She spied a hint of red at the top of his ears.
Darcy mirrored her move, a standard response. She noted his discomfort, his distraction.
Her next move was her bishop to the weak square near his king. It was a bold move since a knowledgeable player would recognize the threat. She could see that his mind was elsewhere, the way his eyes darted from the board to her face and back. Was he reflecting on his guilt? Her anger?
He moved his knight, a reasonable move, though it placed him in danger.
“Your move was…adequate, Mr. Darcy. Much like your manners at the assembly, I suppose.”
He jerked back, apparently stung. “Miss Bennet, I have said you deserve to say your worst. I shall not defend myself.”
The colonel hovered over his shoulder, studying the board. “Darcy, you need to concentrate.”
Quickly, Elizabeth moved to queen, setting up the killing blow, threatening both the pawn and checkmate. If he were not tired or distracted, even a beginning player would recognize the strategy.
He attacked the queen, a fatal blunder.
“Sir, I wonder, can you see the next move? Or do you simply assume your superiority will carry the day?”
He frowned, studying the board. But it was too late.
Sliding her queen across the board, his king could not escape. Total devastation in four moves. “Checkmate.”
Her father clapped. “Less than five minutes, Lizzy.”
“I confess, I expected you to last at least six, Mr. Darcy. You obviously have bodily strength—you made it to the field of battle this morning. You obviously lack heart, sir. Is your brain absent as well?” She could hear the ice in her voice. “But then, you did say I was merely tolerable. Did you assume a country miss could pose no real challenge? Or were your disappointingly abysmal moves a deliberate ploy to give me the win to assuage your guilt?”
He was quiet. “You won fairly.”
She began resetting the pieces into position. “Is this a habit of yours, assuming your superiority without bothering to prove it?”
Mr. Darcy leaned back from the table. “I have been foolish. You set the trap perfectly, and I walked right into it of my own volition. Four moves to checkmate. My father and my tutors would be ashamed.” He looked at Elizabeth. “The move is called Fool’s Mate for a reason, I fear. I learned it when I was barely out of leading strings. Therefore, do not spare me your ire, I beg you.”
Elizabeth noted his vulnerability. Her heart softened, but she crushed it ruthlessly. She would not be moved. Not yet. “Shall we proceed to game two, Mr. Darcy? Or would you prefer to forfeit now? I would be disappointed. It is not often that I am able to play someone other than my father.”
“You have earned the right to defeat me as thoroughly as you wish. I will not forfeit, Miss Bennet. With that said, this time, I will keep my mind on the game.”
Richard said, “Good heavens, Darcy. Where were you?”
His eyes still on her, he replied, “Elsewhere. But I am focused now.”
Tipping her head to the side, she studied him as closely as he was staring at her. “Before we begin our second game, I must ask. Did you honestly believe I meant to take your life or draw first blood?”
He closed his eyes, and his head bowed. Inhaling deeply, he regained his composure.
“In truth, I had no idea what to expect. Being prepared for any eventuality is my nature.”
“I see.” Elizabeth selected the black pieces and moved them into place. “This time, you shall begin, Mr. Darcy.”
3
Darcy wished the flask in his saddlebag was filled with coffee rather than brandy. His throat was dry even as moisture from the swirling mist covered every surface. Running the tip of his tongue over his lips, he studied the board. Though he deserved it, he would not be humiliated again.
Before he could move his first piece, Miss Bennet suggested, “Perhaps you should pretend you are playing your father, sir.”
“My father died almost six years ago,” he blandly stated, clearly discomposing her.
Recovering herself, she whispered, “I beg your pardon.”
