How Not To Marry An Earl. Christine Merrill

he said, clapping his hands in approval. ‘You mean to make me work for my reward. Very well, then. Let’s begin.’

      She had underestimated him. After so many years of people doing the same to her, she should have known better. Potts was a cautious player, but relentless, taking her pieces one by one and dodging the traps she set for him, even without the help of his stronger pieces. When she managed to claim a piece, it usually came with the sacrifice of one of her own. And, indignity of indignities, when he took her king, it was done with a clever arrangement of pawns.

      She stared at the table in amazement. ‘I have never played a game like that before.’

      ‘Then you have led an exceptionally sheltered life, Miss Strickland.’

      While that was quite true, it had nothing to do with her abilities at the chessboard. Nor had it anything to do with the quality of his play, which had been masterful.

      Now he was staring at her expectantly. And for the first time in her life, she felt in awe of a man and at a loss for words.

      ‘Well?’ he said, with an encouraging tip of his head. When she did not respond, he added, ‘Have you forgotten our bet?’

      She found her tongue again, clearing her throat and saying gruffly, ‘It can hardly be called a bet. You offered me no reward, if you lost.’

      ‘Since I did not lose, that is immaterial.’ He gave her a pitying smile. ‘Perhaps it would have been kinder of me if I had been more specific when you asked what I did, while in America.’ He cocked his head to the side, as if reliving the conversation in his mind. ‘I told you a bit of this and a bit of that. But when I was between this and that, and low on funds, I played chess for money.’

      And she had fallen right into his hands.

      ‘Before we played, you promised that I could aid you with the puzzle box. May I see it, please?’ He was still smiling. Still maddeningly polite.

      ‘Of course,’ she said, rising and leading him from the room.

       Chapter Six

      If nothing else, he had found a way to stop Charity Strickland from questioning him about his non-existent past. Since her loss at the chessboard, she had barely spoken to him and put up almost no fight when he had requested a chance to see the contents of the box.

      If it had been another woman, he might have feared that this was a sign of impending storm. But he sensed nothing from this one that hinted at petty tantrums or poor sportsmanship. Though she was clearly not accustomed to it, she responded to the trouncing he had given her with the sangfroid of an English gentleman.

      It was rather confusing.

      Perhaps it had unhinged her mind. That was why she showed no sign of modesty as she led him to her bedroom, instead of bringing the box to the parlour. Once there, she walked into the room without a second thought, took up the puzzle from her dressing table and sat on the edge of the bed, holding it out to him and gesturing that he join her.

      He paused in the doorway, tempted to explain to her that the situation was totally inappropriate. Even Pepper knew it was wrong, for the detestable little cur looked up from where he had been napping on the pillow and gave a threatening growl.

      Charity gave a single snap of her fingers and pointed to a chair on the opposite side of the room.

      The dog stood, gave an apologetic wag of his tail, then obeyed, giving Miles a half-hearted glare as he passed.

      That left him with no reason to refuse her, other than good manners and common sense. There was also the chance that, if he waited too long, the effect of the chess game might wear off and she would remember that she did not want his help. So he smiled, walked into the room and sat down beside her as if there was nothing odd about it.

      She barely seemed to notice him, turning the box over in her hands, caressing the wood and feeling for loose panels and trim. A few moments passed. Then she smiled as the bottom panel slid a half an inch to the left. ‘I had no time to examine it before supper. It does not seem so very difficult.’ She handed it to him, to find the next step.

      ‘Perhaps not,’ he replied, running his fingers along the side before finding the wooden latch that had been exposed and pulling it up with his thumbnail. ‘But you agreed to my terms when we sat down to play chess.’ He handed it back to her.

      ‘But it does not take a genius, does it?’ she said, pivoting the front panel to reveal a keyhole and added, ‘Even if that is what you are.’

      It was delivered as a statement rather than a compliment and he saw no reason to deny it. ‘Perhaps I am. But intelligence does little good for the individual when the people in power are foolish.’ For example, when one discovered that one’s family had already done irreparable damage to the inheritance. He glanced down at her. ‘I suspect you are familiar with that feeling, are you not?’ She must be. It was her family, as well. He worked a fingernail into the left side panel until he heard a click.

      She opened the little door he’d unlatched and admired the tracery of inlaid metal revealed before prying a bit of it loose and fitting it into the keyhole. ‘It is worse for women,’ she said. ‘Men do not like it when we are too clever. They especially do not like being corrected when they are wrong.’ Her forehead creased as she turned the key and heard another click as the top panel popped up to reveal a second, seemingly blank surface beneath.