A lovely pink hue came to her rounded cheeks. “Only a few times.”
“Then perhaps you are the best.”
This time she laughed. “I’ll confide in you, Lord Melcombe. I only managed to beat your uncle when he enjoyed too much brandy during our games. However, I don’t usually tell others the reason I won.”
Preston warmed, comfortable in their conversation. A bloody normal conversation. The likes that he’d been trying to have with her since she arrived.
Perhaps Alec was right. Brandy did loosen a tongue or lead to losing a chess match. “Your secret will remain safe with me.”
“I’ve not played as much as I did before.” She sighed. “Do you play?”
“No.” Though now he wished that he did. “I learned, when I was a boy, but never became proficient.”
She tilted her head in consideration. “It’s about strategy. That is all. I assumed that after being a major in the cavalry, the strategy would come naturally.”
He settled back and considered her words. “I haven’t thought of it in such terms, Miss Claywell. I have learned much more about strategy since I was a child playing with toy soldiers. Perhaps I should try my hand at the game again.” It would also be the perfect opportunity to spend time together, innocently in the evening hours. “I’ll take you up on your offer.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, I didn’t mean…”
Preston chuckled and leaned in. “Are you afraid that I’ll win?”
“I’m afraid I’d trounce you quite soundly, and it wouldn’t do to humiliate my employer in such a manner.” She grinned back at him.
“Trounce me, you say?” he said in mock insult. “I now feel a wager must be included.”
“Wager?” She laughed. “I’ve nothing to wager Lord Melcombe, though it is not I who would lose, therefore, what are you willing to give up?”
His body, for her taking, though he certainly couldn’t voice such thoughts. “An extra day off from your duties.” A day that she’d hopefully spend with him.
“That rather defeats the purpose of me being here,” she chuckled. “I rather like my position so a day off would be more suited as a loss for me.”
Any other servant would take the opportunity to beat him soundly, but not Miss Claywell. Then again, she’d only been a governess a short time, and not yet tired of her duties.
“If you lose, you’ll accompany me into Willanton and help me choose gifts for my nieces.”
“Gifts? Did they not receive gifts at Christmas, or do you give them on Twelfth Night and forgot to shop?” she teased.
“Christmas,” he answered. “If you must know, I give poor gifts. I purchased ribbons for Delia, which she cannot wear for three more months, a book for Matilda that she already owns, and the rest were equally disappointing.”
“I’m certain they were pleased by your thoughtfulness,” Miss Claywell assured him.
“I promised I’d make it up to them. Thus, a new gift for each niece.”
“While shopping is hardly a hardship, if that is what you wishifyou win, I’d be happy to assist you.”
He knew that his suggestion wouldn’t be taken as a penalty, but again, it was something that would afford him an opportunity to spend time with her.
“If I were to lose, what would you like from me?” he finally asked.
Miss Claywell stared at him and said nothing, but if he wasn’t mistaken, her cheeks began to turn a lovely shade of rose.
Could it be that perhaps they may want the same thing?
“Excuse me, Lord Melcombe,” a maid interrupted, startling Preston enough that he nearly spilled his brandy. “Cook is asking about supper. As the girls have not returned from Mrs. Hawthorn’s, will they return in time to dine?”
“They will be spending the evening at Wisteria House and will not return until after they’ve breakfasted tomorrow.”
The maid slid her eyes to Miss Claywell, then looked down to the brandy in her hands as her jaw tightened. “I’ll inform the cook,” she announced and quit the room.
