Chapter 5
Phoebe attacked her breakfast toast with such ferocity that one might have assumed a butter famine was imminent in London. Corinna sat on the opposite side of the table, nursing her tea, watching the butter-laden tower on her aunt’s plate rise to precarious heights.
Phoebe was not actually eating. She was simply holding her silver knife suspended in midair, her gaze resting heavily on Corinna.
Corinna shifted in her chair, the fine hair on the back of her neck prickling under the intense scrutiny. She felt as though she were a painting being evaluated for forgery. Why is she looking at me as if I am a puzzle missing a crucial piece?
“Phoebe,” Eleanor murmured, setting down her teacup with a delicate, nervous clatter. “If you scrape any more butter onto that slice, I fear the plate shall collapse under the weight entirely. Your appetite is quite frightening this morning.”
“I am fortifying myself, Eleanor,” Phoebe replied, her eyes never leaving Corinna. “London requires a great deal of fortitude. And bread. Do you not agree, Corinna? Does the city not demand a certain resilience?”
Corinna lowered her gaze, acutely aware of the heavy silence stretching across the table.
“I imagine any place with so many people requires a sturdy pair of shoes and excellent hearing,” she answered, choosing her words carefully.
“And patience,” Phoebe added, her tone sharpening just a fraction. “Or perhaps the ability to discern who is wearing a mask and who is merely hiding their face.”
“I cannot imagine why you need such fortitude, Aunt Phoebe,” Vivienne chirped.
She smoothed the pristine lace of her pale pink morning gown, completely oblivious to the undercurrents swirling around the toast rack.
“The Season is a triumph. Lord Ravenswood was entirely captivated by me in the park yesterday. He hung upon my every word. He actually looked devastated when a carriage passed between us. It is quite clear that the arrangement our fathers made is going to be the most successful match in the history of the ton.”
“I am certain he found your opinions on the weather absolutely revolutionary,” Corinna noted into her teacup, her voice barely a whisper.
Vivienne glared, her blue eyes snapping toward Corinna with the speed of a striking snake.
“You are merely jealous. You spent the entire ride yesterday walking in the dust with his secretary, a man who barely spoke a single word to you. It must be exhausting to be so thoroughly ignored by the help. Perhaps you should try wearing a brighter color. Navy blue is so terribly depressing.”
“I find silence to be quite restful,” Corinna answered mildly. “It saves one from having to apologize for nonsense later.”
Before Vivienne could launch a proper, full-volume counterattack, the heavy mahogany doors of the breakfast room opened.
“The Earl of Ravenswood and Mr. Julian Marsh have arrived for their morning call, madam,” the butler announced, his face perfectly impassive.
Eleanor immediately stood, knocking her knee against the table and smoothing the front of her gown with frantic, fluttering hands. “Oh, goodness. Show them into the drawing room at once. Vivienne, pinch your cheeks. Corinna, pray, look as if you have slept.”
They gathered in the grand drawing room just as the two gentlemen were escorted inside.
Julian stepped forward first. He wore a brilliant plum coat, his dark eyes sparkling as he offered a sweeping, flawless bow.
He commanded the center of the room immediately, greeting Eleanor and Vivienne with a shower of practiced, poetic compliments that made Vivienne giggle like a schoolgirl.
Edmund followed a few paces behind.
Corinna watched him step over the threshold. He wore a plain, remarkably subdued dark brown coat that pulled tightly across his broad shoulders, as if the fabric were actively trying to contain him. He looked entirely out of place in the delicate, gilded drawing room.
His cropped blond hair caught the morning light from the windows, and his blue eyes immediately swept the corners of the space. He cataloged the exits, the furniture, and the occupants before he finally allowed himself to stand still.
He looked like a large, dangerous wolf forced into a decorative birdcage.
He took a seat on a small, uncomfortable chair slightly apart from the main gathering.
He kept his large hands firmly over his knees, his jaw tight and hard, staring at a floral pattern on the rug with an expression of profound suffering.
Vivienne immediately claimed the center sofa, patting the cushion beside her to ensure Julian sat exactly where she wanted him. She directed her entire performance toward the wealthy earl.
“My lord, we were just discussing the upcoming theatre,” Vivienne said loudly. “Do you have a fondness for the stage?”
Julian leaned forward, his smile radiant. “I find the stage absolutely delightful, Miss Ashwell. Though I confess, the actors rarely hold my attention when there is far more compelling beauty sitting right in the audience.”
Vivienne let out a high, musical laugh. Eleanor beamed with the unmistakable expression of a mother already planning the wedding breakfast.
Corinna deliberately chose a chair near the edge of the room, positioning herself directly opposite the silent secretary. The room was effectively split into two distinct spheres. There was the loud, flirtatious center occupied by her sister, and the quiet, observant periphery.
Corinna looked across the space and caught Edmund’s eye. He looked suffocated. He shifted his weight on the tiny chair, looking as though he might snap the wooden legs at any moment. Corinna decided to see exactly what lay beneath that controlled exterior.
“I find London society to be rather like a messy endgame,” Corinna said, raising her voice just enough to carry clearly across the room. “Everyone is desperately protecting their king, but no one seems to know what the knights are actually doing.”
Edmund’s head snapped up.
The boredom vanished from his blue eyes in an instant. His broad shoulders tensed beneath his cheap brown coat, and he stared at her, clearly surprised by the metaphor.
“Perhaps,” Edmund replied, his deep voice cutting cleanly through the noise of Vivienne’s chatter, “the knights prefer to stay on the margins until a clear path presents itself.”
Corinna smiled, feeling a spark of genuine triumph. He is not just a servant, she thought. He understands exactly how the board is set.
She glanced to her right. Aunt Phoebe had left her chessboard set up on a small table near the window. The boxwood and ebony pieces gleamed invitingly in the morning sun. Corinna looked back at the secretary, noting the sharp intelligence burning in his gaze.
“Do you fancy a game of chess, Mr. Marsh?” Corinna asked softly.
Edmund looked at the board, and then he looked back at Corinna. The tight line of his mouth softened just a fraction. “I have been known to engage in a game or two, Miss Ashwell.”
They stood simultaneously and walked over to the small table, leaving the flirtation on the sofa entirely behind them. Edmund pulled out a chair for Corinna, waiting until she was completely seated and her skirts were settled before taking the opposite side.
The small table forced them into proximity. Corinna could smell the clean scent of soap and wool clinging to his coat. She took the boxwood pieces, resting her fingers lightly on her pawns.
“I prefer to take the initiative,” Corinna said softly. She moved her king’s pawn forward two spaces. “Waiting for permission is a terrible strategy.”
Edmund did not hesitate. He mirrored her move instantly with a black pawn. “A bold opening, Miss Ashwell.”
They fell into a rapid, silent rhythm. They moved the pieces across the board with practiced speed, advancing knights and bishops in a fierce, unspoken battle for the center squares.
Corinna watched his hands. They were large, callused, and surprisingly graceful as he manipulated the delicate ebony pieces.
The space between them grew incredibly warm. The polite noise of her sister’s conversation faded, leaving only the soft click of the pieces on the wooden board and the steady sound of their breathing.
When Corinna reached across the board to capture a pawn, her knuckles brushed lightly against his.
The contact was electric.
Corinna inhaled sharply, pulling her hand back a second too late.
She looked up. Edmund was already looking at her.
His blue eyes were dark and intensely focused, completely stripped of the bored, subservient mask he wore for the rest of the room.
The heat in his gaze made her breath catch in her throat.
He is entirely too observant, she realized. And he is looking at me as if he knows all my secrets.
“You favor a very aggressive defense, Mr. Marsh,” Corinna managed to say. She stared at the center squares to avoid looking at his mouth.
“I am merely protecting my position,” Edmund said quietly.
“You are entirely too willing to sacrifice your pieces to do it,” she countered, pointing to the bishop he had just deliberately left wide open.
“Sometimes a sacrifice is necessary to see the opponent’s true position,” Edmund replied. His voice dropped an octave, vibrating in the small space between them.
Corinna felt a flush of heat rise in her cheeks. He was absolutely not talking about the pieces on the board. The air felt thick and heavy. Every time he moved a piece, she felt the subtle shift of his broad shoulders, the quiet, measured intake of his breath.
The game continued for ten more agonizing, thrilling minutes. It was fiercely close and challenging in a way Corinna had never experienced before. Finally, she saw the opening. She maneuvered her rook into a devastating position, trapping his black king against the back rank.
“Checkmate,” Corinna announced softly.