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He leaned down and said, “We are not done with this discussion.” As if he needed confirmation she was indeed Madame Rose, he bent and crushed his lips to hers. When she kissed him back and then grazed her tongue over his lower lip, just as the opera singer had done two years ago, Anthony released a groan that was part desire, part submission.
The kiss left no doubt. Minerva was Madame Rose.
He released her and said, “Stay here. I shall return momentarily.”
The window was his only escape. He pried the window open, and, without a second thought, he slipped out into the dark.
Thankfully his toes balanced on a ledge, and he shimmied his way along the exterior wall. Memories of the night he’d spent lying abed with Madame Rose two years ago, fully dressed, fully aroused, flashed before him, slowing his progress. How could he have not known it was Minerva? Argh. What a fool he was. He had lain next to her—no, not Minerva, next to Madame Rose—and confessed that while he was extremely attracted to her, he could not be intimate because he was in love with his best friend’s sister. As Madame Rose, the chit had dragged a solitary finger along his jaw and whispered, “No one will know.” But he couldn’t betray Minerva and had rolled away, leaving the opera singer’s backstage room.
Damnation. He rested his forehead against the cool exterior stone—Minerva had known all these years he was in love with her, and she never confessed. Anthony didn’t know if should be angry, relieved, or incensed at the woman.
He glanced down at the empty terrace and jumped to the ground. Before he ran into another guest, he marched straight back to the drawing room, only to find Minerva and the chessboard surrounded by Kent, Chestwick, and a gaggle of young bucks.
He was going to do what he’d originally set out to do this eve. He approached Minerva. The gentlemen parted, making space for him. “Lady Minerva, I’d be honored if you would accept my challenge for your hand.”
Minerva avoided his gaze, which was a first. She sank into a curtsy and said, “I accept your challenge, Lord Drake.” Straightening, she turned to address Kent. “Brother, I trust you shall make the necessary arrangements.”
As soon as Kent nodded, she picked up her skirts and fled, which was utterly surprising, for Minerva preferred to face obstacles, not run from them.
Anthony glanced at Kent, who shrugged and said, “Let’s find Phyllis and be off.”
As they reentered the ballroom, they found Avondale first. Anthony paused next to the Foreign Office agent and said, “I trust you shall see to it that Minerva arrives home safely.”
“Aye. I intend to return both Malbury sisters to their residence as soon as they return from the ladies’ retiring room.”
Kent returned with Phyllis, who was scowling at Anthony once again. She narrowed her gaze upon him and said, “It’s only fair that Minerva be granted a few days to rest before her next match. Your game shall be held at the Malbury residence in three days’ time. Observers shall be granted access by invite only.”
It was clear Kent wasn’t the one in charge. Except Anthony suspected it wasn’t Phyllis’ idea to delay their match either.
Minerva. The minx was still at the heart of every decision. A three-day delay was fine with him. He’d utilize every moment to his advantage, now that he knew of her plans.
Chapter Sixteen
Hidden under thebedcovers from the morning light streaming in through her windows, Minerva rolled over and punched her pillow. She placed her cheek in the small indentation she managed to make and sighed.
Sleep had evaded her all night. Her confession replayed over and over in her mind. It had been a mistake to admit to being Madame Rose. She should have reserved her secret in case Anthony placed her in check during their game. What had she been thinking? The dark smudges under his eyes had softened her resolve. That and the burden of guilt she’d carried with her for two long years. She hated deceiving him—knowing the truth and unable to convince him to act upon his feelings for her.
Each and every one of her attempts as Lady Minerva Malbury to spur Anthony into taking action had failed. She decided if she was unable to convince him as herself, she might be able to as Madame Rose. The idea had merit at the time she initially conceived it. But even while she formulated her plan to assume the role of Madame Rose once again, she’d held out hope Anthony would challenge her to a game of chess, and her efforts to lead a double life wouldn’t be necessary. Except month after month, she was left disappointed.
That was until Avondale’s house party. It was while she was apart from Anthony that she realized, even though he might have been the reason for her scheme, the idea of gaining her independence had become more and more alluring. Her plan had then become more about her than Anthony.
Wide awake, she rolled onto her back and stared up at the canopy above her bed. Anthony. The man who had featured in dreams both day and night. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she reached for a pillow to hug it close to her chest. Vivid images of Anthony passionately kissing her as Madame Rose after one of her performances were no longer fond memories. Now the memory left a bitter taste atop her tongue.
Ugh. She was jealous of her alter ego. It made no sense, especially since he’d declined to pursue her as Madame Rose.
Steady, rhythmic footfalls out in the hall signaled her sister’s approach. Minerva tucked the pillow behind her head just as Diana waltzed into her chambers and announced, “Chestwick and Avondale are waiting below.”
Minerva rose to a sitting position and stretched her arms above her head. “Waiting for what?”
“To assist you.” Diana emerged from the changing chamber with a pretty yellow day dress.
Minerva rubbed the grit from her eyes and swung her feet over the edge until her toes touched the floor. “Sister mine, it is way too early in the morn to speaking in riddles. Pray, explain why you are here or leave.”
“Since Drake has recruited Benedict and Camdon to assist him in preparing for your chess match, Isadora and I agreed it’s only fair that Chestwick and Avondale come to your aid.” Diana placed the dress next the changing screen.
Minerva padded her way to the corner to perform her morning ablutions. Blast. Anthony had recruited her most recent opponent. Lord Camdon would be able to provide a detailed analysis of her play. Her instincts were right: the man was preparing to wage war upon her.
Since Anthony hadn’t played in years, it was only fair he be given a chance—not that Camdon or Kent would seriously be able to help. A wiser choice would have been for Anthony to ask Chestwick and Avondale for assistance. Both gentlemen were indeed superb chess players who simply masked their skills rather than flaunt them.
