Page 18 of Rogue Lyon

“A bit like brag?”

“Exactly like brag. Say nothing with your expression but read what you can from the other player or players.”

He studied her. “And if I can’t do four moves ahead?”

“You will be able to, and what’s more, after several lessons, you’ll be able to counter eight moves ahead.”

He laughed. “You are optimistic.”

“I have faith in my student.” Her eyes flashed in the golden light and the right side of her mouth twitched. His heart did a strange, little squeeze. This woman spoke in a way no one else ever had with him. She looked at him with both humor and intelligence and just a little bit of amusement.

And he liked it—a lot.

“Right we are.” He rubbed his hands together, the friction heating his skin. “Let’s do this.”

“Plan your moves.”

They started playing and he studied the board, finding he wanted to please her, to gain her approval for his strategy.

After a few moments of silence, she sipped her wine again. “Are you thinking about my next moves, all the ones possible?”

“That, I am.” He tapped the side of his head.

She still won the game, but he felt like his had improved.

“Very good,” she said. “You were much more thoughtful and less reactive that time.”

He sat back and stretched out his fingers on the table. “I’m glad you think so.”

“I do.” She tipped her head. “Habsburg, it’s an unusual name, don’t you think?” She paused. “Unless, of course, you’re part of the famous Habsburg dynasty.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Which I am.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize.” She bobbed her head. “Your Highness.”

“I am not ‘Your Highness.’” A familiar knot of frustration caught in his belly. “Centuries ago, my great-grandfather—well, times that by several greats—Maximilian of Austria, sired a son with a lady member of his father’s court. That son is my direct ancestor, meaning so is Maximilian I and his father before that.”

“And you know this how?” She raised one eyebrow.

“It is a family story, passed down the generations, and that son, who grew up in Vienna, he used the name Habsburg so that we’d never forget where we came from.”

“And Maximilian didn’t marry this woman who became pregnant?”

“No, he was promised to Mary of Burgundy. His father had brokered a deal that could not be undone. There was lots of money and land involved, a marriage that would ultimately amass more power for the Habsburgs, which incidentally is how they rose to power: clever, strategic marriages, not war. It is said that Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, Maximilian’s grandson, ruled over so much land east to west that the sun never set on his empire.”

“I see.” She folded her arms and nodded. “And you resent this? That you didn’t step in their shoes?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“I can’t pretend to know much about the history of the Habsburg family, but didn’t one of them raise an armada to attack our own Queen Elizabeth?”

“Yes, indeed.” He stood and walked to a dwindling candle, using it to light a new one. “That was King Philip of Spain. He was a staunch Catholic and hated that England no longer was.”

“Are you Catholic?”

“No, my father raised me Protestant. Like most folk around here.”

She was quiet and he turned to look at her. “You appear to want to say something, Meredith.”