She’d promised to help Harriett, but just how far was a lady required to go to assist a friend in her romantic endeavors? Because taking on Lord Fairmont was tantamount to hurling herself directly into the wolf’s clutches.
An irritable, sharp-toothed, arrogant wolf, at that.
It was, of all things, the very last one she wanted to do, but Harriett glanced so longingly at Gilly, and Gilly had the most charmingly shy smile when he looked at her, and…
Dash it. She let out a sigh, set her book aside, and rose to her feet.
Who was she to stand in the way of true love?
Poor E.T.A. Hoffman would be obliged to wait once again.
She approached the settee where Lord Fairmont sat alone, gazing at the fire, his brows pinched together in a frown.
If he hadn’t brought all his troubles on himself, she might almost have felt sorry for him.
Almost.
She set her shoulders, drew in a deep breath, and pitched herself directly into the wolf’s dark, gaping jaws.
“Would you care for a game of chess, Lord Fairmont?”
James had been shiftingfrom his right arse cheek to his left, cursing whoever had allowed such a disgracefully uncomfortable chair into the drawing room when Miss Templeton spoke, a look of grim determination on her face. “Chess?”
“Yes.” She waved a hand toward an oval table in a corner of the drawing room. A handsome chess set sat atop it, ready for a game. “You have heard of chess, have you not, Lord Fairmont?”
“You wish to play chess withme, Miss Templeton?” She’d hardly spared him a glance throughout dinner, and when their gazes had chanced to meet, hers had been distinctly frosty.
Why would she seek out his company?
“You appear surprised, my lord. I don’t know why you should be. I’m fond of chess, and Harriett tells me you’re a clever player.”
“Don’t let that polite invitation fool you, James,” Lady Fosberry warned. “She’s only asking you because she’s beaten Harriett and me so often, neither of us will play with her any longer.”
“Yes, and you and Harriett both are dreadfully sore losers,” Miss Templeton said with a smile. “I daresay Lord Fairmont knows how to lose like a gentleman.”
First an invitation, and now a compliment? She must think him dim, indeed.
Anyone could see she was attempting to lure him to the other side of the room, so Harriett and Lord Gilbert might snatch a few moments of privacy while his aunt kept Farthingale entertained.
It should have annoyed him— that is, itdidannoy him —but he was beginning to rethink this business with Farthingale.He’d promised Harriett he’d never attempt to coerce her into marrying a gentleman who didn’t make her happy.
Farthingale didn’t. Not now, and likely not ever.
It wasn’t surprising. What sort of gentleman went on at such tedious length about the construction of the bloody dash rail of his carriage, for God’s sake? His poor aunt’s eyes were glazing over.
Even he could see the man was a bit of an arse. He could no longer remember why he’d ever thought Farthingale would make a proper match for Harriett.
He returned his attention to Miss Templeton, who was still awaiting his answer. “What makes you think I’m going to lose, Miss Templeton? I rarely do.”
“Neither do I, my lord. I’d be pleased to find a worthy opponent.”
She gave him a small smile. His gaze dropped to her lips, and an unexpected quiver of awareness tripped down his spine. She was wearing one of her plain, somber gowns— this one a dull brown, instead of her usual gray.
Euphemia Templeton might hide all she liked. She might do whatever she could to persuade everyone there wasn’t a single interesting thing about her, but one only had to look at her smile to see the lie.
That smile gave her away. It seemed to hold a world of secrets.
He rose to his feet and motioned toward the chess table. “I suppose we’ll soon find out which of us is the wilier player, won’t we?”
