“I will let you win.”
She sputtered, crossing her arms, the skin in her elbows pinching with how tight she held them. “Now we must play. I feel my honor has been called into question.”
“That was my intention, after all,” he said, retrieving the chessboard and box of pieces.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, hair bound in a braid over her shoulder. Burgundy dressing gown covering almost to her chin, yet still feeling beyond the pale.
It was all so outside the bounds of propriety. And yet… she wished him to stay. To spend more time with him.
He made her feel settled. That was why. He made her feel calm in the face of everything uncertain. He was an anchor in her stormy seas.
Except for her heart, pounding away absurdly, of course.
He dragged a small table from her bedside to the settee at the foot of the bed, then pulled her dressing table chair to the other side. She sat on the settee, he on the chair, and they set up their pieces in near silence.
“Do you need me to remind you how to play?” he asked, his tone anything but innocent, his blue eyes twinkling.
“I can play well enough, Andrew. I simply do not like it.”
He raised a brow, leaning a little closer. His voice was low and warm. “We will have to change that then.”
Oh heavens, that playful gleam in his eye would be her undoing.
And yet, somehow, he was correct. The game became nearly a dance. A push and a pull. Him capturing several of her pieces, and her returning the favor. Laughter and repressed exclamations. At one point, she did believe he threw one of her pawns across the room. Likely because she’d flicked his rook into his chest.
“I shall take your queen, and then your king will be defenseless,” he teased, setting his bishop in her path.
“Do not underestimate me, Andrew.”
“I would not dream of it.” His smile was lopsided, and it sent her heart turning.
The bishop chased her queen around the board, one of his knights joining the fray. Until.
“Check,” she declared, having snuck her knight to his edge of the game.
His eyes twinkled as their gazes met over the board. A slow, confident grin spread across his face, knotting her stomach. “Checkmate.”
“What?” She scanned the game, then sank back in her seat. “Fustian, Andrew! You were meant to let me win!” There his rook sat. Blocking in her king.
“You would have been far angrier with me if I had.”
She scanned the board a last time, though she knew it was futile. How quickly he’d slipped behind her defenses, and her entirely unaware.
Was that a metaphor for her life? Because of a sudden, she did not think she could imagine a life without Andrew. As more than a friend. As a husband in truth.
Ludicrous. It had to be.
“Oh, gads, Soph, I have been in here far too long. I should let you rest.” He tucked away his watch and stood, packing up the pieces and board.
“Your staff will be satisfied?”
“They are likely all asleep now,” he admitted, pausing, the game pieces in his hands.
She nodded.
His eyes dropped to her hair. Then her lips.
Her lungs expanded, yet her chest felt tight.
