His pain reflected in her pupils. Her unexpected empathy unsettled him. Clearing his throat, he moved his first piece.
The atmosphere shifted—still tense but different. No longer hostile. More complex.
The cold gradually warmed as the sun rose. Their breath was not quite as visible.
He settled into his chair. Watching her.
She opened with Ruy Lopez, the King’s Pawn, mirroring him.
His hand was steadier, his concentration sharp. She had to notice the change in him because it appeared that she missed nothing about him.
From the corner of his eye, he saw his cousin shift his weight, settling in for a longer battle. As did Mr. Bennet.
Completely alert, his earlier distraction gone, he made his next move. They went back and forth, the dance of two skilled players. As he slid his next piece across the board, she smiled, her brow raised.
“How traditional. The Spanish Game, Mr. Darcy? Tell me, do you always walk in well-worn paths with everything you do? Or is it only in assembly rooms that you dare to break free?”
Darcy refused to look at her. “Tradition exists because it is most effective, Miss Bennet.”
“Is that so, sir?” He could feel the force of her gaze on his face. “You would describe yourself as a creature of habit then?”
Before Darcy could reply, Richard spoke. “He is very much a creature of habit, Miss Bennet. Painfully, annoyingly so.”
Her chuckle floated across the board, warming him. Soothing him.
After a particularly good move, she said, “You are a student of the game, I see.”
“My father believed that chess reveals character.”
“How so?” She slid her pawn into place.
“Does your opponent think ahead, adapt to challenges, or crumble under pressure?” He glanced up at her. “I failed in our first game. I shall not do so again.”
After almost thirty minutes of uninterrupted play, Darcy again surveyed the board. Miss Bennet had a maddening habit of dangling her piece between two squares, humming as she swung the piece back and forth before placing it squarely where she wanted it. Was she toying with him? Was she not taking this seriously?
When he bent over the board, the tops of their heads almost touched. He smelled roses.Lord!
The game had become a genuine battle of minds. Darcy was holding his own. But…blast!Miss Elizabeth Bennet made a move that revealed she was not merely skilled; she was a master.
Around the fifteenth move,Elizabeth had to say, “You play better than I anticipated, Mr. Darcy. Perhaps you found your brain between games.”
A ghost of humor appeared. “High praise indeed, coming from you, Miss Bennet.”
By their twentieth move, the board was a tangle of tactical possibilities. Both lost minor pieces; the play equal.
A horse shook its head, jangling its bridle, breaking the silence.
Her father approached the colonel. His voice drifted easily to where she sat. “They are evenly matched in skill. However, Lizzy has an advantage that he does not.”
The colonel asked, “And what is that, sir?”
“He plays not to lose. She plays for the throat, to win.”
The colonel shook his head. “I have never beaten Darcy. Few do.”
Her father’s grin spread from ear to ear. “A new experience for the gentleman, then.”
With the next two moves, Elizabeth noted how completely absorbed he became. His exhaustion appeared forgotten, replaced by fierce concentration. When he made a particularly clever move, a flicker of…what? Annoyance that he made this difficult? Or satisfaction that he proved worthy of her effort?
