Chapter Five
Jules refilled both glasses and sat.
Meredith had reset the chessboard and he let out a long, low breath. He was enjoying himself.
He was enjoying the chess and her company.
Which was unusual. Not many women captured his attention.
Lady Eloise, the Duke of Marlborough’s daughter, on the private terrace, had spoken of a new embroidery stitch she’d mastered and a bird—he forgot what species—who had a nest in the vegetable garden.
No wonder he’d lingered; his mind had wandered to thoughts of a meal he had been planning to ask his cook to prepare.
Duck with an orange sauce. He’d just sampled it and it was delicious.
Meredith picked up her wine and took a small sip. Her mind seemed to be already on the game and a small line sat between her brows.
“You first again?” he suggested.
“No.” She shook her head. “I have turned the board around. You are white now. Thought I’d shake up our chain of thinking.”
“Good idea.”
“And this time…” She set down her wine and pointed at him. “I want you to think at least four moves ahead.”
“Four moves? Is that possible? There are so many possibilities!”
“That is the only way to master chess, the only way to win tournaments. You must be able to see every outcome for every piece yet not give anything away to your opponent.”
“A bit like brag?”
“Exactly like brag. Say nothing with your expression but read what you can from the other player or players.”
He studied her. “And if I can’t do four moves ahead?”
“You will be able to, and what’s more, after several lessons, you’ll be able to counter eight moves ahead.”
He laughed. “You are optimistic.”
“I have faith in my student.” Her eyes flashed in the golden light and the right side of her mouth twitched. His heart did a strange, little squeeze. This woman spoke in a way no one else ever had with him. She looked at him with both humor and intelligence and just a little bit of amusement.
And he liked it—a lot.
“Right we are.” He rubbed his hands together, the friction heating his skin. “Let’s do this.”
“Plan your moves.”
They started playing and he studied the board, finding he wanted to please her, to gain her approval for his strategy.
After a few moments of silence, she sipped her wine again. “Are you thinking about my next moves, all the ones possible?”
“That, I am.” He tapped the side of his head.
She still won the game, but he felt like his had improved.
“Very good,” she said. “You were much more thoughtful and less reactive that time.”
He sat back and stretched out his fingers on the table. “I’m glad you think so.”
“I do.” She tipped her head. “Habsburg, it’s an unusual name, don’t you think?” She paused. “Unless, of course, you’re part of the famous Habsburg dynasty.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Which I am.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize.” She bobbed her head. “Your Highness.”
“I am not ‘Your Highness.’” A familiar knot of frustration caught in his belly.
“Centuries ago, my great-grandfather—well, times that by several greats—Maximilian of Austria, sired a son with a lady member of his father’s court.
That son is my direct ancestor, meaning so is Maximilian I and his father before that. ”
“And you know this how?” She raised one eyebrow.
“It is a family story, passed down the generations, and that son, who grew up in Vienna, he used the name Habsburg so that we’d never forget where we came from.”
“And Maximilian didn’t marry this woman who became pregnant?”
“No, he was promised to Mary of Burgundy. His father had brokered a deal that could not be undone. There was lots of money and land involved, a marriage that would ultimately amass more power for the Habsburgs, which incidentally is how they rose to power: clever, strategic marriages, not war. It is said that Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, Maximilian’s grandson, ruled over so much land east to west that the sun never set on his empire. ”
“I see.” She folded her arms and nodded. “And you resent this? That you didn’t step in their shoes?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“I can’t pretend to know much about the history of the Habsburg family, but didn’t one of them raise an armada to attack our own Queen Elizabeth?”
“Yes, indeed.” He stood and walked to a dwindling candle, using it to light a new one. “That was King Philip of Spain. He was a staunch Catholic and hated that England no longer was.”
“Are you Catholic?”
“No, my father raised me Protestant. Like most folk around here.”
She was quiet and he turned to look at her. “You appear to want to say something, Meredith.”
“Do I?”
“Yes, please, feel free.”
She tipped her head. “Jules, you said I could call you that.”
“Indeed.”
“It seems to me you are a wealthy, intelligent man of standing here in the city of London.”
He waited for her to go on.
“With fine clothes, money in your pocket, and an education. Why would you want for more?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“No, I don’t think so. How would people ever be able to experience contentment if that were the case?”
“Are you content, Meredith?” He leaned his back on the wall and pushed his hands into the pockets of his pants, curious for her answer.
“I believe I have moments of contentment.”
“Which are?”
“Mmm, perhaps when spending time with my mother, or chatting with a friend. I am content here at the Lyon’s Den…for now.”
“‘For now’?”
“I can’t imagine I will stay living under Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s roof forever.”
“No, I can’t imagine you will. Some gentleman will want to put a ring on your finger and steal you away.”
“I’m not sure about that.” She gave a derisive laugh.
“As a betting man, I’d put money on it.”
She snapped her head up to look at him and her lips tightened. “Please don’t.”
He held up a hand, surprised by her shocked expression. “Okay, I won’t.” He paused. “But why not?”
“It is not my destiny to be married. Or at least that is the way it is looking for me.”
“And you believe in destiny?”
“Don’t you?”
“I’ve never thought about it.”
“You should. Imagine if Maximilian of Austria had married this distant relative of yours. You’d be Catholic, no doubt.
You wouldn’t live in London because of the big fallout after King Henry VIII, and most likely you’d have been married off, with no say in it, to someone who had status, titles, and wealth.
” She stood and brushed down the front of her pale-blue gown.
“And you know what they say about kings.”
“What?” He frowned.
“Uneasy is the head that wears a crown.” She paused. “You would constantly be looking over your shoulder.”
He stared at her, taking in her long neck, small chin, and delicate jawline. “Where is that quote from?”
“Shakespeare, Henry IV, Part II, I believe.”
“You really are something.” He pushed away from the wall. “A brilliant card player, chess master, and reader of Shakespeare.”
She laughed suddenly, a light, little sound that made him smile. “I am not a reader of Shakespeare. My mother is, though, and often quotes him. That is one I remember.”
“And a good one, as someone interested in history, not just England, but all of Europe. You are right, or rather, Shakespeare is right.”
“There is always someone plotting to steal a king’s crown, is there not?”
He nodded and stepped up close to her. The scent of soap and powder filled his nose. “Always.”
“So what I am saying,” she whispered, her voice softer now, “is that your destiny places you here. You might not have vast swathes of land or titles, but you can live a good life, marry whom you choose, and sleep easy at night.”
“I do sleep easy…mostly.” He tucked his index finger beneath her chin and tipped her face to his. “Do you?”
Her breath hitched and he saw the same desire in her eyes that he knew was in his.
“Mostly,” she repeated his word.
“And tonight,” he whispered, his lips now so close to hers, he could feel her warm breath, “I will dream of a pretty, little maiden who commands a chessboard with great skill and talks of destiny the way most people plan a meal.”
“Jules,” she whispered, “what are you—”
He pressed his lips to hers, bracing as he did so in case she shoved him away and slapped his cheek.
But she didn’t. The intriguing woman now in his arms allowed the kiss to deepen and his tongue to find hers.
When he pulled back, they were both breathless.
“What are you doing?” She touched her damp lips.
“Kissing a pretty maiden.”
“I am not pretty.” She frowned. “And Jules Habsburg, you really are as scandalous as everyone says.” She stepped away and wrapped her arms around herself as though blocking him from approaching.
“You are pretty to me.” His shoulders tensed, the lovely relaxed feeling of moments ago vanishing. “And who says I am scandalous?”
“Everyone.” She shook her head. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon, Nancy…”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon wasn’t a surprise. “Who is Nancy?”
“My friend here.” She glanced at the door.
“You can leave if you wish,” he said. “I will never breathe a word of this. It was just… I was… You were irresistible. I had to steal a kiss.”
“Like you did on the private terrace with the Duke of Marlborough’s daughter?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Ah, so you heard about that?”
“It’s true, then?” Her cheeks flushed and she looked nervously at the clock.
“The private terrace, not the kiss. I had no desire to kiss her then and I have no desire to now. To say we are not compatible is an understatement.” He risked a step closer. “But you… You have captured my mind, Meredith. What else is there about you for me to learn?”
“I’m sorry…but I have to go.” Again, she glanced at the door and this time, she made toward it. “Please, I bid you farewell.”
“But…”
She was gone. In an instant. All he had left of her was the lingering taste of sweet wine and pretty woman on his lips. “Damn it,” he muttered. He should have guessed she’d startle like a deer. Subtlety had never been his strong point, or patience, for that matter.
But determination was a quality he had. Giving up wasn’t an option. No matter what he was doing or whom he was pursuing.