Chapter 19
“Hermy?” Greg’s voice resonated through the house as soon as she heard the door open. “She’s probably upstairs. Oh hullo!” Greg looked up the stairs as Hermy came toward him.
“She won’t like this,” Fave mumbled as he handed his hat to the butler, followed by Arnold.
“You didn’t need to accept,” Arnold said.
Hermy descended the first few steps of the staircase to Greg’s great hall at Kirby Place, and the three men looked up at her making her feel like the same girl she was at seventeen during the summer when Greg, Fave, and Arnold were home from Eton. They treated her as a valued human being, and she liked herself better when she was with them.
“Good afternoon,” she said with a smile when she’d reached the landing at the half point.
Arnold swallowed hard and Fave furrowed his brows.
Oh no! Something was wrong. She slowed and took in Greg’s gaze. He looked a little guilty like Gambit when he tore a throw pillow apart.
“We have an engagement this evening, and I was hoping you’d accompany me,” Greg said.
Fave elbowed him, so he continued. “Well, I need you to come and help me.”
Hermy had made it to the bottom of the staircase and recognized that the boys—sorry—men, had gotten themselves into trouble. “What sort of engagement?”
“A chess game and drinks. After dinner,” Greg said.
“Will Rachel and Hannah come, too?”
Fave and Arnold looked at each other and then at Hermy.
“I’m afraid not,” Arnold said.
“I don’t think Greg should go either, nor you,” Fave added and bent down to greet Gambit, who was strutting into the hall with a sleepy waddle. Growing up, Fave had been touted as the golden boy of the Ton and Hermy saw he had retained his charm as an adult. In less than a few seconds, Gambit had turned on his back and stretched his paws in the air, letting Fave rub his belly.
“He never lets people do this,” Hermy marveled.
“I’m not just anyone.” Fave chuckled as he shifted onto a kneeling position to tend to his new furry friend.
“And that’s why I have to do this,” Greg said. “You’re not just anyone and you’ve proved it again and again.”
“So we will prove it yet again,” Arnold said, resignation and concern coloring his voice. “It’s not worth risking your career?—”
“For yours? For your livelihood?” Greg blew the air out of his cheeks as he usually did in frustration. “I made it my career to go after worthwhile causes. Justice and equality rank high.”
“What’s this about chess and drinks, and how is that a matter for justice and equality?”
A quarter of an hour later, seated in Greg’s study, Hermy agreed with him as Fave and Arnold paced the room. Gambit followed Fave’s every footstep.
“It’s a terrible idea. He’s risking his career and his reputation,” Arnold warned.
“Or he could improve it,” Hermy said, to be met with Greg’s approving gaze.
Fave rubbed his eyes. “I don’t see how he could improve anything if he goes to List’s house for a game. It’s probably rigged, and he will cheat.”
“How can you rig a chess game? I’ll be there to keep an eye on him.” Hermy secretly cherished the opportunity to stand by Greg’s side against Sofia’s husband, whoever this List was. If he married a woman like her, Hermy already didn’t like him.
“It’s too dangerous,” Fave warned.
“What do I have to lose? My virtue? My reputation? The chance to return to society with a warm welcome?” Hermy shrugged. “Too late. I’d rather do something useful.”
Fave and Arnold stopped pacing and Gambit followed suit.
“Hermy,” Fave said, “this Sofia is well-connected. And she’s a spy. She has a way of?—”
“I also have my ways, Fave. And I cannot wait for a chance to use them. I’ve been the bad girl for so long, let me live up to my reputation.”
Fave narrowed his gaze, but Arnold raised his eyebrows. “You’d go as Greg’s fiancée.”
“I am his fiancée.”
“What I mean is you’d go as the partner of the Black Knight,” Arnold spoke slowly as if the danger could dissuade Hermy.
“Perhaps as his Black Queen?” Hermy drew her right shoulder up and cast Greg a mischievous smile. He immediately caught on and sucked his lower lip in.
“This is not a game. It’s serious!” Arnold said. “It’s not just the two of you. You’ll pull us right into the conflict. And with Nagy putting our payments in escrow, he’s undermining half of our arrangement with Prinny. This could cost us our business if it goes badly.”
Greg looked up, searching for Hermy’s continued support. She nodded. He inhaled and rose, showing Fave and Arnold to the door. “We need to prepare. I will let you know how it went.”
“Greg,” Fave said, “I didn’t ask you for your help.”
“No, Fave. You covered for us when we were hiding. You stood by me all this time at school and at university. I don’t have any brothers, and I doubt they’d live up to the honor, integrity, and loyalty that you two have shown me. If I back out of a simple wager over a chess game, I’m not worth your efforts.”
“But Greg—” Arnold tried.
Greg shook his head again. “I’m the outlier in parliament already. This is one of many hurdles I need to overcome to show I’m a worthy opponent, regardless whether the challenges come from the House of Lords or foreign diplomatic relations.”
“Let us come with you then,” Fave said.
“No.”
“I can help more than you,” Hermy looked gravely at Fave. “I’m the daughter of an Earl. And the sister. Fallen or not, I outrank List, his wife, and even you, Greg. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.” Greg’s arm snapped around her waist.
Fave and Arnold left reluctantly, and Hermy readied herself for the evening.
Upon enteringBaron Von List’s rented townhouse, Greg and Hermy were enveloped by the austerity that seemed to seep from its walls. After cool greetings, Greg and Hermy were led into a small study that was almost Spartan in its simplicity. Furnished with only essential items, it had an air of transience, as if its occupants were merely passing through, their sights set on causing disruption rather than finding a home.
Sofia von List, her figure silhouetted against the scant light from the ceiling lamp and the hearth, stood as a testament to the iciness of their reception. Dressed in a simple gown that barely disguised her condition, her hair pulled back so tightly it seemed to echo the sharpness of her accent, she presented an image of unwelcoming elegance.
The tension was palpable, alive with undercurrents of high society’s games of power and prestige. This sort of conflict started wars with nothing more than a spark. The stakes were just as high, if not higher, encompassing not just Greg and Hermy’s future but the very essence of what they stood against: injustice, discrimination, and the misconception that some people were better or worth more than others.
Greg, heart pounding with a familiar mixture of anticipation and resolve, faced the baroness. “Good evening, Lady von List.” He bowed respectfully, and she held out her hand as if to a dog about to lick it rather than to a Baron paying his respect. Well, if he were a dog, he’d bite. He thought of Hermy, her strength and dignity in the face of disdain, and felt his resolve harden. Thus, Greg took Sofia’s hand and just before his lips touched her skin, he straightened his back.
She shot ice daggers at him for manipulating the situation, pretending to pay his respect but falling short in a manner that would have irked the hostess if she acknowledged it.
The room, with its barren furnishings and the absence of warmth, was their battleground now, and the contest was one of spirit and conviction.
“Shall we begin?” Sofia’s voice cut through the tension, every bit as chilling as her husband’s had been that memorable night at White’s when Greg had stepped into the trap of his acquaintance and played him for a ticket to the Pearler’s winter ball. He’d been baited then but refused to do this now.
“Would you keep a log of the moves, please?” Greg handed Hermy a folded piece of paper with neat rows and a fountain pen.
She unfolded the paper. “It would be my pleasure.”
“Do you play at all?” Sophia asked.
“Oh, I’m just here to observe and note the moves.” Hermy took a seat next to a table little bigger than the wooden chessboard set on it. “Are you going to play black?”
Greg suppressed a chuckle at Hermy’s innocent question as though she knew nothing of chess. He nodded, his determination mirrored in Hermy’s eyes and neither betrayed the unspoken words between them. They recognized the gravity of this moment—not merely a confrontation with their hosts but a stand against the prejudices that had brought them here. With every word and gesture, they would be challenging the preconceptions that sought to define them, fighting not just for their friends but also for their love and for the right to exist beyond the constraints society imposed.
List opened with the usual moves and Greg responded in a manner that would leave him several options while guarding his pieces. No equal trades, no captures in the center. Not yet.
“Have you sent out invitations for the wedding yet, Lady Ellsworth?” Sofia asked as she stood behind her husband with her arms folded over her belly as if it only served her as a tray.
“No. It’s only going to be a ceremony in the closest circle.” Hermy wrote down every move, and Greg assumed she’d be calculating the next five for either color in her mind.
He eyed List whose gaze was focused on the chess board. In this small room in his rented home, List dropped the magnanimous airs he usually displayed in public. His hands were purple, almost blue. His eyes white-rimmed and the pallor in his face had an unhealthy grey tint. Greg knew that List’s three elder brothers were high-ranking Prussian royals who’d called him the runt of the litter, and that Eve Pearler had once sent List the courtesy card of a physician. Something was wrong with him beyond a bad bishop move on the fourth rank.
Sofia shot burning flames of red-hot hatred toward Greg who ignored her. “Our ceremony was very small, as well.”
List had a chance to fork Greg with the white knight if he saw the opportunity. It would put his ahead in points but not necessarily in the game.
“It’s about the marriage for me, not the wedding,” Hermy said, continuing to take careful notes of the game.
“But your dress is going to be beautiful. And the lingerie with the garters is most becoming on a young bride,” Sofia said, obviously intending to distract Greg.
Every bride’s trousseau had garters, there was nothing to think about.
If the rook protects the queen, the bishop is open.
Greg continued to calculate the next moves and tried to anticipate what List would do next.
“I don’t think much of lace because I prefer the ruching of the garters in a sheer muslin. However, with the Belgian lace that Mrs. Pearler fancies, you will look like an astonishingly beautiful bride on your wedding night.”
Must not be distracted, Greg told himself.
Hermy remained still, noting the three dots that indicated Greg’s move with black would be next.
Sofia tsked, then inhaled sharply. “How absolutely charming that your dress is so light but upon wedding the Black Knight, you’ll be donning black lace in his honor.”
Greg looked up to see Hermy was bright pink. So it was true, she’d wear black lace for him on their wedding night.
Hermy circled the blank space on the paper, showing Greg that he had a turn to make.
The pent-up dreams of the last five years bubbled up in his imagination and took a new shape.
Draped in black lace, with garters and sheer stockings, he imagined Hermy astride on him, panting his name. Greg, oh Greg.
“Greg?”
She’d rub herself against his length with all her need and he wanted nothing more than to lift his hips and push deeply into her.
“Greg, it’s your turn.”
Oh yes, he’d have a turn, but first, he wanted to hear her screaming his name.
“Gregory Stone, make your move!”
Greg was startled and shook his head when he saw Hermy’s stern look, her eyes red and angry. Not at all red and hot.
I want to take you home now, black lace or not. I cannot wait any more.