Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
“Atwist?”
“How confident are you in your chess skills?”
“Very.”
“I see.” He cocked his head at her, scratching over his beard in thought. “Then, a challenge.”
His heart began to pound in his chest at what he was about to ask. Isabella had been brazen in approaching him, and he had pushed her away.
Everything in him demanded that he stop himself now before he made any inane suggestions, yet he could not. He kept on resisting her, but she kept on coming back. Surely that meant something. Besides, what was a little teasing during a thunderstorm to distract her?
Yes, he told himself. That is it. Even if she cannot be attracted to me, she will surely welcome a distraction.
“I have been pushing you away,” he acknowledged.
“But if you will let me, I do not wish to this afternoon.” Isabella’s eyes widened, and he heard her breath catch.
It caught again in the next moment when another growl of thunder rumbled.
He spoke quickly, drawing her attention back from the window.
“If you are so capable, this challenge will not be hard. Whenever I take a piece from your side of the board, I will get a kiss from you.”
Isabella gasped softly, and Oscar let his smirk deepen.
“And in return?” Her voice was breathless. “If I take a piece from you?”
“Then I will remove an item of clothing. A boot, my cravat, my shirt. It can depend on your choice. But the choices are all yours, Isabella.”
In that way, he offered himself up while giving her the chance to see as much of him as she dared.
“Yes,” she agreed quickly enough to assure him that he had just presented her with something good.
Secretly, Oscar knew he would win. He did not have to worry, for he was good enough at chess that he would surely lose no more than two or three items of clothing. Depending on her choices, he might not be too bare.
He grinned at her wickedly as they both hovered their hands over their pieces. Her own was just as impish.
“Do prepare yourself to lose, husband,” Isabella purred.
“Likewise, wife.”
Her lashes fluttered at the growl in his voice.
And then their game began. He gestured for Isabella to take her turn first. She did, moving her pawn with deliberate thought. He was not a fool enough to think that she was battling difficulty in the game. She wanted him to underestimate her; he knew that, but he only watched her amusedly.
“Trouble, Duchess?” he went along with her ploy.
“Not at all,” she breathed. “None whatsoever.”
She settled on a space, lifting her gaze to him. He was struck by the sheer arrogance in her eyes.
Quickly, he moved his first pawn to begin ascending onto hers. They went back and forth like that for a few turns, none of them catching the other yet.
“I thought you were adept at this,” Oscar laughed, looking at her.
But as he did, Isabella moved and snatched up one of his pieces.
“I am,” she said smugly. “Take off your tailcoat.”
Oscar blanched. “I will take off a boot.”
“I recall you saying it was my choice.” Her eyes met his. “Are you afraid of your own challenge, Your Grace?”
Oh, the mockery of his title being used in such a way had his stomach flooding with warmth.
Gritting his teeth, he slowly took off his tailcoat, daring himself to see if she watched him do so.
He was not disappointed at the loosening of her breath or the lowering of her eyes to the way his dark shirt clung to his biceps.
“Yes, Your Grace?” he asked in that same mocking tone.
“Nothing,” she said quickly.
“Just like that day in the grove,” he muttered under his breath, but he was already moving a pawn to overtake hers, stealing the piece. His eyes locked on hers. “Well?”
It was a question, an assurance that she would not be kissing him against her will, but Isabella was already leaning over to him. It was chaste, a mere thing, nothing at all like the passionate kiss they had shared in the drawing room.
Still, it had something stirring in him.
When Isabella sat back, her face was pink.
She lowered her head to continue the game.
Soon, she had two more pieces of his taken, and Oscar was allowed to remove both boots, in lieu of only one, and then she lifted her chin as, on her next win, she declared, “Your cravat.”
“I see,” he murmured, unable to fight his pleased smile as he tore off the fabric around his collar.
While he was at it, he unfastened the top of his shirt, knowing the start of his scars would remain hidden. Isabella’s eyes still fell to his exposed throat.
Oscar fought to compose his own breathing in turn. It seemed his wife was a more worthy opponent than he had anticipated. To his own surprise, Oscar’s hand shook slightly as he found a move that would allow him to take another piece.
“I believe this garners me a longer kiss,” he teased. “Simply for being an excellent player.”
This time, when Isabella leaned over the chessboard, he met her halfway and caught her mouth against his.
She didn’t pull away after a brief second, and he held her there with a loose hand on her cheek before letting her go.
She tasted like the chocolates she had brought in, the fruity wine she must have continued sipping on, yet she was not intoxicated, much like him.
He could see the clarity in her eyes, and that assured him.
They continued playing until all their pawns were either safely away from capture or taken.
This time, his bishop was at stake, and to his surprise, Isabella figured out, with a couple of moves, how to steal it.
Triumph bloomed on her features as she instructed him to remove another element of clothing.
“Your waistcoat,” she said.
He nodded, obliging her, not one to back down from a challenge. He made a display of unbuttoning it slowly, enjoying how she seemed to hold her breath, watching. He stripped it off and laid it over the arm of the sofa behind him. It joined his other items of clothing.
He had not had as many kisses as he had thought he would, and that rather disappointed him.
They continued playing, dancing around one another on the board. It was more intense than any ballroom dance floor could provide them.
The next item he knew she would go for would be his shirt, but he knew he could not strip that off, not yet.
He was not ready for Isabella to see the patchwork of scars that marred his otherwise honed body.
He had fought to be strong, but his past cut through his skin, and he was not sure she was ready for the sight.
He was not certain he was ready to bear it, either.
Looking down at his board, he chuckled darkly. “Oh, Isabella.” His voice lowered; he let it fall into a drawl. “It appears I have won.”
With a flourish, he stole her queen and looked up at her as he held the piece aloft between his thumb and forefinger. He barely let her get out a stuttered response before he caught her face properly in his hands, the queen piece clattering to the board, and he kissed her.
He kissed her as deeply as he had been yearning to for too long, and this time, he would not back away. He would not let his fear stop him—not when her gaze had been searing him up and down, both of them distracted from the thunderstorm outside.
The taste of the wine and chocolate on her tongue intoxicated him more than any brandy could, and he groaned into her mouth, barely breaking the kiss to rise from his seat. He was finished with holding himself back.
Isabella made a surprised noise as he shifted his body to stand over her, pulling her easily to her feet without ever parting from her mouth.
His tongue against hers, twining with it.
The noise she made, soft and breathy, only made his hands reach for her.
He pressed her back against the chessboard, not caring if it would not hold.
He would hold her.
His fingers bunched in her dress at her hips, and his own deep moan responded to hers.
His hand slid down the side of her thigh, pressing his fingers into fabric and flesh.
Heavens, he felt like he could devour her.
She smelled like sugar and honey, and he wondered why, wondered how he might lick the scents from her skin.
His head spun at the sheer pressure of it all, and he unleashed his desires on her. Her body was tugged flush against his own, and he kissed her deeper, dipping her over the chessboard. The pieces scattered to the floor, but he didn’t care.
“I want you.” His voice was too ragged; his composure shot to pieces. “I cannot keep pulling away. I cannot keep pushing you away, either.”
“Then do not,” she whispered, and when he looked into her eyes, he found them earnest and beckoning. She truly did want him back.
“Isabella,” he groaned, pressing his forehead to hers. “If you want me to stop, you must say—”
“I have been told too many times what I ought to do and not do,” she told him. “Do not do the same. I am not doing anything here that I have not craved for as long as you.”
“You truly mean it?”
“I have never meant anything more.”