, as if it could sense Greg’s presence or even just read Hermy’s mind when his name came up in conversation. When he was near, the butterfly reacted. And it grew.
Then, one Christmas, Greg’s parents had welcomed her at the dinner before the ball. For her first evening as a Lady, she wore a ball gown, her hair swept into a pile of curls on her head, her mother’s diamond earrings. Then her brother had sent her upstairs before the dances began, shattering her evening and making her feel like a child.
When the grown-ups had danced downstairs, distracted by one another, Greg had come to her room.
“You are so beautiful,” he’d said. “Would you give me the honor of this dance?”
Which sixteen-year-old girl wouldn’t have said yes to the handsome boy in a starched cravat and evening coat? Mother had said he’d always been a dashing boy, but Hermy and her butterfly knew he was so much more. He was her best friend, her confidant, and the only person who saw her brother’s true colors beyond the prospective title of the Earl. To her and Greg, Steven was not “the heir,” but the maggot, for his personality resembled a worm and not a caterpillar. He’d never pupate and turn into a butterfly—not even a moth. He was the sort of maggot that ate away at flesh and left the stench of acid in his wake.
But Greg was there to push Steven out of the way and out of Hermy’s mind.
Greg was there for Hermy, always attentive, just like that night.
When the music soared from downstairs, she lay her hand in his, let him lead her in a lonely dance to the muffled music from downstairs, step-for-step until she made a mistake and stumbled—a lucky accident that allowed him to catch her.
So they kissed.
Again.
It was different than before.
His clothes fell to the ground, but when she pulled the puffy sleeves of her gown down, he stopped her. “May I?”
She nodded. They’d gone from playing naked in the bathtub as children and chasing each other around the nursery to tumbling in her bed at the age of sixteen.
No barriers lay between them. They had no time to grow shields around their hearts. Hermy knew it was as true for him as it was for her.
By the time her governess warned her of what boys may demand from a girl, it had been too late. And Greg had never demanded what Hermy didn’t give freely.
When Mother explained that men were different in so many ways, Hermy already knew not to betray how much she’d explored that difference in every fathomable detail. Greg’s body was no secret to her, nor was his heart. Nobody ever looked at her with as much reverence and warmth as he did. Every time he laid eyes on her, she felt as though she sparkled like a diamond in the sun.
Greg bit his lower lip. “I love how this dress laces in the back. It’s stunning.”
Hermy held up the bodice lest the entire garment fall to her feet. “It’s my first ballgown.” They’d share so many firsts.
Greg spun Hermy around and pressed his naked body against her just in time to keep her warm when the fabric melted off her.
And they climbed into bed together.
And again, Hermy grabbed onto the sheets, hoping she would fall into oblivion.
Again and again.
Her butterfly fluttered as if trying to escape and reach for Greg. He pushed deeper and faster, and Hermy shuddered with joy.
But suddenly, the door clicked, and a wooden slam as it hit the wall startled her.
Her vision focused on the doorway and she saw her brother’s enraged face.
Greg pulled the cover over her and shielded her with his body, but he couldn’t protect Hermy’s heart from the veil of loneliness that descended with her brother’s wrath.
For five years,her brother had been between her and Greg, forbidding so much as the exchange of letters. Hermy stood in front of Greg’s townhouse and wondered how could it have been so long. The last time she’d been inside, she was sixteen. Perhaps he was married now. What would his wife say if his ex-lover asked for his help? What if he had children? Hermy’s insides cramped into a painful cluster of worry. Did Greg even remember her?
Still, she had no other recourse, Greg was the only one who could release her from the cruel conditions of her brother’s will. If he could challenge Chanteroy to a match and win her estate back, she could go back to her spinster life and, after firing the existing staff who’d pledged allegiance to the sadistic solicitor … do what exactly?
She couldn’t run the estate any longer, she was not the heiress to the title. Her entire existence didn’t count. The solicitor had said it was on hold, on abeyance, until someone convinced the crown to let another man step into the Earldom. But it wouldn’t be a member of her family, she was the only one left.
She clutched the key and hoped it still worked. She’d worn it around her neck since Greg had given it to her with the promise to wait for her after Oxford. They’d had fantasies about running away together; Gretna Green had sounded like a paradise for star-crossed lovers. But that was the last summer he’d spent in Kent, and much had happened since then. Hermy had grown up in bitter loneliness, her dreams dwindling to faint memories.
She held her breath when she reached the top of the stairs and laid her palm on the carved walnut door. It looked the same as when she’d visited the Stones every winter when Greg was back from Eton. He’d spent summers with her family in return when he was on break in July and August, and her family spent nearly all of Yuletide with the Stones.
Hermy slipped through the unlocked door, heart thudding in her chest. The familiar grandeur of the foyer enveloped her, but now, shadows clung to the edges, turning the once welcoming space into a maze of déjà vu. The little butterfly in her stomach resurrected.
“Where is he?” Hermy called as she stormed past the slack-jawed butler—the same one as before. Did he recognize her?
“Greg! Greg?” She walked to the back of the hall and straight into his office. Nothing. The fire was out; the room felt cold.
She returned to the hall. The East and West wings beckoned to her left and right, each holding secrets she once knew well.
The butler, an elderly man, tall and impeccably dressed, approached her and bowed. “Milady, can I help you?”
“I need to speak to Greg. Now.” Hermy looked left, all doors were shut. She looked right, same. Thus, she made for the stairs. It had been years since she’d sneaked up them when the household was asleep.
The semi-round staircase loomed before her, its red and gold carpet muted under the soft glow of gas lamps. Gone were the flickering candles of her childhood, replaced by a steady, hissing light that cast long, sinister shadows against the ornate wallpaper on the curved wall. The steps creaked under her weight, a reminder that, despite the changes, some things remained stubbornly the same.
“Greg!” she called, trailing her hand over the railing as she had many times before.
The air was thick with the scent of polished wood and the faint trace of patchouli, a whisper of the past that tugged at her memories. Hermy couldn’t help but notice how the house seemed to hold its breath, as if waiting for her next move.
The butler followed her, raining questions.
“I have a key, that’s how I got in. No, he’s not expecting me. Yes, he will see me. It cannot wait. Now.” She made it to the top of the staircase and turned right toward Greg’s bedroom. Two doors down, she pressed the handle, ignoring the butler’s protests.
The room was just as she remembered, a well-loved chamber with the same schoolbooks and tales of adventures on the shelf. Dark blue drapes shut out the sunlight and it was cooler than the foyer. The same enormous painting showed a large ship plowing through the waves, white sails full. Greg and she had stared at this painting and spun stories of their future adventures, their journeys around the world.
But she hadn’t visited any of those places. Hermy turned to the butler, standing in the doorway with a frown.
“This isn’t his room anymore, is it?”
The butler sighed. “He’s the Baron now. Both his parents have passed on.”
“Oh,” Hermy swallowed hard. “And is there a baroness?”
The butler shook his head.
Why hadn’t he thrown her out of the house yet? He’d certainly recognized her.
Her veil was pierced, and she felt just as mousy as she had been all those years ago. The old wounds burst open as if the scar tissue couldn’t contain the shame. Everyone knew she was the fallen girl.
Hermy scratched her temple. “Can I see him, please?”
“See who?” Greg appeared in the doorway, the handsome adult version of the boy she’d loved.
The butterfly had matured as if the five years of latency had magnified its strength. Its flutter nearly knocked the wind out of Hermy.
Greg stood still for a moment too long, and Hermy recognized the flicker in his gaze. He was calculating his next move. With a nod dismissing the butler, he came into the room. His presence commanded the space with quiet confidence. He had grown, not just in stature but in the breadth of his shoulders, which now filled out his coat in a way that suggested strength rather than mere fashion. Though trimmed short, his hair rebelled with a few strands that curled just above his collar, the dusty blonde catching the light and reminding Hermy of sunlit afternoons spent in laughter. Based on his expression, he’d not forgotten her.
Hermy willed her nauseating nerves away. “I came to see you.” She sighed, exhausted from the journey, and the events of the week, the day, and her life. Seeing him again was almost enough to make her feel like she’d returned to her old self. Almost.
Please don’t send me away.
As he approached, his gaze found hers, and she was struck anew by his warmth. For a flicker of a second, there was a glint of skepticism, but then he blinked, and it disappeared. His eyes, a rich hue that danced between the browns of the earth and the blues in the sky at night, seemed to smile even before his lips did. He had mischievous eyes, the window to a million naughty thoughts that promised laughter and whispered secrets, eyes that had seen her at her most unguarded and still looked at her as if she were the only one in the room.
She was back.
Not in a good way.
This wasn’t déjà vu, it was a nightmare she never wished to relive. The last time she and Greg had stood in this room was when … she didn’t want to think about it.
“He’s coming for me,” Hermy said. The five years faded and nothing shielded them from one another or the truth.
Greg’s mien fell and came to her side. “Chanteroy?”
She nodded.
“But the chess games have been keeping him away. He has no right?—”
“He does now.” Hermy opened her reticule, produced a folded copy of her brother’s will and the letter from the solicitor, and handed them to Greg.
Hermy watched his dark blue eyes as he read. His breath hitched, brows fell, and eyes narrowed. “This note says he won by default?”
“Yes. You timed out.”
“I?” He studied the letter again and frowned. “I was in India. I never received any moves.” He rubbed his eyes. “When did I ever agree to play chess for you?”
Five years were naught. Greg hadn’t changed. He’d grown up, but he was still the same.
Were they still the same, Greg and Hermy, Hermy and Greg?
Do you still love me as much as I love you?
She shrugged. “You timed out, and now he can come and claim me.” Hermy crossed her arms, hugging herself. She looked at the painting of the ship again, as if to farewell her childhood dreams.
“Are you back then?” he asked. A simple four-word question, but Hermy knew it meant the world.
She swallowed, then nodded faintly.
“And I have to win you over?”
Now she shook her head. He’d done that a lifetime ago. “Win me back?”
“But you said you are back.” He came to her side and hesitated for a moment, but then he reached for her hand. “Hermy?”
“I have a ledger with my brother’s moves. I know exactly when the solicitor sent the letters. Surely he will grant me the benefit of the doubt for your chess correspondence and let you play a game of revanche?”
No words needed to be wasted over whether he’d take her back. She could see it in his eyes. He was better than she remembered, kinder even, stronger, and more lovely than ever.
And nothing between her and Greg had changed. Could she be this lucky or was it wishful thinking?
“You kept the key?”
She held it in her hand and gave it to him.
“No, this is yours. You’ve always held the key to—” He stopped and turned to the butler who’d returned and placed himself firmly in the hall, taking in every word. “Do you need something?” He rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers while clasping the papers in the other hand.
“There’s a man with a brown dog, requesting to be paid,” the butler said. “He’s waiting outside.”
“I hired a carriage,” Hermy explained.
“A hack?” Greg asked.
“A local farmer. I’m evicted of sorts.”
“All the way from Kent?”
She nodded. He was the only one who asked about her, not just the estate.
“And the driver is waiting outside for you to pay him.” Greg pivoted and went downstairs.
This hadn’t gone as planned. Some of it had gone better than expected.
But what did Hermy expect? A warm welcome from her puppy-love-turned-guardian? As far as she could tell, he’d grown up to be a show dog who could jump, run, and win at any competition, while she’d been locked up like a mutt.
Greg walked downstairs,wondering if he’d gone mad and imagined a conversation with Hermy. Could he be hallucinating because he missed her so much? Had his imagination conjured her up? If there really was a carriage waiting outside, this was real. Hermy was back.
Hermy—his chest burned with all the pent-up heartache of the past five years, flaring as if alcohol had been poured over the fire.
She’d let herself in.
Greg remembered giving her the key as if it had happened five minutes ago, not five years. He’d managed to see Hermy just before she was ripped form his life five years ago.
“Come along,” Steven growled and tugged at Hermy’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”
“Where are you taking her?” Greg wrapped his arms around her, unwilling to let her out of his embrace.”
“First to Willowby Park. If she’s not round with child in a few months, then we’ll see.”
“Take this house key.” Greg pressed it into her delicate hands and clasped his fingers over hers. “Anything you need, anything at all, you come to me, alright?”
Tears trickled down her cheeks and fell like raindrops as she blinked through her long lashes that framed her eyes like stars. Greg had never heard cry so bitterly and often wished it wasn’t the last he’d heard of her.
Well,now it wasn’t. She was back.
Steven had returned his letters unopened with threats of legal action that would have sullied Greg’s reputation and could have cost him his seat in parliament if he appeared at Willowby Park. And Greg hadn’t seen her again.
Until this day.
Greg stormed out the front door. Sure enough, a man tended to two horses attached to a black carriage. The wheels were so worn he could see this was not a safe ride. Why hadn’t anyone ensured that Hermy took a better carriage? Kent was far and the roads unpredictable and … oh, he was the guardian. It should have been him.
Greg shook his head as if he could shuffle his messy thoughts into order. Why hadn’t he been informed of this macabre twist of fate? He heaved for air.
He’d considered every possible scenario of kissing Hermy if he ever saw her again, of caressing her lush hazel hair, licking the buds of her breasts, and pressing himself into her with all his might. He’d been so focused on the center game that he’d ignored where other pieces might stand.
Breaking rule number two, he didn’t anticipate the next three variations in his opponent’s strategy. Steven had sacrificed himself to check Greg.
But it wasn’t a mate yet.
And if Greg was going to prepare his attack, following rule number three, he first had to find out where Hermy’s strategy lay. She didn’t look different, perhaps she still had the keenest mind in chess.
And she was in his house. He still couldn’t believe it was real.
She was back.
And she’d brought her dog.
Wait, she was back for what? Not for him but for his help, he had to remind himself.
It was a dream come true, a scenario he’d played in his mind so often, he nearly grabbed her and carried her off to his bed. But there was the other version, the one where … but this was not a hypothetical reunion. She was seeking his help.
He didn’t know how to behave around Hermy. She’d grown up. No. She’d blossomed. Her cheeks were even rosier than before, probably from life in the country. Her waist was narrower, or did it seem so because her breasts were perkier and bigger than even in his dreams? She still had a pointy chin and nose, perfect for trailing kisses … but he was no fool, she knew he liked it rough. Deep and wilder, she used to call.
Stop! Greg hit his forehead as if he could slap the memories out of his mind along with the naughty thoughts he’d revisited almost nightly for the last five years.
Greg chastised himself. She was his charge now. This cruel decision gave a way for her late brother, Steven, to prevent them reuniting even after his demise.
Well Steven, she came to me now and I’m not going to let her go again.
I’m all grown up. I’m the Baron. I’m the Black Knight.
A piece of paper wouldn’t stop him. And yet, like the laws, words on paper wielded more power than even a sword.
After he’d paid the driver and given his housekeeper instructions for dinner, Greg prepared to pose his question in person. He found Hermy in the study, chessboard tucked under her arm and her poodle shuffling between her feet. Greg watched her from the other side of the doorway, unable to anticipate his strategy. Her touch was like a spark to dry tinder, igniting a blaze within him that no amount of logic could douse.
“You know Gambit, men play in low light. They go to the clubs and take ages to think about strategy with a drink in hand but that’s not how chess works.”
Tilting his head to one side, the cocker spaniel listened intently, ears flopping gently as if trying to catch every word. A soft, questioning woof punctuated the silent room, echoing Hermy’s intonation.
“Exactly! They drink, which dulls their senses. I doubt the men ever play a good game at the clubs; that’s why they don’t let girls in.” Hermy nodded as she spoke and switched the pillows from the settee to the armchairs. Tapping her index finger on her chin, she seemed anything but shy about moving Greg’s furniture around.
“This old one needs a new slipcover.” Hermy threw the pillow to the dog. Can you chew on the tassels a bit to make sure this ugly thing won’t come back?”
The cocker spaniel’s tail wagged in rapid, short strokes, silently applauding his owner’s maneuver. The swishing sound filled the room with an atmosphere of approval and encouragement.
Greg stifled a laugh and ducked behind the door. His heart soared and he bit his lower lip. She was so adorable and she was so … so Hermy! So perfect!
Slow, Gregory. Don’t scare her away.
“I’ll never forget that game after Christmas, the first time Greg lost against me. A girl!” Hermy gave the dog a look that sparkled like the memory in Greg’s mind.
Greg peeked through the door again, unable to look away.
Hermy’s fingers moved gracefully across the chessboard, knights and bishops sliding into their power plays as if they were guests finding their seats at a grand ball she’d meticulously orchestrated. With a final, delicate touch, she positioned her queen with the flourish of a maestro conducting a symphony, the board now a masterpiece of anticipation and guile.
“He played white and guarded his e1 square. We had the same number of pieces, and the forces of attack were balanced.” Hermy picked Gambit up and pointed at the board. The dog watched as if he could understand her.
Had she been so lonely all this time that she played against herself and talked to the dog?
His initial excitement at eavesdropping on Hermy mixed with hurt and morphed into anger. He should have broken her out of the prison her brother put her in, out of the country.
“Then I found a move for my queen, c1, and deflected his rook. He had to play bishop f4 and then my queen captured his, completely destroying his rear defenses.” Hermy held Gambit with one hand while she slid her queen to the mating position on the board. “There, I had captured his king.”
Snuggling closer, the curly brown dog let out a contented sigh as if conceding the strategy. He rested his chin on the edge of the chessboard as if to say, “Well played.”
Greg stepped out from his hiding spot and into the light. “I don’t think I ever played white again.”
She bit her lip as if to hold the rest of her words back.
But Greg understood. Their eyes spoke even when their mouths didn’t. When people grew up so close to each other, a few years of distance as adults apparently didn’t matter as much as he’d feared.
Hermy smiled and the room lit up with a warmth Greg hadn’t felt since that night he’d given her the key.
She beamed. “I captured your king.”
You captured my heart and won me entirely.