She picked up one of the crumpled papers and smoothed it out. The trim of her sleeve was slightly off. He had been teaching himself to capture her precisely.
“You spent all this time drawing me.” She met his eyes. “Thinking about me.”
“Every second I could spare.” He was close now, close enough that she could see the ink stains on his fingers, the evidence she had been noticing for weeks. “I wanted you to see what I saw. Not the woman I dismissed at the assembly, but the woman I have come to—” He stopped, the words too large for the moment.
“Come to what?” Elizabeth’s heart was pounding.
His eyes met hers, dark and intense. “Admire. Respect.” He paused. “Love.”
The word hung in the air between them.
“You love me?” Elizabeth repeated, trying to make sense of his admission. “You are drawing me because you love me?”
He gestured to the incomplete piece on the desk. “This, as you are aware, is Fool’s Mate. Do you understand what I am trying to say?”
She looked at the position of the pieces. “You walked into my trap. Four moves.”
“Yes.” He moved closer still, until they were standing side by side at the desk. “Four moves. Four moments that changed everything. The first—when you challenged me. The second—when I realized I was blind to your trap. The third—when you claimed my queen, and I understood how badly I underestimated you. The fourth—when you declared checkmate, and I knew, in that instant, that I would never be the same.”
He turned to face her fully. “Four moves, Elizabeth, and my heart was yours.”
Her eyes widened at hearing her given name from his lips.
“I know I have no right to your regard,” he said, laying out his vulnerability for her to see. “I know what I said at the assembly can never be unsaid. But Elizabeth—” Her name sounded like a prayer. “I have spent every day since trying to become the man who might deserve you. I have drawn these pieces not as an apology, but as a promise that I see you, that I value you, that I…”
“Love me,” she finished, her voice barely audible.
“Yes.” The word was simple, absolute. “God help me, yes.”
Elizabeth stared at him, the man who defended her to Miss Bingley without hesitation, who looked at her now as if she were the only woman in the world.
“I do not know what to say,” she said.
“You do not need to say anything.” He moved back, giving her space. “I do not expect…I am not asking for…” He ran his hand through his hair. “I simply needed you to know. To understand what you have done to me, what you mean to me.”
She counted the pieces on the desk. One was missing. “You sketched the whole chessboard, then divided the drawing into pieces?
“I did.” He lifted the corner of the paper. “Before I gave one of the pieces to you, I filled in the details.”
She had to ask. “The ninth piece, what will it show?”
His smile was slight. “You will have to wait and see. That is, if you wish to continue receiving them.”
“And if I do not?”
A bolt of pain crossed his face. “Then I will stop. Immediately. All of this…” He gestured to the papers on the desk. “Would be consigned to the fire. I would never?—”
“No!” The word burst from Elizabeth before she could stop it. “You cannot…” She stopped, realizing what she had revealed. Heat flooded her cheeks. Elizabeth drew a steadying breath. Boldly, she studied his face. “Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, I want to see the ninth piece.”
Hope flickered—no, blazed—in his expression. “You do?”
“Yes. I want to see how this story ends.”
“Then you shall.” He selected a finished piece, handling it with reverent care before offering it to her. “This is the sixth. Three more remain.”
“Three more encounters?”
“If you will grant them to me?”
