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Anthony’s plan had backfired. He found it was he who was stunned. “Minerva’s shared her plans with you?”
Chestwick ignored his question and sat back as his wife leaned over to speak to Anthony once more. “You had best do the right thing if Minerva wins this eve.” Diana huffed and sat back, crossing her arms over her chest.
He fully intended to. He would challenge her in front of their peers…and he would win. But he couldn’t marry her until he discovered, and ensured she gained, whatever escapade she desperately sought. He had to. If he couldn’t give her the family she deserved, he’d give her the adventure she wanted.
He studied Chestwick for another moment. The man’s features revealed nothing. What did he know of Minerva’s plans?
Minerva’s sweet voice caught Anthony’s attention. “Lord Camdon, shall we begin?”
Camdon scanned the crowd around them and then nodded. “Ready.”
Gloveless, Minerva hovered a steady hand over the center pawn and shifted it two spaces forward.
Chestwick commented, “Relax. I expect this to be a rather lengthy match.”
Anthony prayed Chestwick was wrong. He was counting on Minerva to make swift, decisive moves and cursorily dispatch her opponent.
Except Minerva’s cheeks were glowing pink, and there was a distinct lack of tension in her neck. Where was the woman who detested being the center of attention, who let the presence of Mansville and his lot make her hand shake, who was on edge when playing a stranger? Peculiar.
Minerva made her move, relaxed back into her seat, and smiled at her opponent. Not smiled, beamed at Camdon as if they were close friends, not mere acquaintances.
Had she decided to let the man win, and wed Camdon? Bile rose to his throat at the thought.
Chestwick mumbled, “What the blazes is Camdon up to? Moving his pawn, but only one space.”
Anthony refocused his attention on the chessboard rather than Minerva. His heart thumped in his chest as she moved her king pawn two spaces forward to join the first. Her first two moves were textbook in nature, no surprises. Camdon’s gaze was trained on Minerva and not the board. It was clear his play was dictated by his assessment of his opponent, not the position of the pieces. The seasoned spy leaned forward before briefly glancing down at the board then studying Minerva once more.
Anthony forced his muscles to relax, as Chestwick had advised. This would be the longest and hardest game of chess he’d have to endure in silence.
Finally, Camdon inhaled and then reached for his bishop and placed it in the space his pawn had vacated. A bold and aggressive second move. The man’s gaze flickered to Minerva the entire time he was making his move. Observing her. Assessing her. Appreciating her.
Anthony crossed his arms and jammed his fists tight into his armpits. Damn Camdon. His untraditional moves may prove to be effective if Minerva wasn’t careful.
“Hmm.” Chestwick leaned over and asked, “What would your next move be if you were Minerva?”
Anthony studied the board. “I’d mimic Camdon and move my bishop.” Before he even completed the statement, Minerva executed the move he would have made.
“It appears Minerva and you do think alike,” Chestwick commented.
It wasn’t uncommon for chess players to foretell his or her opponent’s next move—that was what distinguished serious chess strategists from those that played for purely recreational purposes. What was disturbing was that Camdon’s play was somewhat reckless, in Anthony’s opinion, and that was incongruent with what he knew of the man he considered a friend. Even Avondale and Mansville looked on with their brows furrowed.
Everyone around the room appeared somewhat perplexed—everyone, that was, but Minerva and Lady Charlotte. The pair gave Anthony the impression that Camdon was playing exactly as they’d expected.
The corner of Minerva’s lips twitched as Camdon moved one of his pawns two spaces forward, placing it in jeopardy. As soon as Minerva took Camdon’s pawn, the man sat back, crossed his leg over his knee, and reviewed the remaining pieces.
Anthony glanced at Chestwick. “What do you predict Camdon will do?”
Chestwick shrugged. “Not a clue, but the gleam in Minerva’s eyes tells me he is playing exactly as she had hoped.”
Anthony thought the same. While everyone waited for Camdon to act, Anthony sat back and admired Minerva. There was an air of confidence surrounding her this eve. She easily ignored Mansville’s interest, and she was more focused on the crowd than the wood pieces in front of her. Chess was Minerva’s favorite pastime; she would obsess over analyzing and replaying matches long after they had been played. What was her preoccupation with the guests gathered about this eve?
Camdon unfolded his leg and firmly placed it back on the floor, before reaching for his bishop once more to capture Minerva’s pawn that sat on the front line.
Without hesitation, Minerva picked up her queen and made her move. “Check.” She glanced up at Anthony and gave him a wink.
Anthony blinked, registering that if it had been him she had been playing, he would now owe her a secret. And truth be told, he would have made the same move as Camdon had. He frowned at the board. Minerva may have placed Camdon in check, but her queen sat vulnerable.
Camdon made the logical move of shifting his pawn one space forward to protect his king and stall defeat. Again, Minerva acted quickly, taking Camdon’s pawn with one of her own.
