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Kent joined them and raised his glass in the air in the direction of Anthony’s jawline. “Then explain how you obtained those smudges of white face paint near your ear?”
Anthony had no intention of answering Kent’s question, or he might be meeting his best friend at dawn in a muddy field somewhere. He pulled out the chair in front of the chessboard and sank into it. “I need to prepare for my match with your sister.”
Nonplussed by his change of topic, Camdon promptly sank into the chair opposite him and began to arrange the pieces in front of him so that they were centered within their square. The man was meticulous.
“Did the two of you discover any more information regarding Minerva’s plans?”
Camdon sat back and grumbled, “Every idea, every lead, led us back here.”
“Here, as in my residence?”
“Yes.” Kent chuckled. “Knowing Minerva, she’s hatched numerous plans and laid some decoys related to her scheme at large. But wouldn’t it be a lark to find out that her ultimate plan all along was to become the Countess of Drake?”
Was Kent correct? Had the minx somehow plannedallof this?
Arms crossed over his chest, Anthony stared at the wood pieces in front of him. The hours he’d spent with Minerva replayed in his mind on a continuous loop. His heart sank every time he remembered the excruciating pleasure he experienced as he released his seed in her. He’d been careless. What if she became enceinte and died? It would be all his fault.
Mayhap the possibility of Minerva winning was a good thing. For he might be the death of her. Last night proved he’d not be able to refrain from venturing to her bed once they were married. He had no self-control when it came to Minerva.
“The pieces shan’t move by themselves,” Kent prompted as he dragged another chair over to join them. “Any luck devising a strategy to defeat Minerva?”
A seedling of doubt started to sprout. It was conceivable Anthony could lose, but should he forfeit? Minerva had made it abundantly clear earlier that she believed assuming the role of Madame Rose was far more favorable than becoming the next Countess of Drake, even after spending the night abed with him.
Anthony glanced up at Kent. “Your sister’s moves are highly unpredictable. I’d be a fool to believe I could concoct a solitary strategy that would see me crowned the winner.”
“Then…predict the unpredictable,” Camdon said as he swiveled the board around until the white pieces were again in front of him. Why bother moving the board only to place it back in its original position?
With a frown, Camdon sat back in his seat, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “After following one fruitless lead after another, I’ve come to the realization that Lady Minerva’s chess play is much like how she conducts her clandestine activities.”
Anthony was well aware that Camdon’s statement was accurate—however, it might prove helpful to gain the perspective of a spy. “How so?”
Camdon opened his eyes and stared down at the pieces on the board. “It was during our investigation that I began to recognize a pattern. As we gained each piece of information, our confidence in success grew. Much like when I captured each of Minerva’s pieces during our match, my belief in defeating the clever chit amplified.” He moved the pieces in front of him, replaying the first four moves of his game with Minerva, and then continued, “But what I failed to realize during our game was that with each move, I too was providing critical information that increased Minerva’s odds of winning.”
“Do you suspect Minerva was tracking your progress?”
“Doubtful. My instincts tell me that the wild goose chase was merely a diversion. Instead of following the clues, we should have looked to do the opposite. Except we were able to discover she had been sighted in and about King’s Square, which then led to evidence that she had returned to Mayfair, which we now know to be untrue.” Camdon continued to play out the moves, pausing each time he replicated one of Minerva’s. He peered up at Anthony. “All morn I’ve been wondering, why lead us to King’s Square?”
“How many clues did it take you before you found yourself in King’s Square?”
Kent gazed into his glass and then answered, “Eight hours, and sixteen clues.”
Anthony pondered. Was that Minerva’s prediction—that she’d defeat him in eight hours or in sixteen moves? He continued to observe Camdon moving the pieces in front of them.
The combination of her moves struck Anthony. It was like she wanted her opponent to win, but her pride would not allow her to forfeit the game. He leaned forward to study the board closer. She had sacrificed her queen, which represented her alter ego, Madame Rose. Anthony sharply sat back in his chair.
With a smirk, Camdon said, “You know where she is, don’t you?”
Anthony was a terrible liar, so he hedged his answer. “Mayhap.”
Kent rose to his feet and demanded, “Where?”
Anthonyshouldtell his best friend where his wayward sister was. But Minerva wanted independence. And she had proven over the years that she wasn’t in need of the protection he or her brother could provide.
“I merely want to ensure she is happy and safe.”
Anthony glanced up at Kent, who was disheveled and with dark smudges under his eyes. The man was clearly worried, and so Anthony replied, “Do you think I’d be here if I thought that she was in harm’s way?”
“I no longer know what to think about your actions. None of which make any sense to me and haven’t since…since I married.” Kent slumped back into his chair.
