Chapter Seventeen
It was the night of the chess tournament and Jules was both excited and nervous.
He hadn’t had any more lessons with Meredith.
Selling the Francois Gérard had taken him far north, but it had been worth several days of bone-rattling, teeth-jarring traveling, as he’d made more than double by selling it to the Duke of Farrington, a fabulously wealthy man who lived in a castle on a hill and had a penchant for poetry despite being built like a lumberjack.
The duke had been a charming host and Jules had dined on pheasant in his company and that of his wife, a keen artist herself, and the duke’s energetic sister.
But now here he was, back in London and flexing his fingers, ready for his turn in the tournament. His mind was full of moves and strategies—the Queen’s Gambit, Ruy Lopez, and Sicilian Defense—and he wanted to empty his brain of everything so that he could concentrate to his maximum ability.
It was not an easy task, though. The Lyon’s Den’s main gambling room was full to the brim with spectators. Who knew chess could draw such an audience? The bar staff was taking a pretty packet and he could see wagers being placed on who would win the grand prize.
The stage was set with a wooden table and two straight-backed chairs.
On it sat a brass clock and a marble chess set that was currently being played by two men Jules didn’t recognize.
It was a sudden-death game, so whoever won stayed seated until someone else beat him.
A member of the wolf pack stood beside the table, a judicator of sorts, Jules imagined.
He sipped on an elderflower cordial, no wine for him this evening despite the fact that it would calm his nerves.
He looked around the room and spotted the woman with the snake around her neck. It really was an incredible creature. She was talking to the Duke of Newgale, who seemed quite taken with both her and the snake.
Continuing to look around, he spotted Mrs. Dove-Lyon in the shadows of the upper balcony. Dressed all in black and with a veil hiding her face, she was presiding over her establishment with keen, all-seeing eyes.
It was then he spotted Meredith. Her gown was the dark-green, crushed velvet one he’d bought her in Paris to make amends for the one he’d torn in passion.
It fitted her curves to perfection and made her pale skin all the more alluring…
kissable. She was standing near the stage with her concentration firmly on the chess game.
His heart did a silly, little extra beat and he tensed slightly to stop himself from going over to her.
Having a slap to his cheek, which had shown the imprint of her fingers for the rest of the evening, and having a door slammed in his face was a message he’d received loud and clear.
Stay away.
“Checkmate!” One of the players stood up and punched the air excitedly.
Meredith nodded at the judicator, who held up his right hand. “And the winner is Lord Ralph Mason.”
A cheer went around the room as Lord Ralph stood up and took a bow.
“And the next competitor is the Duke of Newgale.”
A round of applause.
“This must be the last game,” a man to Jules’s right said.
“I haven’t played yet.” Jules glanced at the clock. It was eleven at night.
“Then you will play the winner of this.”
“Yes, you are right.” Jules took a deep breath. The duke was a good player, very good—Meredith had admitted that—and Lord Ralph had just knocked out three other competitors in a row, which meant he was very good also and must have taken some beating.
It would take more than skill, tactics, and strategy for Jules to win against the duke; it would take some luck too.
But luck had been on his side before, many times. He just hoped he hadn’t used it all up.
The crowd talked quietly amongst themselves for the first three-quarters of the match, then when the chess pieces on the board became fewer and Lord Ralph had perspiration shining on his forehead, they became quiet.
Jules shoved his hand into his pocket and fiddled with a coin. Who was to be his opponent? The next few moves would decide it.
He glanced at Meredith. She’d given the duke lessons, but what about Lord Ralph? She’d never mentioned him, so perhaps not.
Suddenly, the duke jumped up and gave a whoop. “Checkmate.”
“Damn and blast.” Lord Ralph slammed his back onto the chair and folded his arms briskly. A frown slashed across his brow.
The judicator looked at Meredith.
She nodded.
Clearly, she was the expert and had to give final say on the winner.
“So that’s that,” Jules said, to himself more than anyone else. “It’s me and the Duke of Newgale fighting it out for victory.”
“May the luck of God be upon you.” The man at Jules’s side squeezed his shoulder. “And should I put a sovereign on you winning?”
“Why not one on us both? We are evenly matched.”
“But…?”
Jules stepped away as his name was called. As he walked past Meredith, he hoped she would acknowledge him, but all he got was a whiff of her sweet perfume. The one he had bought for her.
A hundred memories bombarded him. Their hotel room in Paris, the singing café, the gallery, the way her naked breasts looked with the moonlight caressing them.
“Welcome, Mr. Habsburg,” the judicator said as Jules stepped on stage. “I wish you luck.”
“Thank you kindly.”
The duke stood and they shook hands over the chessboard. “I was hoping we’d meet.”
“Really?” Jules shrugged. “We have had the same teacher. Surely, that means we know each other’s moves.”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“If she treated us to the same experience.” The duke laughed.
Jules snapped in a breath and had to force himself not to turn to Meredith. What on earth had the duke meant by that?
“Take your seats,” the judicator said. “Are you comfortable with the rules and the timings?” He pointed at the clock.
Jules nodded and tried his best to push all thoughts from his mind. Forty pounds was at stake, a pretty penny that would pay for some of his recent art purchases. “Absolutely.”
The duke nodded.
“Ladies and gentlemen, prepare yourselves for the most exciting chess game you have ever witnessed,” the judicator called to the crowd. “I ask for hush, and I ask that you enjoy the show.”
He tossed a coin, caught it, and looked at Jules.
“Heads,” he said.
The judicator removed his hand and revealed the coin to be heads.
“Mr. Jules Habsburg plays first.”
Jules rubbed his hands together and remembered all of the first moves Meredith had taught him. What was the one she’d spent the least time on, which would throw his opponent off the most or give him the largest number of outcomes?
He made his decision and made his opening move.
The duke nodded and scratched his ear.
Had Jules thrown him? Surely not.
The duke responded quickly, a pawn sliding his way.
A few minutes later, Jules could see one of his rooks could be in danger so moved to protect it.
Soon, play was moving swiftly. They were both thinking and acting fast, as though going slow might make things fall out of their minds and cost them the game.
Jules was utterly absorbed. He moved his queen and then lost a pawn. But it was okay; that had been his plan. Sacrifices had to be made.
Meredith’s words came back to him. “Plan as far forward as you can and for every eventuality.”
He took a sip of water and then used his kerchief to wipe his brow. The lamps on the stage were warm. He made the mistake of looking out at the sea of faces watching the game and felt his heartbeat quicken.
Concentrate.
He returned his full attention to the game and watched as the duke made a clever countermove.
Damn, the man was good. He hadn’t seen that coming.
Taking his time and studying the board, he worked out his best strategy. They were reaching the end game, so he had to be on top form.
He moved his king.
The duke moved a rook to a weak square.
Jules worked out his positions and took a gamble with a tactical repositioning of his queen.
It was then he saw it and his heart sank. He’d made a mistake. If the duke saw it too, he’d have Jules’s king boxed in within two moves.
And of course the duke saw it. His breathing picked up and he pulled on his ear. Excited. Getting ready to go for the kill.
There was nothing Jules could do about it and after two moves, the duke jumped up and punched the air.
“Checkmate.”
The crowd cheered, and there was much back-slapping and money exchanged as wagers came good.
Jules muttered a few curse words and frowned at the finished board. He should have known better; he did know better.
“Well done, old chap.” The duke held out his hand. “Great match.”
“Congratulations,” Jules said, forcing a smile. “You showed excellent skill.”
“And you too. I thought you were going to topple me a few times.” He clasped Jules’s shoulder. “A rematch sometime, yes? Over a brandy at my place.”
“I’d love that.”
Suddenly, Mrs. Dove-Lyon appeared on the stage. Her face was barely visible behind her veil and she held two envelopes.
The crowd quieted instantly.
“Gentlemen, I congratulate you both on reaching the final of the Lyon’s Den Chess Tournament. You have entertained us with your skill and nerves of steel.”
Jules didn’t feel like he had nerves of steel. It was taking every ounce of willpower not to look at Meredith. He didn’t want to see disappointment in her eyes.
Or pride for the duke’s win. That would be worse.
“Your Grace, here is your prize money.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon held the envelope to the duke.
“Thank you, thank you.” He beamed at the crowd.
“This money will fund my archaeological trip to the very north of Scotland, where it is said an ancient Viking settlement named Tillicoulty lies buried. What treasures will it hold? What information about our ancestors?” He tapped the side of his head and excitement shone in his eyes.
“These are questions that keep me awake at night and now I will get to go on a quest to find them out.”
His gaze fell on Meredith’s friend, the woman with the snake around her neck, who fluttered her eyelashes and then quickly looked away.
The duke cleared his throat. “And if I may, I would like to thank my chess tutor, Miss Meredith Jones, without whom my success would not have been possible.”
He gestured to Meredith, who smiled shyly and ducked her face to the floor.
“Thank you,” he said again. “For everything.”
Jules frowned but only briefly because then Mrs. Dove-Lyon handed him an envelope that he presumed held his runner-up prize money.
“Thank you.” He looked at the crowd’s expectant faces.
He had no exotic trips planned to discover ancient ancestors, so he turned to Meredith and looked her in the eyes.
“Like His Grace, I am indebted to my chess tutor, Miss Meredith Jones. A skilled, talented woman who could, I believe, beat any man here.”
“‘Meredith Jones’?” a gruff voice piped up. “What are you talking about, old chap? That is Meredith Habsburg, your wife, you fool. You told me as much in Paris, remember?”
Meredith’s cheeks paled as she looked into the crowd.
Jules followed her line of sight.
And standing there, in top hat and tails, stood Mr. Delaware, the man whom he had last seen in Paris and introduced to his pretend wife.
Hell’s bells!
Jules’s stomach did a flip and his mouth dried. This was a pickle for him, that was true, but Meredith… This would upset her monumentally.
And he was right. She clasped her hand over her mouth, and with wide, doe eyes, fled from the room. The crowd parted for her and a rising crescendo of excited chatter followed her footfalls.
“Mr. Habsburg,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said briskly. “I believe you have some explaining to do.”
Jules mashed his lips together and glared at Mr. Delaware.
Of all the damn nights for him to turn up at the Lyon’s Den.
It just had to have been this one. And much as Jules had expected trouble from him at some point for buying the Francois Gérard from right beneath his nose, this he hadn’t anticipated.