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“Rarely. Our responsibilities leave little time for such indulgences.”
There was something beneath the answer, but before Cordelia could decide whether to ask, he reached forward and toppled his king.
She blinked. “You concede?”
“I know when I’ve been defeated.”
A little surge of triumph went through her. “I should like that written down somewhere.”
His laugh was soft. “I begin to understand why Lord Wellington is so fond of you.”
“Sir Charles.”
“Yes, of course.”
His complete lack of repentance made her narrow her eyes.
He rose in one smooth movement, and Cordelia’s gaze followed him before she could stop herself. He was taller than he appeared when lounging indolently before a fire, his body lean and elegant beneath the dark tailoring of his clothes. As he crossed toward a decanter table, she found herself admiring the easy confidence of his movements before hastily returning her attention to the chessboard.
“Have a drink with me.”
Her head snapped up. “A drink?”
He glanced over his shoulder and indicated the decanters. “Brandy, sherry, or port?”
“I could never do something so improper!”
His hand paused over a stopper, and he slowly turned toward her. Cordelia recognized that expression. Amusement already gleamed in his eyes.
“And yet,” he murmured, “you have once again stolen into my home and spent the better part of an hour sitting upon my carpet playing chess with a gentleman entirely unknown to your family.”
When he put it like that, her behavior sounded appalling. Cordelia lifted her chin. “That is different.”
“Is it?”
“Entirely.”
“How?”
She opened her mouth, but no answer came. He waited, clearly enjoying her predicament. His mouth curved as he leaned one hip against the table.
“I rather think the usual bounds of ladylike propriety expected of you, and gentlemanly restraint expected of me, were abandoned somewhere around the moment you climbed through my window.”
Cordelia’s stomach performed the most peculiar little turn. “Gentlemanly restraint?”
His eyes gleamed. “Would you prefer I demonstrate the lack of it?”
Her breath caught.
Mr. George laughed softly. “Your expression, Miss Cori.”
“You are deliberately provoking me.”
“Yes.”
The shameless admission startled a laugh from her. It escaped before she could prevent it. He went strangely still. Only for a moment. Yet Cordelia saw it. His gaze settled upon her face, and something about his expression altered. The wicked amusement softened into something quieter, almost arrested, as though her laughter had surprised him. The moment was gone almost immediately, but not before it unsettled her more thoroughly than his teasing ever had. No one had ever looked as though the sound of her laughter had caught him unawares.
“Do you not find it at all odd how easily we are…conversing?” she asked abruptly, uncertain how to describe the unconventional attachment developing between them, particularly when her neighbor remained a mystery in so many ways.
