Page 9 of Good Duke Gone Hard

“I’m sure it’ll be nice to have a change of scenery,” Margaret flicked her gaze at Jonathan.

“As someone who has had more than their fair share of changes in scenery, I must laud the familiar.”

He thought he heard a tiny feminine harrumph, but he wasn’t sure. What he did hear with certainty, was Lyle’s chair sliding back. “Both excellent points to consider as I ride to London and back today.” He tipped his head and made for the door.

“Well, I for one, cannot wait for our first chess match to begin,” he paused. “This will be our first time, won’t it?”

He saw her knuckles clench around her knife.

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” She asked.

“I should like to know who has the advantage.”

“You don’t seem to believe me when I do tell.”

“Perhaps I wouldn’t. That’s for me to decide.”

Raising steadily from her chair, Margaret squared her body to his. “Is it always for you to decide?”

“It is.” His eyes fixated on her.

“When is it not?”

“It always is. Though it may not be for me to decide the thoughts that seep into my mind, it is always for me to decide which thoughts reside there. And it is always for me to decide what to say and how to act, based on those thoughts.”

“Exactly.” She placed both palms down on the table and leaned forward. Her eyes had darkened to autumn storm clouds, but her parted lips looked like a deep well, a perfect place to dip in for a drink.

He shook off the imagery forming in his mind, stood up, and mirrored her pose until they were nose to nose.

“Drawing room. Twenty minutes.”

“Fifteen.” She countered.

***

FIFTEEN MINUTES?MARGARET QUESTIONED her sanity. There was no rational explanation for why she had to counter the offer of twenty minutes, except…him. Oh, how he got under her skin. She had to rise to the challenge and beat him.

So with three minutes to spare, she was in the drawing room tapping her toe when he entered. “You’re late.” She didn’t turn to look at him.

“I believe I have two minutes.”

“Early can still be late.”

He cocked his head at her and walked over to the chessboard.

She held out two downward facing fists to him.

“What’s this? First shooting, now boxing? I may not have needed to teach you much in shooting, but I can clearly see you require more than a little guidance in boxing.”

“Pick one.”

“Left.”

She opened her fist revealing a white pawn for him to take, but rather than let him take it from her palm, she placed it on A2. Then she began setting up the black pieces for herself.

The silence continued until after they had each made their first moves.

“Who usually wins between you and Lyle?” His baritone trickled through her.

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