Page 18 of His Beauty
The laughter quickly overcame the outrage, and she came up sputtering. She lobbed snowball after snowball at his chest, face, shoulders…but he just stood there, his arms crossed, with a faintly bored expression on his face, and the slightest sparkle in his hazel eyes.
Soon, she realized he’d made all of his moves, and it wasn’t as much fun without his reaction, but chuckling, she fell against his side. He offered his arm, as if they were out for a mere stroll, and she held on as she struggled back to the front door.
Tomorrow, would Lysander come for her? Or, as she suspected, had he left her there at Oliphant Castle to be alone with Lyon…on purpose? If so, he might not be in any hurry to retrieve her.
But still, her time there was limited, and she didn’t want to spend another frustrated night lying in that big bed, dreaming of Lyon Oliphant, without knowing if there was something between them or not.
So that evening, aided by the overcast skies and threat of more snow, she asked Lyon, “Do you play chess?”
He eyed her for a moment, as if trying to determine her reason for asking, before finally inclining his head slightly. “Aye,” he answered cautiously.
“Excellent. I propose a match.” There was a set in his study; she’d stared at it more than a few times over the last several days, hoping for inspiration. “And we will make it interesting.”
When they were settled in front of the board—since he took the dark pieces, she was seated before the whites—he leaned back against his chair, stretched his long legs out in front of him, and asked, “Howinteresting?”
Excellent. She knew his curiosity wouldn’t be able to hold out too long. Smiling, she shrugged. “The loser owes the winner a favor. And for each forfeited piece, the loser owes an answer to a question asked by the winner.”
When he eventually nodded, she pressed her lips together to keep from crowing. She was averygood chess player.
Indeed, he was the first to forfeit a pawn, and he gestured impatiently to her. “Ask yer question.”
It wouldn’t do to jump right into the things which really mattered, so she decided to ease into it slowly. “Why do you wear a kilt, even in the winter?”
He blinked, obviously expecting something more personal. But he glanced down at himself, as if surprised to discover he was wearing a jacket and waistcoat with his kilt. “I wear it because it’s expected.”
“As the laird’s heir?”
“As the Beast of the Oliphants.” Something bitter flashed inhis eyes before his gaze landed on the merry fire in the hearth. “I ken I’m thought of as barbaric.”
She scoffed. “Yes, but that would be mitigated if your clothing was not two hundred years out of date.”
“Why no’? This castle is two hundred years out of date. Remind me to show ye the hidden passages.”
There were hidden passages? She smiled, pleased he was willing to show them to her. “What is the real reason for the kilt, Lyon?”
The roll of his eyes was slight, but she caught it.
“The real reason? It’s terribly comfortable and verra freeing.”
She was about to ask what he meant by that, when he met her eyes and unfolded his arms to reach down and adjust himself.
There.
In front of her.
Part of her wanted to blush and slam her eyes shut, but the rest—the academic part, which was always curious of course—couldn’t help but stare, fascinated. She remembered the medieval embroidery where the womanfellatedthe man and wondered what Lyon would look like under that kilt.
When he cleared his throat, she realized she was still staring and snapped her gaze back up, half-horrified, half-amused. He raised his good brow, and her lips twitched.
“Your move,” she managed hoarsely, and he leaned forward to examine the board.
They went back and forth, each forfeiting trivial answers. He asked about her life with Tiffany and Ember at the Oliphant Inn, and what their mother was really like. She asked about the castle, the passages, and why he was comfortable with so few servants.
It was fascinating and wonderful, and she was half in love with him by the time the match was finished.
Or rather, not quite finished. In one languid motion, she moved her rook into position and took his bishop. “Check.”
His queen would be able to counter, but that would leave his king open toherbishop, and judging from the scowl on his lips, he knew it. But first…
