As David took up the reins to his phaeton, he felt something hitting his hat. Blasted birds! A marble rolled to the floor of his equipage.
“Lord Donhill!”
David looked up to see Miles hanging out the nursery window above. “Come round the mews.”
David drove his phaeton round to the alleyway and dismounted as the door to the garden swung open. Miles put a warning finger to his lips, leading David inside by the hand.
“Sylvia said to be on the watch-out for you,” Miles whispered. “Said Mama wouldn't let you in if you wasn’t nothing less’n a duke.” He took David up the back-stairs, leading him to a bedroom upon the second floor. “Sylvia ain’t in the nursery no more now she’s plump in the pocket,” the boy explained as he opened the door. “Go on. I’ll stand watch in case someone comes up.”
David entered, knowing that it was wholly improper.
“David, I thought I heard your voice.” Sylvia rose from a chair by the window. Self-consciously, she pulled the collar of her dressing gown higher upon her neck to cover the marks that Hugo’s fingers had left. “I am told that it will fade.”
“Are you well, Sylvia?” David asked, his voice deep with emotion as she gestured him to a seat. She seemed profoundly uncomfortable, looking everywhere but at him. How much did she recall of what he had said last night?
“As well as can be expected after swimming so deep in the laudanum bottle,” she said, trying to gather her courage as she sat down opposite him.
Every waking moment had been spent trying to determine what had actually occurred at the house on Marylebone Lane, but the line between opium induced dream and reality was difficult to discern. Had she heard truly heard David speak of love or was it all a poppy-blossom wish, born of a union between the drug and her disguised imagination?
The speech that she had so carefully prepared deserted her as the memory of the way she had clung to him returned. Surely, no mere hallucination could be so complete, replete with the texture of his jacket, the clean smell of his hair, the taste of his lips. Had she actually invited him to kiss her? she wondered miserably. How could she have been so incredibly forward? Imagination or reality, the soul-searing memory of the way they had possessed each other when their lips had met was enough to put her to blush.
“I should not be here,” David said stiffly, as the silence lengthened. Her discomfort was a palpable thing, apparent in her restraint, the flush that spread to her cheeks. There was so much that he wanted to say, but he was afraid to speak now. Pretty speeches had never been his forte and as he searched for the appropriate phrases to tell Sylvia the true depths of his feelings, his spirits began to ebb. Trite clichés, every one.
My life is empty without you. I need you. I love you.
The tension increased in intensity until it was almost a physical pain to be so near her and not to gather her into his arms.
“I wanted to thank you, David,” Sylvia began hesitantly, throwing the words into the gathering pool of frustration.
“What are friends for?” He could feel the muscles of his face stretching into a smile, his lips like pieces of India rubber. In a moment he would snap.
“To be honest, David, I do not think we can remain friends.” She raised her eyes to meet his, trying to read his face, but found it utterly wiped clean of emotion.
“I can understand,” David’s voice was toneless. She had recalled last night and had taken him in disgust. The game was over. It was time to lose gracefully. He rose dully, painting a last impression of those features in his mind.
I shall return to India,
he decided. At least he would thus be spared the pain of watching others court her. “I had best go now.”
It was agony to watch him leave. Sylvia had hoped that he would make the first move. In matters of love the man led the game, that was the rule. She struggled with her pride, knowing that if she did not play a gambit of her own, she might very well lose him forever. David’s hand was reaching for the knob when she found her voice. She was not her father’s daughter for nothing; sometimes it was necessary to risk all upon instinct. “Please David. Stay, please.” At first, Sylvia thought that he had not heard her plea, but slowly, he turned, his face impassive.
“Why?”
The word was stark, but there was something in his eyes that sparked Sylvia’s hopes. The jade and lapis chessboard upon the table near the window caught her attention. Will, feeling extremely guilty for his part in the Highslip affair, had brought it upstairs, wishing to please her, “pull you out of the doldrums,” he had said. She rose and crossed the room to take David’s hand, pulling him to the chessboard then motioning for him to be seated.
“You want me to play chess with you?” David asked, utterly bewildered. Was the drug still affecting her behavior?
“You think me addled, no doubt,” Sylvia said, reading the puzzlement in his eyes as she moved her king’s pawn forward.
To his surprise, she then reached over and moved his pawn as well. “I am beginning to think so,” David said, watching as she moved her king’s rook pawn .
“I think I am, actually,” she said as she put his knight into place. “It is time to put all the pieces upon the board.” Sylvia took a deep breath. “Did you say that you love me, David Rutherford?” At that question, his mask vanished, replaced by a look of agony. The moments seemed to lengthen interminably as she awaited his answer.
“Yes.”
“And did I tell you of my feelings?” Sylvia asked eagerly, joy welling up inside her at the wealth of longing in that single syllable.
“I did not credit anything you said or did,” David sputtered. “You were drugged after all.”
“And just what did I say or do?” Sylvia asked, a smile tugging at her lips as she advanced a pawn desultorily.
“Nothing,” David prevaricated, still unsure as to exactly how much she remembered.
“Do you call that kiss you gave me ‘nothing’?” Sylvia laughed.
“’Twas you that initiated the kiss,” David retorted defensively.
“Now I recall. You were being damnably honorable while I was acting horribly brazen.” She picked up his bishop, moved it into place and then went back to her side of the board to advance her pawn yet again.
“The drug,” he reminded her. Her moves thus far had been ridiculous. He turned his attention from the board to her face. For once, her countenance was an open book and what he saw written there caused his heart to soar.
“No, David,” she said, shaking her head. “It was not the drug that caused me to act so, although the laudanum might have served to let loose the truth. I remember that kiss, David, every second of it until I slipped into darkness. If you never kiss me again, there shall never be another to match it and that I could not bear. You see, I love you. I think I always have, from your letters and certainly, from the time I first met you.” She set the final piece in place, forcing herself to meet his questioning gaze, wondering if she would find the answer she hoped for. “Now, ‘tis your move.”
David looked at the array on the board before him. “A fool’s mate?” He asked. “Why?”
“I once made a foolish statement that I would not wed a man who could not best me at chess,” she explained softly.
“You do not think I could trounce you in a fair match, woman?” David asked laughingly. She loved him. He felt as if a great weight had been loosed and he was floating like one of Sadler’s balloons. The statement upon the board could not have been plainer. She had set herself up for a loss in one move. “This is cheating, Sylvia. Shall we play a real game and see who comes up the winner?”
“No!” Sylvia said emphatically. “I find myself coming round to Lord Byron’s opinion. Life is too short for chess and I have no wish to play by the rules anymore. If you move correctly, you shall have the rest of your days to match yourself against me. I warn you though, this will likely be the last time I shall deliberately lose to you.”
“A challenge to a lifetime tournament. How can I resist?” David rose, smiling as he came round to her side and took her hands, raising her to her feet. “I say you ‘check.’” One hand touched her shoulder, moving her close, while the other reached over to the table, slipping his queen into position. “You do know what this means?” The depths of her emerald eyes were sparkling.
“Mate?” Sylvia asked hopefully, her hands reaching out to straighten his wayward neckcloth.
“Most definitely mate,” David said, his fingers gently tracing the outline of her lips. “And a forfeit. We cannot forget the forfeit, my Madame Echec.” He bent to claim his prize.
* * * *
Lord Donhill and Sylvia had been awfully quiet for a very long time. Miles cracked the door silently, his eyes rolling in exasperation as he saw the two of them locked in a tight embrace. The boy wrinkled his nose as he shut the door to resume his lookout post and ponder the strange ways of the adult world.
Copyright © 1993 by Rita Boucher
Originally published by Avon (ISBN 978-038077-908)
Electronically published in 2014 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.