Page 21 of Why Do Rogues Fall in Love?

CHAPTER 6

Nearly an hour later, Cordelia sat cross-legged upon the carpet before the chessboard, studying the position of Mr. George’s remaining pieces. Sir Charles had long since abandoned them both for the greater comfort of the chair by the fire, where he lay sprawled upon his back with all four paws in the air.

Cordelia scarcely noticed.

The game had consumed her. George was exceedingly, infuriatingly good. He played with the same indolent confidence with which he seemed to approach everything else, studying the board while lounging against the chair behind him, one knee bent, his shirt sleeves pulled slightly back from his wrists. He never appeared to deliberate for long, yet every move was calculated, forcing her to reconsider strategies she had planned three or four moves ahead.

He asked questions, made outrageous observations, and smiled at precisely the moment she required concentration, seeming vastly entertained whenever she accused him of attempting to distract her. Cordelia had finally threatened to strike him with one of the captured pawns if he did not remain silent. He laughed and told her that violence over chess revealed a troubling weakness of character.

She had taken his bishop two moves later. Now George contemplated the board, then reached forward and moved his knight. His hand withdrew.

Cordelia stared. Then smiled. His eyes narrowed. She moved her queen. “Check.”

Silence fell. Cordelia lifted her gaze. George was not observing the board. He was looking at her. Something in his expression made the satisfaction warming her chest falter. His silver-gray eyes rested upon her with an intensity she had begun to recognize but still did not understand. It was not the careless appreciation gentlemen sometimes bestowed upon pretty women. There was thought behind his regard, as though something about her had caught his interest and he had not yet decided what to make of it.

“I suspected you would prove a brilliant player. There was something in that stubborn set of your chin that warned me.”

A warm rush of pleasure caught her unawares. It was absurdly silly. She had been complimented before. Her father and brother often praised her gowns when she dressed for a ball, or admired her skill on horseback, but this felt different.

Mortified by how deeply his praise pleased her, Cordelia lowered her gaze to the chessboard and adopted her loftiest tone. “I am quite aware of how extraordinary I am.”

His lips twitched. “Arrogance suits you.”

Cordelia glanced up, one brow lifting. “It does?”

“Hmm.” His gaze moved over her face with leisurely consideration. “That faint air of superiority was very well done.”

“Thank you.”

“And inexplicably charming.”

Her fingers, which had been reaching for a captured rook, paused. He could say the most outrageous things as though they were merely observations about the weather, and she had not yet learned how to defend herself against it.

“So you find me charming,” she drawled, injecting the words with mockery.

Men who wielded flattery as effortlessly as other gentlemen wielded swords were dangerous. Her sister’s unhappiness had taught Cordelia what happened when a woman placed too much faith in a man’s pretty words.

George’s gaze held hers. “Oh, I do.”

The quiet certainty of his answer caught her entirely unprepared.

“Very much so.” His attention dipped briefly to her mouth before returning to her eyes. “I find myself wondering what else might be concealed beneath all those layers of propriety and delightful tartness.”

The room seemed suddenly smaller, and Cordelia became acutely aware of him, not merely as a gentleman sitting opposite her, but as this man. Firelight gilded his midnight-black hair, while the strong column of his throat was indecently bare above his open collar. Only the chessboard separated them, and no gentleman had ever been permitted so near her.

His gaze lingered upon her, stirring a strange warmth beneath her skin and tightening something low in her belly. Her pulse quickened. She ought to have been offended. Instead, some treacherous part of her delighted in his attention, and that realization was intolerable.

Cordelia cleared her throat and looked pointedly at the chessboard. “Why do you play alone?”

One dark brow lifted, and she knew perfectly well he recognized the change of subject. Mercifully, he allowed it.

“Few care to challenge me.”

“I cannot imagine why. You are such a gracious opponent.”

A smile tugged at his mouth. “The last time I enjoyed such a rousing game was years ago, with my father.”

The casual mention caught her attention. It was the first personal thing he had offered without wrapping it in mockery or flirtation, and the small glimpse into his life made her unexpectedly curious. “Do you no longer play with him?”