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He sat up and stared at his opponent. Camdon was seated in front of the white pieces, although he appeared to be in no rush to engage in another game, which was fine with Anthony. Kent had been right: he wasn’t able to concentrate on the chessboard, not when, like Kent suspected, Minerva was about to embark upon a quest.
Kent returned to stand in front of the chessboard and glared down at him. “Do you have a clue as to what my sister might be planning?”
Anthony had an inkling, but he wasn’t about to give up one of Minerva’s secrets. “Not at this time.” He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Need I remind you, your sister warned me she will be playing to win, regardless of her feelings for me. She will not forfeit our game on purpose. Thus, I need to focus if I’m to win. The whole point of sequestering you two here was to help me develop a stratagem that even Minerva couldn’t play her way out of. Now are you ready to assist me or not?”
Instead of reaching for a pawn to begin a new game, Camdon stood and faced Kent. “I don’t think he has any idea how to go about defeating your sister. You best be prepared for the alternative.”
Anthony stood to glare at Camdon. His friend might be a skilled agent for the Crown, but he was also an arrogant bastard, always underestimating others.
Ugh. Much like himself.
Camdon grabbed Kent’s empty glass and walked over to the now half-empty decanter on the sideboard. He generously refilled the two glasses. “If Lady Minerva wins, what will the two of you do?”
In unison, Kent and Anthony replied, “Losing is not an option.”
Ignoring Anthony, Camdon addressed Kent. “Aren’t you even the least bit curious as to what your sister has planned, should she win?”
Kent answered, “Of course…and I’ve spent every waking hour trying to determine what my clever sister has devised. The problem is…”
Camdon grinned. “She’s been planning for years, and you only have days. Perhaps our time would be better spent investigating what Minerva believes to be a more advantageous future than becoming Drake’s wife.”
“She wants to be more than a countess. She wants…” Kent placed his half-full drink back on the sideboard and marched toward the door. “I have an idea.”
Anthony narrowed his gaze upon Kent. Had his friend figured out Minerva’s secret plan? It wasn’t likely, but he couldn’t be certain.
Camdon followed Kent’s lead and placed his empty glass back where it belonged, then turned to ask Anthony, “Are you coming?”
“Where exactly are you going?”
Kent answered, “Come along and find out.”
Anthony’s intuition told him to stay put. Trusting his instincts, he replied, “Not today.”
Kent frowned. The disappointment in his gaze stabbed Anthony in his heart. Kent was more like a brother than friend. They had grown up inseparable, and for the majority of their lives they had always been in sync, or at least he had led Kent to believe so.
Camdon pushed Kent out into the foyer. “Leave him to study the board, and we shall make the necessary inquiries.”
Anthony sat and peered through the open door until the booted footfalls of his friends faded into silence. Alone once more, a darkness settled about his heart. He turned back to face the black chess pieces in front of him. Normally he’d visualize the pieces shifting in his mind well before he physically moved them, but his mind remained blank.
He lifted his gaze to the empty seat opposite him. His imagination played a trick on him, projecting an image of Madame Rose in her velvety, low-cut, jewel-toned gown.
He blinked and Minerva appeared, dressed in a pale yellow dress styled in the same manner as the ones all the unmarried ladies wore.
Whom was he marrying?
Minerva wasn’t only his best friend’s sister that had grown up before his very eyes. There was this entirely mysterious side to the woman. He needed to better understand Minerva’s alter ego.
He stood and turned away from the chessboard. If he could gain insight into this alternative life Minerva had planned, it might…justmightbe the key to figuring out how to win against her.
Chapter Eighteen
Arms spread wide,Minerva twirled in the center of her rented room. And she sang…sang her favorite aria rather than having to hum it. Loud and clear. There was no need for her to escape into the gardens. Air filled her lungs and the notes escaped her, a little rusty but still freeing.
The walls shook. “Stop yer wailin’.”
Her neighbors apparently were not theatre enthusiasts, at least not during the midday hours.
She spun around and scanned the room. It remained empty of furniture, but it was her space. Her heart filled with joy. She walked over to the window and peered out into the bustling street. The scene below was like a foreign land. Men and women moved about with purpose. No leisurely strolling. No one milling about waiting to be the first to witness a faux pas.
