Page 12 of A Wallflower for the Disguised Earl

Corinna looked across the space and caught Edmund’s eye. He looked suffocated. He shifted his weight on the tiny chair, looking as though he might snap the wooden legs at any moment. Corinna decided to see exactly what lay beneath that controlled exterior.

“I find London society to be rather like a messy endgame,” Corinna said, raising her voice just enough to carry clearly across the room. “Everyone is desperately protecting their king, but no one seems to know what the knights are actually doing.”

Edmund’s head snapped up.

The boredom vanished from his blue eyes in an instant. His broad shoulders tensed beneath his cheap brown coat, and he stared at her, clearly surprised by the metaphor.

“Perhaps,” Edmund replied, his deep voice cutting cleanly through the noise of Vivienne’s chatter, “the knights prefer to stay on the margins until a clear path presents itself.”

Corinna smiled, feeling a spark of genuine triumph. He is not just a servant, she thought. He understands exactly how the board is set.

She glanced to her right. Aunt Phoebe had left her chessboard set up on a small table near the window. The boxwood and ebony pieces gleamed invitingly in the morning sun. Corinna looked back at the secretary, noting the sharp intelligence burning in his gaze.

“Do you fancy a game of chess, Mr. Marsh?” Corinna asked softly.

Edmund looked at the board, and then he looked back at Corinna. The tight line of his mouth softened just a fraction. “I have been known to engage in a game or two, Miss Ashwell.”

They stood simultaneously and walked over to the small table, leaving the flirtation on the sofa entirely behind them. Edmund pulled out a chair for Corinna, waiting until she was completely seated and her skirts were settled before taking the opposite side.

The small table forced them into proximity. Corinna could smell the clean scent of soap and wool clinging to his coat. She took the boxwood pieces, resting her fingers lightly on her pawns.

“I prefer to take the initiative,” Corinna said softly. She moved her king’s pawn forward two spaces. “Waiting for permission is a terrible strategy.”

Edmund did not hesitate. He mirrored her move instantly with a black pawn. “A bold opening, Miss Ashwell.”

They fell into a rapid, silent rhythm. They moved the pieces across the board with practiced speed, advancing knights and bishops in a fierce, unspoken battle for the center squares. Corinna watched his hands. They were large, callused, and surprisingly graceful as he manipulated the delicate ebony pieces.

The space between them grew incredibly warm. The polite noise of her sister’s conversation faded, leaving only the soft click of the pieces on the wooden board and the steady sound of their breathing.

When Corinna reached across the board to capture a pawn, her knuckles brushed lightly against his.

The contact was electric.

Corinna inhaled sharply, pulling her hand back a second too late. She looked up. Edmund was already looking at her. His blue eyes were dark and intensely focused, completely stripped of the bored, subservient mask he wore for the rest of the room. The heat in his gaze made her breath catch in her throat.

He is entirely too observant, she realized. And he is looking at me as if he knows all my secrets.

“You favor a very aggressive defense, Mr. Marsh,” Corinna managed to say. She stared at the center squares to avoid looking at his mouth.

“I am merely protecting my position,” Edmund said quietly.

“You are entirely too willing to sacrifice your pieces to do it,” she countered, pointing to the bishop he had just deliberately left wide open.

“Sometimes a sacrifice is necessary to see the opponent’s true position,” Edmund replied. His voice dropped an octave, vibrating in the small space between them.

Corinna felt a flush of heat rise in her cheeks. He was absolutely not talking about the pieces on the board. The air felt thick and heavy. Every time he moved a piece, she felt the subtle shift of his broad shoulders, the quiet, measured intake of his breath.

The game continued for ten more agonizing, thrilling minutes. It was fiercely close and challenging in a way Corinna had never experienced before. Finally, she saw the opening. She maneuvered her rook into a devastating position, trapping his black king against the back rank.

“Checkmate,” Corinna announced softly.

Edmund looked down at the board. He studied the trapped king for a long moment. He looked at his knight, resting perfectly safely on the side of the board. He could have moved it. He could have blocked her rook entirely. He had seen the move three turns ago; she was certain of it.

Instead, very slowly, he reached out and tipped the black king over with his index finger.

“Well played, Miss Ashwell,” he said.

Corinna stared at the fallen piece. A strange prickle of irritation washed over her. He had lost, but there was a distinct sense that he had allowed her to win. He had held back at the very last second.