“An invitation into the circle of the Chessmen? I’m honored.” He quickly grabbed a leather chair from another sitting area, shoved it into place between King and Knight, and dropped into it. He grinned broadly. “As you have most of the pieces represented—king,knight, bishop, rook,andtwo queens—I suppose I am left to be the pawn.”
“Never underestimate the importance of the pawn,” Knight said.
Lawrence wiggled his eyebrows. “Especially when he has the ability to get his hands on a rare find.” Reaching into his coat pocket, he withdrew a leather-bound book and set it carefully on the table as he might fragile glass. Gold lettering was embossed in the leather.My Secret Desires, A Memoir.
No one moved. No one reached for it.
“How the devil did you get that?” King asked, his voice a near whisper of astonishment as though a once-lost ancient treasure had suddenly been unearthed and necessitated a moment of reverence.
“Lord Chesney offered it to cover his wager at the card table. Unfortunately for him, and fortunately for me, I held the better hand. I’m quite looking forward to reading it as I’m given to understand it’s rather naughty. Chesney nearly wept when he lost. He said rumors are floating about it’s going to be banned for indecency.”
“Then we should all read it,” Penelope said. “People should not be denied the opportunity to enjoy what they wish. And how does one determine what is indecent? I’ve yet to visit a museum or an art gallery that does not have a nude statue or a painting revealing a good deal of flesh. They are acceptable in those environments. Why not in all?”
“You’re quite passionate about this topic,” Knight said.
“I simply don’t comprehend how writing a description of a person’s body or an act is any different thanpainting it, and I’ve heard this book is quite detailed. Although I don’t know the specifics, I can only surmise what might be considered indecent.”
“Perhaps they, whoevertheyare who determine what is acceptable, fear having less control over what one imagines in the mind when reading as opposed to what is presented on canvas. With words alone, a seed can blossom in the imagination and carry one on a journey into realms unexplored. Or not. Depending upon one’s imagination.”
“Knight should read it first,” Bishop stated succinctly, obviously uninterested in getting into a philosophical discussion. “Then he can tell us if it’s indecent.”
“You’re missing my entire point,” Penelope said. “Some of us might find it indecent while others might not. Who is to say which of us is correct?”
“I have no interest in it,” Knight lied. He was dying to read it, to determine if the imagination of bored ladies of thetonhad simply run amok, if they were envisioning him as the main character because he’d become distant during the past few years, giving women—especially those whose mothers shoved them into his path—only the attention politeness dictated. At balls he rarely danced. He never took anyone to the theater, despite having a box. He kept to himself as much as possible.
“Of course you have an interest,” Bishop said. “You may be striving to give the appearance you aren’t bothered by the rumors circulating that the woman’s lover strongly resembles you, but you must be curious. A read should give you the ammunition needed to permanently put the speculation to rest.”
“If I ignore it, it will all go away.”
“Nothing ignored ever goes away,” Penelope said. “Eventually it will come to the fore and wreak its havoc, whether for good or ill.”
He didn’t know why he was left with the impression she spoke from experience. His two married friends were extremely protective of their ladies, and Knight suspected they all held secrets. Certainly, he had his share.
He glared at the book resting innocently on the table as though incapable of causing harm, when he knew it quite possibly possessed the power to destroy. At the very least it was making his life miserable because it and he were dominating conversations. People were growing bolder, asking him to his face if he was Lord K. He yearned to close his fingers around the book and spread open the pages until they revealed all the mysteries within.
“Bloody hell,” he finally ground out before snatching it up. “I’ll take it if for no other reason than to keep it out of your hands. Now may we discuss something more pleasant? A plague, perhaps?”
The blighters he called friends had the audacity to grin and chuckle. He wished he’d left the book alone because already it felt like it was scalding his fingertips and seeping into his soul, determined not to let him rest until he knew the truth of it.
Miss Regina Leyland liked shadowed corners. Especially at the Twin Dragons. Her preferred table, where she now sat, was located in just such a corner. She wasn’t certain how poker, which apparently was very popularin America, had become part of this establishment’s repertoire of games offered. However, it had quickly taken its place as her favorite, and she’d developed the ability to calculate the odds in order to determine the likelihood she held a winning hand. She was also quite accomplished when it came to reading her opponents and deducing whether they were bluffing.
Having grown up along the edge of Society, she’d had ample time to unobtrusively scrutinize those who wandered by, make predictions about their behavior, and discover if she was correct. She’d been like a child pressing her nose against the window of a toy shop, longing to step inside and discover something within had been made specifically for her. That she could select the proper doll that would grant her common ground with all the other little girls. That they’d accept her at last.
But they never had and so she’d simply watched. And in watching, she’d learned how to judge people’s temperaments and moods, to know when they were angry or sad or in love. She could determine who was kind and who was unpleasant. Who to favor and who to avoid. Only once in her life had she gotten it completely and absolutely wrong. But it had been a lesson learned and a mistake she’d never make again.
From her vantage point at the table with her back to the wall, she had an unobstructed view of those who entered the gaming hell and often observed them until they disappeared into various hallways leading to rooms where other entertainments awaited. Within her fertile mind, she’d weave scenarios about wherethey were going, whom they were meeting, and in what activities they might become engaged.
And so it was she’d seen the arrival of Lord Knightly, a man she’d once desperately loved with every fiber of her being and now despised from the very depths of her soul. Being jilted at the altar had a way of changing a woman’s heart. Not that she’d been a woman five years ago. An innocent girl, more like, in spite of her advanced age at the time of two and twenty. Believing in hopes and dreams and the veracity of love having the power to overcome all obstacles.
Sheltered and protected. A princess, her father had always called her. He’d been her knight in shining armor and searching for someone to replace him. The Earl of Knightly had certainly seemed to fit the bill—until he no longer had.
Waiting to walk up the aisle, she’d been wearing an ivory gown designed by Charles Worth of Paris himself. She’d never known such happiness and believed the joy she was experiencing would only increase through the years.
Knightly had arrived tardily with the news he’d changed his mind, couldn’t marry her after all. No specifics, only a generalized admittance he’d decided they wouldn’t suit.
She’d not let on exactly how devastating she’d found his abandonment or how badly she’d been hurt. Instead, she’d gone on a three-year-long trek through Europe, journaling her escapades in a series of articles for a lady’s magazine. Although often what appeared in print was how she’d imagined the adventure ratherthan the reality of it. But no one had been able to discern the difference. More importantly, she’d discovered writing filled an emptiness in her soul, a hollow ache, a bottomless abyss into which she’d become lost on that fateful morning when she’d been at St. George’s, expecting to marry—only to be discarded at the last minute.
Now, at twenty-seven, she cared for no one’s opinion, save her own. She came here where most of the members were of the aristocracy and flaunted her notoriety while taking their coins. She projected a mien of confidence and daring. She would not be looked down upon. In spite of the circumstances of her birth, she was still the daughter of an earl, as well as the daughter of an accomplished actress. She was proud of her heritage. No one could take it away from her.
