“I know this afternoon is the time your mistress usually comes to you. But I also know Lady Starling is not in town at present. Perhaps bedding me might be a substitute so your routine will be less disrupted than usual.”
His breath was gone. His mind was blank.
“I’ll give you draw odds, George.”
When they played chess, White always went first. Draw odds meant she would play White but, as Black, a draw would count as a win in his favor.
He said nothing, still not really able to comprehend her proposal. Her lewd bet. The odds she was offering him.
She shifted in her chair. “Fine. Pawn and move, then.”
This meant he would play White and she would give up a Black pawn before the start of play.
“Phee.” He coughed. “I don’t understand.”
“You know I announced my engagement this week.”
“Yes.”
She clasped her hands together tightly, something he knew she did when ungloved to keep her fingernails out of her own mouth. “I suddenly realized I know nothing about pleasing my future husband in the marital bed.”
Oh. Foolish girl.
He leaned forward. “Phee. That is usual. In fact, it is assumed and considered desirable.”
She raised her head and stared at him levelly. “It’s not desirable for me, George. You know I hate not knowing how to do something.”
That was true. Phoebe didn’t like to fail. It was what made her such a worthy rival.
She stood. “I need bedding lessons. You are the logical person to give them to me. What do you say to the wager?”
“You must give me a moment, Phee.”
She smiled even as her voice betrayed her with a slight quaver. “Yes, I suppose it’s a bit like Sir Josiah asking you to bed him.”
Sir Josiah Bastable was George’s standing Wednesday night chess game. He was, if it were possible, an even slower and more methodical player than George himself. Sir Josiah was also well over fifty, portly, and had breath that chronically reeked of onions.
She went on. “Although I do like to think I probably rank higher than Sir Josiah in your choice of bed partners.”
Of course, she did. But was that truly the standard by which she measured herself?Oh, Phee.
She lifted one foot and brought it down with a small thud on the carpet. Was that an impatient stamp from his little Phoebe?
“Fine,” she said. “Pawn and two moves.”
Phoebe would lose a pawn and he would play White and make the first two moves in a row.
He was silent.
“Knight odds,” she offered, her expression stony. This meant she would lose a knight before play even started. She stood in front of him, fidgeting with her fingers, waiting.
“Give me queen odds.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to claw them back. Had he lost all sense of himself? All sense ofher?
Wait. There was no need for panic. He took a deep breath. Queen odds was an extremely safe bet for him. They were a well-matched pair at chess, despite her impulsive daring and his considered caution. If Lady Phoebe had no queen, he should beat her easily. The rare first edition dictionary would be his. There would be no bedding of his best and oldest friend.
“Fine,” she said and resumed her seat.
She was queenless but as the odds giver, she was White and went first.
