Chapter 7
Seeing Greg again was better than she’d imagined. Unexpectedly natural. It had always been easy to be with him. They were two pieces that belonged together.
It would be unnecessary to say hello, so she skipped it. His chessboard was set up in a mating position for white and she was ready to start where they’d left off all those years ago. But was he ready, too?
“Black was such a wastrel in this game,” she said as Greg came in.
Now he was staring her down, she second-guessed her courage in seeking him out. It had gone missing altogether.
“What’s his name?” Greg gestured to the dog.
“Gambit.” Heat rose to Hermy’s cheeks.
“Like the first time you mated me?” He still did that lop-sided smile that woke the butterfly in her stomach.
“I brought a guest, I hope that’s alright.”
“I wasn’t expecting any company,” Greg said, his eyes hungry and feral.
“So you wasted the position in the beginning and gave away your weakness on f7.” Hermy pointed at the chessboard as she took a seat.
“What makes you think I played black?”
“You’re the Black Night.”
“So you’ve heard?”
“My solicitor told me that Chanteroy was rather pleased to beat you.”
Greg bristled. “He didn’t.”
He definitely hadn’t changed.
“He did on time. A victory by default is one nonetheless.” Hermy poked at Greg’s chess pride, his weak spot.
“I’ll sort it out and get a rematch.” He grimaced. “Actually, I won’t. It’s not right to play for a woman.”
“You won’t?” Hermy waved in a gesture of defeat and slapped her thighs. “Alright then, that’s my doom.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s how the papers set it up. I’m the prize.” She leaned back in defeat.
“This has gone on for far too long. You’re not a prize in a series of chess games.”
“I agree. Except on paper, my freedom is tied to the games.” Hermy plopped onto the chair and leaned back. Everything was the same; even the furniture had remained in the same spots as in their childhood. Looking at Greg made her stomach churn and something lower twitch. She couldn’t stay near him; it was too dangerous. His magnetic pull was stronger than she’d remembered, dangerous and inevitable.
She was young then, uncontrollably in love. If she gave in now, she’d just be uncontrollably loose.
“So here’s what we’re going to do: You release my fortune to me, and I’ll run away with it. If Chanteroy cannot find me, he cannot marry me. I’ll be free, and you can stop worrying about timely correspondence and chess moves.”
“Ah, evasion tactics.” Greg shook his head. “I thought you’d be better off playing defense only.”
Hermy narrowed her eyes. It was one thing to lose her to Chanteroy in a chess game because of a tardy move, it was a whole different thing to call her a chess novice who only played defensively. “You forgot my strategy.”
“No, I didn’t.” He gave a lop-sided smirk as his gaze trailed along her body. “I’m glad you’re still the strategist. So, let’s strategize.”
She leaned forward and reset the figures on the chessboard.
“We can hardly skewer him, since stabbing him would be a crime.” A skewer, a tactical move where a piece attacks two or more of the opponent’s pieces in a line, would incapacitate that piece—Chanteroy to be exact.
“So an absolute pin to the rook is out of question?” Greg said with a lazy smile, suggesting another way to incapacitate Chanteroy. “We cannot lock him up in a tower somewhere and throw away the key.”
Hermy’s heart skipped a beat. Oh, she’d forgotten how much fun it was to speak chess. To speak with Greg. To be near him. Most people didn’t follow her witty metaphors and merely chalked her off as the fallen girl, unsociable and awkward.
The clunk of the wooden piece against the board echoed in the quiet room, a familiar, strategic dance unfolding between them.
She’d also forgotten how well he understood her. That’s why he was her hardest opponent in chess, her best friend, and the love of her life. Nothing had changed.
“The only other tactic we could use is a discovered attack.” As soon as Hermy spoke the words, Greg’s eyes darted to hers.
“You can’t be serious.” His voice betrayed the mischief she’d already spotted in his gaze.
“I didn’t think it through?—
“It’s rather brilliant.” He widened his stance and looked her over, sucking in his lower lip.
Her heart stopped beating altogether. She’d said it in jest, for a discovered attack occurred when a piece moved out of the way, uncovering another attack on an opponent’s piece.
“I did move out of the way. The house is closed. The staff’s dismissed.” Hermy said, her heart throbbing as she spoke the words.
“So now Chanteroy is in direct line with whom?”
“With you, Greg. You’re my appointed guardian.”
“You hardly need a guardian, Hermy. Steven’s way was to ensure I’d never come near you, as I already had.”
“He divided us.”
“But he didn’t conquer, did he?” Greg came closer but still kept a respectable distance.
If she’d felt heat before, she was now red-hot glowing. Hermy put her hands on her cheeks and shook her head. “But you’re my protector now.” Hermy wasn’t sure if that was a defeat, a threat, or a challenge but Greg nodded, arms crossed, stance wide, and the glint of mischief in his eyes now signaling fiery danger.
“If you step into the line and attack Chanteroy, he’ll fight back.”
“Perhaps. But Steven is off the board now, and his defenses are, as you said, in my line of attack.”
“It doesn’t worry you?”
“Not if you’re by my side, Hermy.”
“Would you want to have me?” Hermy croaked, unable to fathom that he must have been as eager to talk about it as she was. No small talk, no time to waste, just clean and open conversation—in chess language—that was the Greg she remembered, the Greg she loved.
“You’ve always been the most powerful piece on my board.” Greg squeezed his eyes shut. “Hermy, you’ve always been the most important person in my life, and I don’t want to lose you again.” He reached for her hand, and she blinked incredulously.
Her eyes found his, and saw raw vulnerability exactly like the night he’d given her the key after Steven made arrangements to take her away. Mixed with the pain of loss was the hope for a return. And the return was now.
“Are you even back for me?” he asked.
She nodded and placed her hand in his. From the harmless contact, tingles spread throughout Hermy’s body. The butterfly tried to escape again, and her voice failed. He lifted her hand and placed a tender, slow kiss on her knuckle. Luckily, she was already sitting because her legs would surely have given way, and she’d have swooned like the debutantes at Almack’s.
“What about Chanteroy?”
“I’ll take his queen and have mine. I won’t just be nine points ahead, I’ll have the material advantage.”
“You mean you’d have my dowry if I become your”—Hermy gulped—“queen?”
“No, I’d have a strategic advantage.”
“What’s that?”
“You.”