Page 16

I have come upon a painting I suspect you would enjoy… Yourself opposite me at a backgammon board, looking unbearably pleased while I regret inviting you to play.

Will you come tomorrow evening at nine and help me complete it? I shall provide the board and refreshments. You may provide the terms upon which you intend to defeat me.

Alexander

He read it once, smiled, and folded the page and sealed it with wax. An hour later, her reply arrived.

Alexander,

This painting shows considerable promise. I shall come at nine. Do not practice. Surely you need no preparation to be gracious in defeat.

Charlotte

He was still smiling when his valet entered to inquire which coat he intended to wear that evening.

“Tomorrow,” Alexander said absently. He fought a smile as he reread her missive. He could not wait to see her again. Practice? Backgammon was not what worried him… He had to make a good impression on her if he hoped to have more than this one game.

“My lord?”

Alexander lowered the note. “Nothing,” he said. “The brown one will do.”

His valet glanced at the paper briefly. “Very good, my lord.”

Charlotte arrived at nine in dark blue silk. Her expression suggested she had already identified several weaknesses in his arrangements. A single sapphire drop hung from each ear, and her red hair was coaxed into a loose, elegant knot. She left a few curls free against her neck. Alexander found both thoroughly distracting. He had stood at the window for a quarter of an hour, tugging his cuffs straight, and now he'd forgotten what he meant to say.

She offered him her hand, a small, gloved gesture that felt like a verdict. He bowed over it, careful not to linger. As he straightened, he caught the faint scent of her perfume. She looked past him into the drawing room. She swept her gaze from the hearth to the window like a general surveying a field.

“Where is this flattering picture?” she asked.

“Not yet complete.” His voice came out a little lower than he intended.

“How fortunate.” She tilted her head, a smile curving one corner of her mouth. “I may yet offer you my opinion of the composition.”

“I had hoped you would.”

The backgammon board stood open upon a small table near the hearth. Its polished points gleamed in the firelight. He had placed two comfortable chairs opposite one another and ordered wine. A plate of little cakes and a dish of sugared almonds sat beside them. He had rearranged the chairs three times. Beyond the windows, the last of the evening light had faded from the sky. It left the glass dark and shining, and the room seemed to draw closer around them.

Charlotte approached the table, her skirts brushing across the carpet. She trailed her fingers over the back of one chair, then paused above the board. “You remembered,” she said.

“That you prefer backgammon?” He moved to stand beside her, though not too near.

“That I prefer winning at backgammon,” she said, and the dryness warmed him more than any compliment could.

“I recall you were quite particular about the distinction…”

“It remains so.” She lifted her green eyes to his. The little challenge made his heart give a hard, glad thump.

She touched an ivory piece. Alexander watched her thumb trace its smooth surface, then reminded himself he had invited her to play a game. He should concentrate upon that. Charlotte glanced toward the door as his butler withdrew. “Will your sister be joining us?” Charlotte asked.

He shook his head. “No.”

“Your note gave me a rather more respectable impression of this painting.” She arched a brow, and the firelight caught the gold in her lashes.

“I thought my note left room for interpretation,” he said, trying to keep his voice light. Though his pulse had picked up.

Her smile warmed, slow and a little wicked, and he felt it low in his chest. “It did.”

Alexander offered her wine, the crystal cool between his fingers as he held it out. She accepted it, her fingertips brushing his. Then took the chair nearest the fire, arranging her skirts around her with a small, unhurried sweep.