Fable had worried about what he would think of her when he discovered she was exactly what his sister had called her. But it didn’t seem to bother him at all. He hadn’t insulted her once.
So what? He was thoughtful and handsome. It didn’t mean anything. She couldn’t fall for him.
She lost her heart to a guy once. Eddie had been more like a boy at seventeen who wanted a mother more than a girlfriend. Fable didn’t know how to be either, so he went searching elsewhere and left her at a shelter. She lied about her age so the shelter didn’t call the authorities and left with nothing but the clothes on her back. Staying still got you caught and taken away. It was the lesson her mother had drilled into her the most–and she’d learned it well. She’d stopped running when she was no longer a minor. This time, though, she wasn’t hiding from authorities. Could she avoid the man chasing her? Maybe lay low here for a while, but not for too long.
Her ears perked to the sound of the door outside the bedroom. She patted her hair and wrestled to pull her finger, or more like her broken fingernail out of her tangled curls when it got stuck.
When the short battle was over, she looked up to see the duke watching her. He let out an incredulous snort and moved toward the bed.
Carrying an empty tray, Edith had entered the room with him and when she saw Fable’s struggle, she hurried to a tableand plucked up a comb. After setting the tray down on the bed over Fable’s lap, the servant began to comb Fable’s hair.
“This is Chess,” the duke told her, setting a polished wooden box on the bed. “Have you heard of it?”
“Of course. I’m from the future, not another planet.”
Above her, Edith listened, then tsked pitifully while she combed.
The duke opened the box and removed a hinged, wooden chess board with 64 squares of oak and onyx.
Fable never had anyone comb her hair before, but she was distracted from that pleasure by another: the sight of his long, broad fingers while they spread the board open on the tray. What were his hands capable of?
“Choose your color,” his voice seeped into her pores like a mist.
“Which one is better?”
He sat in the chair by her bed, moved in closer, and set his doubtful gaze straight on her. “You don’t know?”
The deep cadence of his voice held the power to entrance her so that she couldn’t look away from him. She managed to shake her head.
He gave her a flinty snarl. “It doesn’t matter. No color is better than the other.”
She chose the shiny onyx and waited while he set up the board with their pieces. “By the way,” she said with a hooded gaze as Edith’s comb stroked her as if she were a cat. She felt like purring, “this isn’t what I was thinking of when you said we’d play a game.”
“Chess is a game,” he said, sounding a little breathless. She opened her eyes and saw him staring at her.
“Yes, but it’s not like…a fun game.”
His fingers paused, setting down a carved oak king.
“Alright! Alright!” She waved her hands in front of her, erasing what she said. “Teach me what you know.”
He set down the last piece and looked up as a handful of her hair fell over her shoulder. Edith’s comb had done little to tame the long, loose coils tumbling onto the board. Fable smiled coyly and brushed it over her back and out of the way.
The duke blinked, seeming to breathe again, then began to explain parts of the game. She asked questions and let him explain every move they made. Twice, she suppressed a yawn.
“Your knight is your most important piece, protecting the most valuable, the king. They all move differently. Do you want to go over it again?”
She shook her head. “So, your pawn can jump over pieces?”
“No,” he told her patiently, and explained it all again. “Only your knight can jump.”
“Right. Right. She smiled and cracked her knuckles. “Okay, let’s play.”
Edith finished untangling her hair and per Fable’s request, left it hanging loose, not altogether curly, nor altogether straight, just a handful of soft spirals amidst gentle waves falling beyond the board and the tray on her lap. If nothing else, she had pretty hair. Her mother had even thought so and made her wear it in a braid or ponytail not to draw attention to it. Especially the attention of men. But Fable learned as she had grown older, the best way to hustle someone, especially a man was to distract him. Her best tool was her hair. She glanced at the board and moved first and quickly, smiling at Edith when the older woman promised to return soon.
“Miss Ramsey, pay attention to what you’re doing,” the duke scolded, moving his pawn.
She nodded, liking the sound of him when he was so serious, and in six more moves captured his bishop. He wastoo stunned to move on his turn. He stared at her, seeming to look through her, as if trying to figure her out. He came to a conclusion that curled his lip in a sneer, and then he returned his attention to the board and positioned his knight to take her.
