Page 72 of A Widow for the Beastly Duke

“If I move my king here,” Tristan reasoned aloud, “your knight could capture it in your next turn. But if I place my rook between…” He fell silent, calculating the potential consequences of each move.

Emma noticed how Victor’s gaze drifted to her as Tristan deliberated, the intensity in those blue eyes causing her breath to catch. She quickly returned her attention to her book, though the words swam meaninglessly before her.

Be calm. Be calm, she told herself, angry at the way her cheeks were slightly heating up.

“Your concentration has improved markedly since our first lesson,” Victor told Tristan, though Emma still sensed his gaze on her. “A true strategist learns to evaluate all possible outcomes before committing to action.”

“Is that how you approach all decisions, Your Grace?” Emma asked, unable to hide the subtle challenge in her tone.

For some reason, she found herself seeking to ruffle that composure of his. She could not be the only one plagued with dreams of that night in the garden, could she? Had he truly acted that way merely for his own amusement?

The Duke’s lips curled into a half-smile that sent a ripple of awareness through her, and she was immediately on high alert.

“Not all decisions merit such careful consideration, Lady Cuthbert. Some are best made on instinct alone.”

And just like that, the memory of their impulsive and passionate encounter in Lord Knightley’s garden hung between them like an unspoken confession.

Emma hastily returned to her book, her cheeks warming ever so treacherously.

“I’ll move my knight to protect the king,” Tristan decided finally, executing the move with deliberate precision, completely oblivious to his mother’s far more… adult plight.

“An interesting choice,” Victor commented, his attention returning fully to the game. “Though perhaps not the most advantageous in this particular situation.”

Three moves later, Tristan’s defense crumbled beneath Victor’s methodical assault.

“I believe that’s checkmate,” Victor announced, his tone gentle despite his decisive victory.

Tristan sighed dramatically, his lips curling into quite an adorable pout. “I was too focused on attacking your queen and neglected to defend my king properly.”

“A common beginner’s error,” Victor assured him, his tone gentle. “One learns more from defeat than from easy victory.”

“Will you show me that knight’s gambit again next time?” Tristan asked, already resetting the pieces with careful precision.

“I shall be delighted to,” Victor promised, rising from his seat. “You have a natural aptitude for strategic thinking.”

Emma set aside her book and approached the chess table. “You’ve been extraordinarily generous with your time, Your Grace. Tristan speaks of little else between your visits.”

“The pleasure has been entirely mine, Lady Cuthbert,” Victor replied, his voice dropping to a register that sent a shiver of awareness through her.

Especially when he said the word ‘pleasure.’

Her eyes narrowed on him. Was he toying with her?

“Your son possesses both curiosity and determination—qualities I greatly admire,” he finished, one hand going to ruffle the boy’s hair.

Their gazes locked momentarily, the air between them charged with the heated awareness of that night of unbridled passion.

Emma broke the connection first, turning her attention to straightening the chess pieces Tristan had hastily aligned, her pulse fluttering at her throat.

“Mama, may I tell His Grace about the village fair?” Tristan asked, oblivious to the tension between the adults.

“The village fair?” Victor echoed, his expression one of genuine interest.

“We attend every year,” Emma explained, grateful for the change of subject but still a bit suspicious of her son’s enthusiasm. “It’s a simple country diversion—nothing that would interest someone accustomed to London’s entertainments.”

Surely, he doesn’t intend to?—

“Will you come with us?” Tristan asked eagerly. “There’s archery and games of skill and the most spectacular fireworks at dusk!”

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