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“I’ve heard getting one’s leg shackled changes a man’s perspective,” Camdon chimed in, and rose, taking the glass that was close to shattering from Kent’s hand. “I’ll pour us another.”
Kent bowed his head and said, “You realize we were idiots. We should have been more honest with the women we loved, and with each other.”
“Even if you hadn’t objected to my pursuing Minerva, I wouldn’t doom her to a life without children,” Anthony said.
“You are an imbecile.” Kent stared him with eyes that appeared wiser than Anthony remembered his best friend possessing.
The verbal slight meant little between them. It was the anguish in Kent’s eyes that had Anthony slouching in his chair. “Minerva no longer wishes to become the Countess of Drake, and after consideration, I can’t fault her for desiring the alternative life she has planned.”
“That’s because the two of you think too much alike. I can hardly fathom a life better than being with the person…the woman who makes you whole. A lady who accepts you for all your faults and loves you in spite of them.” Kent took the glass Camdon held out for him.
Camdon resumed his seat and added, “I’ve not known Minerva long, but I doubt whatever life she has conceived could hold her interest for more than a summer.”
“Whatever led you to that belief?” Anthony asked.
“Think about it. Objectively. Minerva loves her siblings first and foremost. It won’t take Chestwick long to get his lady’s belly full. I suspect Minerva wouldn’t miss the birth of her nephew or niece for anything or whatever life you believe she wishes. Even if she wins your match, Minerva will not abandon her family.”
Camdon’s logic was sound, but it changed nothing. Minerva had no intentions of forfeiting the game, and Anthony was beginning to doubt whether he had the fortitude to refrain from touching her again should he win, which would ultimately result in her death. French letters were not fail-proof.
“I want to see for myself she is safe. Tell me where I can find her,” Kent pleaded.
“Do you trust me?” Anthony asked.
Kent hesitated, when he never had before. “Of course.”
“Then trust that I’ll ensure she remains safe until she returns to Malbury Townhouse.”
Kent placed the half-full glass next to the chessboard. “Very well. I’m off to track down Phyllis and beg her for forgiveness.”
“For?”
“My idiotic behavior.” He stormed out of the room at a near run.
Camdon chuckled. “Kent’s a lucky man to have found a woman as understanding as Phyllis.”
“It’s not so much that Phyllis is an understanding lady; it’s more that they understand each other.”
Camdon’s brow arched. “How very insightful of you.” He lifted his glass and gulped down the quarter-century-aged whisky then placed his empty glass upon the table next to the fallen queen. “You should plan on attending Penwort’s ball this eve.” Camdon reached for Kent’s tumbler and finished it off as well. “I shall be aboard a slip headed for the south of Spain.”
“Assigned to leave already?”
With a nod and a chuckle, Camdon said, “My punishment for failing my mission.”
Anthony was saddened to hear his friend was leaving. Being away from home and family, he imagined, was a lonely existence. “The odds of your defeating Minerva were slim. How unjust.”
“Regardless, I failed. I hope you shall not do the same.” Camdon bowed and headed out the door.
“When will you return?” Anthony asked his dejected friend.
Camdon turned and said, “The penalty is a fairly easy assignment. I hope to be back in time to witness you utter your vows.”
“You’re confident I shall win.”
“I have no doubt you are more than capable. The real question is, what will you choose—to love Minerva as husband or to remain her friend?” Camdon shook his head as he headed out.
Anthony stared at the chess pieces. The was no choice. He wanted Minerva as wife.
Chapter Twenty-One
