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At last they left the crowded ballroom for qui
eter halls. Instead of stopping at the door to the library, however, he led Mélisande past it and around the corner where he turned, pulling her into his arms.
Alessandro savored the feel of her as she melted against him, her lips parting. His tongue teased and taunted, dipping into the warm well of her mouth, emulating a more primal rhythm that incited them both. The hunger that possessed him would never be sated with a mere kiss, no matter how passionate, but it was a beginning.
With every shared breath, his desire grew. His cock was swelling, again straining against confinement. He must stop. If he didn’t, he’d pick her up and carry her to his chamber, and then there would be no salvaging the situation. With regret, he pulled back, feeling her tremble with the uneven pace of her breath. “We must find a way to be together soon, amora.”
Cautiously, Mélisande poked her head back around the corner, making certain no one was there to overhear before whispering, “I shall have an address for our liaisons within the week.”
She reached up to smooth back his hair where she’d mussed it, and her touch sent a tremor through Alessandro. He wanted nothing more than to fling her to the floor right there in the hall. Then her words sank in, and surprise jerked him back from the brink. “You wish to make the arrangements?”
“Was I not the one who proposed this affaire?” she asked, lifting a brow. “Once I have procured a suitable place, we may begin our...association.”
Reaching across the gap between them, he traced her gown’s neckline. “Let us hope the arrangements do not take very long.” If it took more than a fortnight, a very important bit of his anatomy would suffer permanent petrifaction. Dio, how he ached!
For a long moment, the air between them fairly shimmered with heat. But before it could go any further, a noise from around the corner snapped them both back into awareness.
Alessandro moved them around the corner as if they’d been taking an innocent stroll to look at the art decorating the length of the hall. “I find this one somewhat disturbing,” he said, stopping to stare at a depiction of a woman being beheaded. Despite the fact that the headsman’s axe was poised to strike the deathblow, the lady’s expression was one of eerie serenity. It was titled The Thornless Rose.
“Why on earth would anyone choose to display such a horrid thing?” Mélisande exclaimed with quiet revulsion.
Their audience was a pair of young ladies. Even at a distance, Alessandro immediately recognized one of them. There could be no mistaking the pile of fiery red curls that bobbed as Lady Lydia Hampton bent to whisper in her companion’s ear.
A soft, high-pitched titter echoed back down the hall.
Ignoring it, the couple ducked into the library to join the others in games until the last dance. They’d be safe from prying eyes there.
The moment the door closed behind them, Mélisande seemed to relax. The sight of Stamma hunched over a chessboard by the fire brought a smile to her lips.
He looked up as they entered, his face brightening.
“No, don’t get up,” Mélisande called, waving him back down.
The chair opposite was empty. In fact, there were very few people in the room. A trio of gentlemen played cards at another table and a footman stood nearby. Otherwise, the place was deserted. Taking the seat across from her friend, she observed the board.
Alessandro noted that he’d laid out the pieces to replicate his game with Philidor.
“I see you’re still ruminating over that old game,” Mélisande grumbled, wriggling deep into the thickly padded chair. Her shoes dropped to the floor one by one as she tucked her feet beneath her skirts, relaxing against the back of the chair with a long, contented sigh.
Alessandro smiled inwardly, finding her blatant disregard for convention endearing. Apparently, Stamma was used to her contrary behavior as well, for the man didn’t even bat an eyelash. Flashing his opponent a brief smile, the master reached out to move the white king’s side bishop.
Mélisande took over for black and made her move, a deliberate variation from the game Philidor had played.
For a long while, the only sounds were those of the pieces clicking across the board, the fire crackling in the hearth, and the low murmurs of the men playing cards in the corner. They played twice more. By checkmate of their third game, several more people had trickled silently into the room to watch.
Throughout, Mélisande made no move to adjust her dress or posture. She appeared completely at ease, curled into her chair with her toes peeping out from beneath the edge of her gown, a faint smile playing about her mouth as she pitted her wits against those of her renowned opponent.
The fact that she was able to comfortably ignore her observers and concentrate well enough to win the last game spoke to the sharpness and self-discipline of her mind. Alessandro was again impressed.
Stamma broke the long silence. “That was a new strategy, Melly. I wasn’t aware you’d been studying other styles of play.”
She smiled sweetly, giving him an impish wink. “It is always good to study the paths one’s enemy tends to take, the better to catch him in an ambush.”
The men in the room chuckled, including Stamma. Just then a footman entered and announced the last dance of the evening would be played in one quarter of an hour.
Mélisande uncoiled, reaching down for her shoes, but Alessandro got to them first. Quick as lightning he snatched them away, eyes twinkling as he knelt at her feet.
“May I?”
