Page 70 of Love Is A Draw
He took it.
“Black Knight. We split the title,” Gail said.
Their fingers locked—cold, tight, real.
“It would be my honor.”
And that’s when he saw him. Dmitry Tarkov. His master.
And together, they stood.
In the wind, with the chessboard between them and the past behind them, Victor knew. They had chosen what mattered. And finally—finally—they hadn’t lost what mattered most.
CHAPTER 30
List stood still as stone, jaw tight, watching the wind scatter Victor’s invalidated deportation papers across the quay. The gathered crowd lingered, curious now, murmuring as their eyes bounced between the players, the customs officer, and theBlack Knightstill seated by the chessboard.
Victor spoke first. “The match ended in a draw.”
Gail rose beside him, her tone crisp. “Under the terms Baron von List dictated, that draw means the title is shared, and protection granted to both.”
Greg nodded. “Let it be known that this match—this draw—was witnessed by dozens. The agreement made by Baron von List will be recorded in full at White’s Club and posted in tomorrow’s edition of theChessman’s Chronicles.”
List flinch at the mention of theChessman’s Chronicles.
Hermy’s voice cut in sweetly, from behind her husband. “Of course, if the baron wishes to dishonor a wager made in public—well, we all know what happens to men who cheat at games in London.”
Fave came up beside them, all polished civility and hidden bite. “White’s won’t have you back. Nor will Boodle’s. You’ll be lucky if you’re allowed in the back parlor at Almack’s.”
The customs officer raised a brow. “You made a bet and lost.”
“He’s trying to void it,” Greg said, “because he doesn’t like the winners.”
The officer blinked, unimpressed. “Sounds like someone who shouldn’t play games with people smarter than him.”
List growled, “They’re Jews. Russians. You’re all being taken in.”
“I know what they are, and I saw what they did.” The officer gestured at the board still set on the crate. “That wasn’t luck. That was a calculated draw, played under pressure, in public. No foul, no forfeit. Just strategy.”
He searched Gail’s expression. “You held your line.” Then to Victor. “And you sacrificed your win to make sure she didn’t lose.”
Victor didn’t reply, but his hand closed around Gail’s. The message was clear. They had done it together.
He turned to Victor. “Your papers say your name is Victor Romanov of Bassarabia?”
Victor nodded.
“And who’s this new arrival?” The officer glanced at the old man now beside him.
“Dmitry Tarkov,” Gail spoke up. “Yes. This is my grandfather.”
The customs officer straightened. “TheDmitry Tarkov? Best endgames ever seen?”
“You know of him?” Victor asked, stunned.
The officer nodded slowly. “Then he’ll stay. He’s with you. And your play today—your restraint, your integrity—that earns my signature.”
“You can find them at my townhouse,” Greg said. “The Earl and Countess of Ashby—we’re known in Town.”
