Page 41 of Baron in Check
“Or he could improve it,” Hermy said, to be met with Greg’s approving gaze.
Fave rubbed his eyes. “I don’t see how he could improve anything if he goes to List’s house for a game. It’s probably rigged, and he will cheat.”
“How can you rig a chess game? I’ll be there to keep an eye on him.” Hermy secretly cherished the opportunity to stand by Greg’s side against Sofia’s husband, whoever this List was. If he married a woman like her, Hermy already didn’t like him.
“It’s too dangerous,” Fave warned.
“What do I have to lose? My virtue? My reputation? The chance to return to society with a warm welcome?” Hermy shrugged. “Too late. I’d rather do something useful.”
Fave and Arnold stopped pacing and Gambit followed suit.
“Hermy,” Fave said, “this Sofia is well-connected. And she’s a spy. She has a way of?—”
“I also have my ways, Fave. And I cannot wait for a chance to use them. I’ve been the bad girl for so long, let me live up to my reputation.”
Fave narrowed his gaze, but Arnold raised his eyebrows. “You’d go as Greg’s fiancée.”
“I am his fiancée.”
“What I mean is you’d go as the partner of the Black Knight,” Arnold spoke slowly as if the danger could dissuade Hermy.
“Perhaps as his Black Queen?” Hermy drew her right shoulder up and cast Greg a mischievous smile. He immediately caught on and sucked his lower lip in.
“This is not a game. It’s serious!” Arnold said. “It’s not just the two of you. You’ll pull us right into the conflict. And with Nagy putting our payments in escrow, he’s undermining half of our arrangement with Prinny. This could cost us our business if it goes badly.”
Greg looked up, searching for Hermy’s continued support. She nodded. He inhaled and rose, showing Fave and Arnold to the door. “We need to prepare. I will let you know how it went.”
“Greg,” Fave said, “I didn’t ask you for your help.”
“No, Fave. You covered for us when we were hiding. You stood by me all this time at school and at university. I don’t have any brothers, and I doubt they’d live up to the honor, integrity, and loyalty that you two have shown me. If I back out of a simple wager over a chess game, I’m not worth your efforts.”
“But Greg—” Arnold tried.
Greg shook his head again. “I’m the outlier in parliament already. This is one of many hurdles I need to overcome to show I’m a worthy opponent, regardless whether the challenges come from the House of Lords or foreign diplomatic relations.”
“Let us come with you then,” Fave said.
“No.”
“I can help more than you,” Hermy looked gravely at Fave. “I’m the daughter of an Earl. And the sister. Fallen or not, I outrank List, his wife, and even you, Greg. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.” Greg’s arm snapped around her waist.
Fave and Arnold left reluctantly, and Hermy readied herself for the evening.
Upon enteringBaron Von List’s rented townhouse, Greg and Hermy were enveloped by the austerity that seemed to seep from its walls. After cool greetings, Greg and Hermy were led into a small study that was almost Spartan in its simplicity. Furnished with only essential items, it had an air of transience, as if its occupants were merely passing through, their sights set on causing disruption rather than finding a home.
Sofia von List, her figure silhouetted against the scant light from the ceiling lamp and the hearth, stood as a testament to the iciness of their reception. Dressed in a simple gown that barely disguised her condition, her hair pulled back so tightly it seemed to echo the sharpness of her accent, she presented an image of unwelcoming elegance.
The tension was palpable, alive with undercurrents of high society’s games of power and prestige. This sort of conflict started wars with nothing more than a spark. The stakes were just as high, if not higher, encompassing not just Greg and Hermy’s future but the very essence of what they stood against: injustice, discrimination, and the misconception that some people were better or worth more than others.
Greg, heart pounding with a familiar mixture of anticipation and resolve, faced the baroness. “Good evening, Lady von List.” He bowed respectfully, and she held out her hand as if to a dog about to lick it rather than to a Baron paying his respect. Well, if he were a dog, he’d bite. He thought of Hermy, her strength and dignity in the face of disdain, and felt his resolve harden. Thus, Greg took Sofia’s hand and just before his lips touched her skin, he straightened his back.
She shot ice daggers at him for manipulating the situation, pretending to pay his respect but falling short in a manner that would have irked the hostess if she acknowledged it.
The room, with its barren furnishings and the absence of warmth, was their battleground now, and the contest was one of spirit and conviction.
“Shall we begin?” Sofia’s voice cut through the tension, every bit as chilling as her husband’s had been that memorable night at White’s when Greg had stepped into the trap of his acquaintance and played him for a ticket to the Pearler’s winter ball. He’d been baited then but refused to do this now.
