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“These games between us,” Alan said. “They end now.”
Geoffrey folded his arms. “What do you propose?”
“I take back my investments. You take everything else. All the cherishable goods. We’ll have our solicitors make it official.” Alan paused. “Except I’m keeping the ancestral portraits. Unless you’ll trade, for certain of your new pictures.”
“Such as?”
“The Rembrandt in the drawing room.”
“The one you think is fake.” Geoffrey’s brows lowered in perplexity.
“That’s the one, yes. And a few others in the gallery, also valueless.”
“You will always baffle me.” Geoffrey’s tone wasn’t hateful. In fact, his voice held a note that wasn’t entirely unlike affection. He must have heard it too, because he stiffened.
“We’re agreed, then.” Alan held out the box. “Care to play?”
Geoffrey narrowed his eyes.
“Not with me. With Claud. I doubt he’s interested in his dinner.”
“And why is that?” said Geoffrey.
Alan cleared his throat. “Because earlier he was rather interested in the food vendors. And I provided him samples of their wares. No cake. I wasn’t trying to undermine your authority.”
Baked potatoes, crumpets, pineapple slices, cherries, ginger beer . . .
Geoffrey snorted and went behind his desk to put back the bottle.
“He’d welcome your attention.” Alan slid the chess set across the desk and took up his cane.
As he shut the door behind him, he saw Geoffrey lean forward, open the box, lift out a knight, and close it tight in his hand.
—
Nina curled into Alan as the coach swayed. She felt languorous, with his arm draped over her, the hard muscles of his chest comfortable as goose down, despite possessing opposite properties. A paradox. One of many. He stroked down her shoulder, and she shut her eyes and listened to him describe the tentative new peace he’d made with his brother.
“I trust it,” he murmured, after a long pause. “Although I did hold back a letter just in case. If he notices, I’ll apologize for the oversight and return it, after we meet with our solicitors.”
He buried his face in her hair, and instead of scolding him, she sighed. He was hers. Nina’s Sweets would be hers too.
“I’m going to hire Ruby,” she said, eyes closed. “She’ll prefer the bakery to the Knack, even if she thinks Hensthorpe a hole-in-the-corner backwater.”
“It has a Beowulf Society.” Alan nuzzled her ear. “And uncommonly lovely cows. And soon, the world’s best gooseberry tarts, and a gallery that shows the most daring modern art . . .”
She must have drifted off. When she opened her eyes, the coach was stopped and her heart was singing.
She said as much to Alan, drowsily. He pressed his smile to her cheek, a crooked kiss, and he didn’t mention that the singing might be coming from the house. She realized it when he opened the front door. Music poured from the front parlor. When she reached the threshold, Nina saw McAdams at the piano. Kuznetsov was shuffling cards, head turned toward Boyd, who sat to his left at the table. There were two other players. Kessler.
Jack.
The last person Nina expected to see in Alan’s house, bar none.
He was slouched, chin propped on his fist. He glanced at Nina as she lunged forward.
“What are you doing here?” she gasped.
“Bankrupting your pals.” He winked.
