Page 17 of Rogue Lyon

“Oh, well done.” Jules clapped and sat back. “You got me there.” He laughed. “What a great game you play.”

“I was taking it easy on you.” She shrugged and smiled back. “You made a couple of claptrap moves that I could have taken more advantage of.”

“I did?” He raised his eyebrows. “Like what?”

She proceeded to tell him, at length, and using the board to demonstrate.

“Goodness, you really are a bright spark, Meredith. I can tell I’m going to learn a lot from you.”

“That is the idea.” A honeyed warmth filled her at his praise. “Want to go again? We have time.”

“On one condition.”

“Which is?”

“You allow me to refill your glass of wine.”

She hesitated.

“Go on, live a little.” He bit on his bottom lip and held in a mischievous grin.

“Oh, okay. It really is nice wine.”

“Excellent.” He stood and went to the decanter.

Her gaze slid down his lean body, lingering on his wide shoulders, narrow hips, and long legs. He was the perfect male specimen; his clothes touched him but didn’t restrict and were of the finest quality, and his movement was considered, graceful, and oozed confidence.

It was no wonder he had set tongues wagging for lingering on balconies with unwed debutantes. What kind of woman would walk away?

Not Meredith, that was for certain.

She curled her toes in her shoes and sat up straighter. She had to stop this chain of thought. It was unproductive and would lead to disappointment at best, trouble at worst.

The most sensible thing she could do was to heed Nancy’s warning.

Jules Habsburg was a handsome scoundrel and best kept at arm’s length.

Chapter Five

Jules refilled both glasses and sat.

Meredith had reset the chessboard and he let out a long, low breath. He was enjoying himself.

He was enjoying the chess and her company. Which was unusual. Not many women captured his attention. Lady Eloise, the Duke of Marlborough’s daughter, on the private terrace, had spoken of a new embroidery stitch she’d mastered and a bird—he forgot what species—who had a nest in the vegetable garden. No wonder he’d lingered; his mind had wandered to thoughts of a meal he had been planning to ask his cook to prepare. Duck with an orange sauce. He’d just sampled it and it was delicious.

Meredith picked up her wine and took a small sip. Her mind seemed to be already on the game and a small line sat between her brows.

“You first again?” he suggested.

“No.” She shook her head. “I have turned the board around. You are white now. Thought I’d shake up our chain of thinking.”

“Good idea.”

“And this time…” She set down her wine and pointed at him. “I want you to think at least four moves ahead.”

“Four moves? Is that possible? There are so many possibilities!”

“That is the only way to master chess, the only way to win tournaments. You must be able to see every outcome for every piece yet not give anything away to your opponent.”