Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Tessa could tell by the way Tilbury told a story, that he was likely an excellent vicar.
He knew when to pause, when to speak quietly, when to stop to shake his head.
He had a kind smile for Lady Chattaway and Tessa whenever he looked their way, and he’d attended to them both tirelessly since they’d adjourned to the parlor after dinner.
Handsome, amiable, approved by her father.
He was perfect.
Tilbury threw back his head and laughed, a response to his uncle’s conversation, and Tessa offered him a smile that caught his eye.
“That is a bold color, Miss King.” His gaze slipped down her gown, which was a lovely plum satin with a low bodice trimmed with gold braid.
“The paler colors do not suit me.”
“I should think the colors of innocence suit all noble women.”
Lord Brawly clapped a hand on Tilbury’s shoulder, and Tessa breathed more easily without the weight of his regard.
She stared out the window at the black beyond the glass and let the buzzing merriment of the party slip away.
She’d been by Tilbury’s side almost entirely since yesterday morning, and while he’d done nothing to insult her, he’d done nothing to interest her, either.
He seemed to consider her a task complete.
Did she want to be a task to her husband? Or did she want more? Ha! Like what? Love? She wasn’t a lovable kind of woman. If she wanted a husband, a home, and children, an amiable marriage of convenience was the best she could hope for.
The darkness was thick and warm, and if she walked outside, it might suffocate her, but—
What was that? A deep voice rolled toward her on a velvet wave. She blinked back into the parlor and tuned out Tilbury’s voice, searching for another. Yes, there.
She left, and no one seemed to notice. Naturally.
The voice drew her into the hallway and to its very end, toward a room there, door open.
The first sliver of space inside the room was fire-yellow and leaping, and that space between the door frame broadened with each step, revealing a few men and women gathered close around the fire.
Remmy sat with them, singing. It had been so long since she’d heard his voice wrapped like satin around a melody. She leaned against the frame, closed her eyes, and let the song carry her away.
“O my Luve is like a red, red rose / That’s newly sprung in June; / O my Luve is like the melody / That’s sweetly played in tune. / So fair art thou, my bonnie lass, / So deep in luve am I; / And I will luve thee still, my dear, / Till a’ the seas gang dry.”
When he finished singing, the room settled into a pleased sort of silence, and she opened her eyes.
And found Remmy staring right at her. He lifted one corner of his mouth, and his gold earring glinted in the firelight.
Her heart tripped, as if it couldn’t find the correct rhythm, and she rubbed circles into her chest just above the edge of her bodice.
She’d avoided him since yesterday morning.
He’d been rude and unbearable as well as protective and sweet, and the new duality of his nature made her want to hug him and hit him.
He seemed a great loss to her, so far away, she’d never reach him again.
But his song, so sweet and rough, traveled over that chasm to her, and when he stood, slow as a feline stretching and prowled toward her, she greeted him with a smile.
“Good evening,” he said, leaning against the opposite side of the frame. “I thought you were angry with me.”
“I am. I heard your voice, and I’m afraid not even being tied to a mast would have saved me from seeking you out. Why must the most irritating men be the most talented?”
His eyes smiled, but only briefly. “I do not like it when we are at odds.”
“Neither do I.”
“I should not have been so crude.”
“No, you should not have.”
“Dare I ask for forgiveness?”
“Not quite yet.”
“You know,” Remmy drawled, “I continue to forgive you. Over and over again. It’s foolish of me, but I cannot control it.”
“When have I done anything requiring forgiveness?”
His laugh was low and dark, and she was afraid to look deeper into it. “I must be one of those men who like pain. Though I seem to only care for it when you’re the one wielding the whip.”
He was in an odd mood tonight. “You haven’t been drinking, have you?”
“Not a drop.”
She looked toward the group by the fire. “Are they sleeping?”
“Dozing. My grandmother’s friends. Lady Gainsmorrow remembered I’m an adequate singer and requested an impromptu performance. It seems I put them to sleep. Not exactly the result I’m looking for. In fact, a theatre owner’s nightmare.”
Hiding a smile, she searched the room, seeking out the small table that used to be—ah yes, still was—in a corner, bracketed by two chairs, and decorated with the delicate, martial lines of a chessboard.
“You may earn your forgiveness by playing a game of chess with me.” She made for the table, his heavy steps quick behind her.
“Are you sure you don’t wish to play with Tilbunny?” When she sat at the table, he took the opposite seat. He leaned back in it, hands clasped behind his head, long legs outstretched.
“Tilbury, and”—she sighed—“no.”
Near her skirts, his foot moved, swaying back and forth, flirting with the hem of her gown. “Is he not meeting with your approval?”
“He’s perfectly fine.”
“But here you are. With me. Why is that?”
“Because I’d rather be with you. You’re my friend.”
He winced and opened a drawer in the table. “Wield the whip again, King.”
“You’re making no sense tonight.” And his nonsense made her uncomfortable, squirmy.
It was a relief when he began to collect wooden chess pieces from the drawer. She organized them as he set them on the table until all were neatly arranged.
“I’m still no good,” she mumbled.
“Neither am I. That’s the fun of it.” He rubbed his hands together.
He always let her go first, and he did now.
She slid a pawn forward.
He did the same. “Do you think he’s scared to be on the front lines?” He nodded at his pawn.
“Oh no, he has always yearned for glory.” She moved another pawn. “But this one. He is terrified. Please do have mercy on him. Twelve children at home.”
So easy to fall into old, playful ways with this man. See! He was not so changed! Her spirits rose. She clung to the image of her old friend like a capsized sailor in the ocean, clinging to a shattered wood board.
“Twelve!” he exclaimed. “That is more than my mother. I do pity him. I have mercy, but, you see, this fellow”—he picked up his knight and tapped her nose with it—“does not. He’s a bringer of death.” He placed the knight on the board.
“Is he?” She picked up her bishop. “If that is true, the church should be warned. But I think he is simply a horse boy.” She scraped the bishop diagonally across the board.
“A horse boy?” Remmy moved the knight again, putting her bishop at peril.
“A young man who adores horses. Quite mad about them.”
“He sounds too innocent to go to war.”
“I quite agree.” She took his knight with a pawn and a neigh. “Let us remove him from peril.”
He laughed, throwing his head back and revealing the strong column of his throat. A bead of sweat inched down the side of it, and she wondered… She wondered what it tasted like. His lips had tasted of wine and brandy—spicy and delicious.
Heavens, and not a drop of wine had passed her lips tonight, either.
She cleared her throat and whispered, eyes still on that bead of sweat, “Your turn.”
He moved. She moved. He moved again, and they lost the thread of their story in thoughtless plays across the board. He didn’t even seem to be paying attention to the game. Wasn’t even looking at the board. Only at her.
He moved his king closer to her queen.
“I can take you there,” she warned.
“You can take me anywhere, sweetheart,” he mumbled.
She pressed a hand to her cheek—burning skin. She moved her queen, snapped up his king. “I think that’s called checkmate. I win!”
He looked pleased. “I think I win.”
“You did not. I know that much about chess at least.”
“I win your forgiveness.”
Oh. “You presumptuous arse. Leave now.”
He brayed like a donkey, and heavens, she couldn’t help but laugh.
The laughter blew away the dreary storm that had lingered between them.
He reached a hand across the table, palm up, beckoning. “What I said about your parents was wrong, Tessa, but I am just trying to protect you. It’s an old habit I cannot break.”
“I understand. And you are right… They often have cared more for my obedience than for my happiness. But it is more than what you said.”
Silence but for the crackle of the fire across the room. The fingers of his upturned palm twitched, lonely yet lovely.
She raised her hand, letting it hover over his palm, feeling his heat.
But she did not curve her fingers into his.
She snapped up a pawn instead and placed it in circle of other pieces on the board.
“Six years ago, I was like this pawn—no power of my own, not really, pushed about by everyone around me. My parents discarded me. Your mother found me a position. Lady Chattaway took me away from England. None of that was my decision. And I had no choice but to do as everyone around me said. And I was grateful for it. Then. Now… I am stronger.”
She moved the pawn out of the circle, set it in the very middle of the board.
“I have the chance to choose for myself how to move forward. But all those voices are still behind me. And yesterday, I felt them gathering around me once more. My father, Lady Chattaway, Tilbury. You.” That was the worst of it.
Remmy trying to hem her in. “You came charging after me yesterday to warn off Tilbury.” She picked up a knight and used it to knock over a bishop.
He winced.
“I will not be told what to do, Remmy. Not this time. Unless you have more choices to offer me, leave me be.”
“Choices.” He wet his lips, falling back into his seat. “I understand. I do. I’ve had few choices myself.”
“Ha.”