The Duke hesitated and then he nodded. “Very well, but you will see that I am right.”
“I do not think so, but I am prepared to be proven wrong.” Emily replied. “I should be able to manoeuvre the pieces to get to where you were.”
The Duke’s eyes widened slightly and he canted his head towards her. “You can remember where all the pieces were?”
“Yes. Though if you are concerned, I can sketch them out so we have a reference.” Emily reached for a nearby sheet of paper and a pen, but the Duke shook his head.
“That is a rather impressive skill, but you need not sketch out the positions.” He surveyed her thoughtfully and then held up a small leather bound book with small, gold lettering on the front.
Emily squinted at it, feeling her heart squeeze. She suppressed the nerves in her belly and said as calmly as she could manage, “The lettering is rather too small for me to see.”
“It is a chess master's guide to the great game. There is a diagram of the board. I was actually exploring a move when you interrupted me.” The Duke explained.
Emily searched him for some sign that he was rebuking her, but he seemed simply to be explaining the book to her. “Do you often read such things?”
“I find that a good grasp of theory is essential to mastery of anything.” Duke Warren gestured to the board and surprised Emily with a smile. “Now, are you ready to be proven wrong?”
Emily found herself smiling back in return. “I believe, your Grace, it is you who will be proven wrong.”
“Then let us begin.” Duke Warren’s eyes sparkled, and for a moment, Emily thought that perhaps there might be a middle ground to find after all.
Chapter Eight
“Do you often play chess alone?” Miss Pembleton asked him, her eyes on the pieces of the board.
“Sometimes.” Luke answered. “Do you?”
“Play chess alone? Occasionally, but I like the unpredictability that comes from playing with an opponent.”
“You think opponents are unpredictable?” Luke asked, glancing at his book and moving his pawn accordingly.
“Yes and no. Once you know a person well enough, you understand their playing style. Their little tics and habits, and you can use that to your advantage.” Miss Pembleton gestured at him and then at the board, as if to illustrate her point.
Luke smiled and said teasingly. “That is rather Machiavellian of you.”
“Is it?” Miss Pembleton looked at him, a crease forming between her brows.
“I would say so.” Luke moved another piece.
“I just think of it as part of strategy. After all, if one is to win surely they should use every advantage they have?” Miss Pembleton met his gaze.
Luke raised an eyebrow. “As I said, a rather Machiavellian outlook.”
A faint flush crept across Miss Pembleton’s cheeks and she glanced away from him. There was a beat of silence before she asked, “And what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Well, what is your approach to winning?”
“Are you trying to learn my weaknesses so that you might exploit them Miss Pembleton?” Luke tried to keep his tone light and teasing, but it came out rather more sincerely than he had meant.
In spite of this she smiled, mischief in her eyes. “Perhaps I am simply trying to make conversation.”
“I thought we were here to play, not to converse.” Luke gestured to the table.
“Can we not do both?” Miss Pembleton sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “May I be frank?”
“Are you ever anything else?” Luke asked.
