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“How gracious of you, Miss Parker,” he flung back at her, before lowering his eyes to the board, making his first move.
Delia’s heart hammered as she watched him make his first move. She realised the palms of her hands were sweaty. The anger was giving her an edge, though. It was coursing through her blood like fire.
She made her first move, then sat back, glaring at him. He quickly made his next move, then raised his eyes to hers.
“Where did you say you learnt to play chess again?” he barked.
“I learnt from my father,” she said, taking a deep breath. “We enjoyed playing games together of an evening.”
He nodded. “The father that died from smallpox, along with your mother?”
Delia kept glaring at him. “Yes. That is how they died.”
She made her next move. The tension was simmering like a witch’s brew around them.
“And you almost died from it yourself?” he asked, making his move.
She nodded. Her heart was hammering so violently that it felt like it might jump out of her chest. So, he was back to interrogating her about her background.
He leaned over the board towards her, lowering his voice. “You said you still carry scars from your battle with the pox, Miss Parker. And yet I have seen your body…and your skin is as flawless as your face.”
Hot colour flooded her cheeks. “You have not seen myentirebody, Mr Hartfield,” she said in a furious whisper. “Do not presume that you know me better than I know myself.”
“I do not know you at all,” he whispered, his eyes dangerously dark, almost black. “Who exactlyisMiss Delia Parker? You are an enigma. And you obviously want to keep it that way.”
Their eyes locked and held in a battle of wills. Delia refused to lower hers. She was seething with anger now. She noticed that her hands were shaking. Quickly, she clasped them together on her lap, willing them to stop.
“Why do you wish to know my entire life story?” she whispered, her eyes shooting off sparks.
“I just like people to be honest with me,” he whispered through gritted teeth.
Her heart was slamming now. “And you think I am not being honest with you?”
“I think you are misrepresenting yourself,” he said slowly. “I do not think you are who you claim to be and are lying about your life story.”
“How dare you?” she said in a ferocious whisper. “You presume a lot, Mr Hartfield, on so short an acquaintance. Just because I have not given you every small detail about my past doesnotmean I am misrepresenting myself!”
His eyes flickered over her. “We are more than casual acquaintances,Miss Parker.” He emphasised her name, his tongue rolling over the words. “Will you admit that?”
Her colour deepened. “Just because we have grown…closeon this journey does not mean you are entitled to every last detail about my life,” she whispered. “And now I am regretting that closeness. Clearly, you are angry with me because I refuse to be your mistress.”
They glared at each other across the board, the game forgotten.
He gave a bark of laughter. “I am not angry about that,” he said. “I respect your choice. It is yours to make.” He took a deep, ragged breath. “I am angry because I do not know who you truly are. Are you a confidence woman?”
Delia’s jaw dropped open. Stunned, she couldn’t say a word for a moment.
He was accusing her not only of being a fraud but a criminal. A person who makes their way in the world by pretending to be someone in order to deceive and manipulate. A person who lures people in with the act in order to rob them.
She was so hurt by the accusation that it took her breath away. How could he think that way about her? How could he accuse her of being a calculating confidence woman?
Her eyes blurred with tears. She had given her heart to him, even though he didn’t know it, nor want it. And he had given her nothing in return, except sweet words about how much he desired her. He had asked her to be his mistress but not his sweetheart. His intentions towards her were self-serving, and he didn’t give a hoot about her feelings. Ambrose Hartfield had played her in order to get what he wanted from her, and now he was accusingherof deliberately manipulating him.
She cursed herself for her stupidity. She had resolved at the outset of this journey to keep her distance from everyone and look where she was. Locked in a fierce argument with a man who had seduced her and was alleging she was a fraud.
And the worst of it was shewasa fraud. But not in the way he believed.
And she couldn’t tell him the truth. Not that he deserved it, anyway. He didn’t deserve anything. Sister Mary Majella had been right—she shouldn’t have agreed to this game with him. He had challenged her, and foolishly, she had accepted that challenge. But all he had wanted to do was take the opportunity to sling accusations against her.
