Wordlessly, Olivia tapped his right hand. He uncurled his fingers and revealed the white pawn.
“White opens,” he said.
“And white will win,” Olivia declared, pushing aside the covers. A game of chess in the middle of the night! It was insane, but it also excited her. And on some strange level it felt perfectly natural to do such a thing with the pirate.
She went over to the chess table, noticing how smooth and cool the wooden floor was beneath her bare feet. She replaced the white pawn on its square.
Anthony lit the candles on a two-branched candlestick that sat on a little shelf to the side of the chess table.
“Before we start, can you still feel that wound?”
Olivia hesitated. “It throbs sometimes. It feels tight, a bit stretched if I walk fast.”
He sat down and beckoned her. “Physician’s hat, I promise you. There’s no need to be shy.”
“I’m not shy,” Olivia said with perfect truth.
“Well then…?”
Olivia thought of the sketch he’d made of her. It was all too absurd. She went over to him and turned around, raising her nightgown. His fingers were cool as they brushed over the wound.
“It’s healing nicely,” he said dispassionately, letting his hands drop.
Olivia shook down her nightgown. “I already told you that. Phoebe looked at it.”
He laughed. “She has some skill, does she?”
“As a herbalist, as much as you, I daresay,” Olivia retorted. “Except that she’s not a surgeon.”
“I must discuss such things with her at some point.”
Olivia spun around on him. “And just how do you propose doing that?”
He laughed again. “With a little ingenuity. Have faith, my flower.”
“What kind of flower?” she asked involuntarily.
“Oh, I don’t know.” He smiled lazily. “Sometimes an orchid. Tonight at the castle you were an exotic orchid in that flaming gown with your midnight hair. But at other times, you’re more like a daisy or a marigold, wild and slightly raggedy.”
Olivia thought it was a compliment, but when he was smiling in that secret way he had, it was hard to tell.
“Let’s play chess.” She sat down at the table opposite him.
“By all means,” he agreed cheerfully. “A nice safe thing for us to do.”
Olivia looked at him suspiciously but his expression seemed quite serene. She moved pawn to queen four.
Anthony shot her a quick amused glance from beneath raised eyebrows. It was an unusual opening.
He imitated the move.
“Pawn to queen’s bishop four,” Olivia said, suiting action to words. She sat back and watched his reaction.
Anthony knew the gambit she was playing. If he didn’t stop it, he would find himself entangled and slowly squeezed to death.
“White will win,” Olivia stated again.
“Oh?” He moved his pawn to king three.
Olivia without pause for thought moved her knight to king’s bishop three. “White has the advantage, but I never lose,” she said. “Even if I’m playing black.”
“What a cocky young thing you are,” he said, making his responding move.
After that they played in silence.
Until Olivia said quietly, “Check,” as she moved her rook. “And mate in three. Unless you want to play it out.”
Anthony examined the board. He examined it for a very long time. He’d sensed his defeat coming several moves back and had done, he thought, everything he could to circumvent it. But she had him. There was no denying it. And much to his surprise the loss piqued him.
His long, slim forefinger tipped over his king. He sat back in his chair and regarded her.
“Still say I’m cocky?” Olivia asked, unable to hide a rather smug smile.
“I think you have to give me the return match,” he said, a smile flickering in his eyes now. There was something quite endearing about her smugness.
“Best of three,” Olivia said instantly. She began to replace the pieces on the board.
Anthony glanced at the window. The night darkness was lightening. It would soon be dawn. “No more now,” he said, rising from his chair. “I need to be away.”
Olivia followed his eyes to the window. “Oh, yes, I suppose you do.” She sounded disappointed. “I know I would win playing black.”
“We shall see about that, my flower.” He tilted her chin on a fingertip, then in one swift graceful movement bent and kissed her mouth.
He drew back immediately before she could react, before her eyes could cloud over in the way they had when he’d touched her before.
Olivia stood very still. Her heart was beating rather fast, and although the kiss had been so swift and so light, she could still feel the imprint of his mouth on hers. And she felt only pleasure.
“The next match will be on my home ground,” he decreed, going to the window. He straddled the sill. “Mike will contact you. Just do as he says.” He touched his fingers to his lips and blew her a kiss, then he swung himself over the ledge and was gone.
Olivia went to the window and gazed down. She thought she saw him disappear into the trees, but he moved so swiftly and silently it was hard to be certain.
Just how did he think she could drop everything and come running when he summoned her? Did he think his own plans were more important than hers?
But of course he did. Whatever those damned plans were. They were as dangerous as they were outside the law, that at least was a safe bet.
She went back to the bed where the sketch he had made lay amid the rumpled covers. The fine hairs on her nape lifted as she looked at it. It was so sensual. It was as if every stroke of his pencil was a caress over the body he was sketching. She remembered how his hands had felt on her body when they’d made love.
She tucked the paper back between the pages of Aeschylus and climbed into bed. Her hand slipped beneath her pillow, her fingers closing over his kerchief. She fell asleep with it balled in her hand as she had done every night since she’d returned from her dream on Wind Dancer.
Chapter Ten
“Wake up, lazy. It’s not like you to sleep betimes.” Phoebe bounced into Olivia’s bedchamber an hour or so after the pirate’s departure. She carried the baby on her hip and held her elder son by the hand. “I have splendid news.”
Olivia dragged herself up from sleep. It seemed that this night was destined to be broken. She blinked at Phoebe, for a confused moment wondering where she’d come from.
But gradually now the world reasserted itself. The early sunshine, the sound of birdsong, the fresh scents of the grass as the night’s dew burned off. Phoebe’s bright engaging smile and the baby’s soft cooing.
Olivia yawned. “What news?”
Phoebe grinned mysteriously. “I’ll give you three guesses.” Little Earl Grafton pulled free of her hold and tottered towards the dresser, where he knew he’d find shiny enticing objects from Olivia’s jewel box. Phoebe deftly removed scissors and a pincushion before his dimpled fingers could light upon them. Then her eye fell on the washstand.
She said in astonishment, “What’s that all over the washcloth? It’s all red. Have you cut yourself?” She picked up the cloth by a corner.
“Oh, I was experimenting with rouge,” Olivia said. “I thought I looked so pale when we went out last night. But I didn’t like it.”
Phoebe cast her an appraising glance. “Where did you get it?”
“From a peddler.”
“Well, where is it? Can I see it?”
“I threw it away.”
“Olivia!”
Olivia looked rueful. She really was not very adept at deception. At least not with those who knew her almost as well as she knew herself. “Anthony was here. Disguised as some kind of a drunken fisherman. It’s his paint.”
Phoebe absorbed the implications of this in wide-eyed silence. Then she said in some awe, “The pirate? He came here? Into your chamber at dead of night? With Cato asleep two doors away?”