.
London,
1795
Robert Gordon, Earl of Dellfield, woke from a sweet dream into a very unpleasant reality. He sat up in a bed that still bore the traces of his lover's perfume, startled out of a dead sleep by a pounding at the door. The woman who slept by his side—blonde, curvaceous and sweet as honey—leaped out of bed in a display of prowess that he watched with interest, grabbing up a flimsy negligee as she went.
She gave him a look. “You should go. Right now.”
“Are you serious? You told me that he was going to be in Spain all month.”
“Apparently, I was wrong. You need to go. I can explain most things away, but I cannot explain what you are doing in my bedroom at two in the morning.”
Robert shook his head, mock-saddened. “And here I thought you were so clever.”
The woman risked a look over her shoulder, and then she leaned across the bed to give him a long kiss. Robert relished the kiss, but then he heaved himself out of bed, dressing with the speed of someone who had been in far too many similar situations in the past.
“Are you going to be all right?”
“Of course, I will. As long as you get going.”
Robert stifled his laughter, shrugging on his jacket and stomping into his Hessians before looking around.
“Well, it's far too theatrical to be borne, but I suppose the window it is.”
He opened the window, breathing in the summer air for a moment before stepping out on the ledge. There was a handy rose trellis that looked sturdy enough for his needs, and he glanced back at the woman who watched him from the room, already impatient for him to be gone. What was her name anyway? Lissa? Margot?
“It was a memorable night. Will I see you again?”
She gave him a look that was at once regretful and impatient. “No. You will not. Now get going.”
Almost before he'd gotten a proper grip on the trellis, the window snapped closed behind him with a final sound, and with a shrug, Robert started his three-story climb down to the ground. Once he was safely on terra firma, he glanced up at the window, now lit up. He saw two figures embracing, doubtless a loyal wife welcoming her husband home, and he grinned, throwing a wry salute up to the woman inside. He'd always liked a woman who knew what she wanted and then got it.
At his own place, however, the ashes of Robert's adventure cooled to something he wasn't sure he liked, leaving him restless and pacing in his fine townhouse on Park Lane. The blonde had given him a wonderful time, and he liked to think he had given her the same, but now that it was over, he felt himself growing restless again, morose and tired of the hubbub of London at the end of the Season.
London was the greatest and finest city in the world, of that, Robert had no doubt, but its charms were beginning to pale for him. In his study, he flipped through the mail that had gathered there. Some were things related to his accounts, which he set aside. Others were hopeful invitations from a wide variety of Society matrons looking to make a match between the eligible earl and their daughters, granddaughters, and nieces. Those he pushed directly into the ashcan next to the hearth.
One final letter made him smile. It was in the same kind of pale blue envelope that he had been receiving for almost six years, and he knew he would recognize the slanting old-fashioned writing when he opened it.
Greetings, my lord earl, and I hope all is well with you!
I believe I have you finally. If you would be so kind as to move my queen to king's rook 5, you will discover that I have you in checkmate.
It has been a fine game, my friend, and I have my revenge for my last defeat...
Robert walked over to the fine mahogany and ivory chessboard that had been set up ever since he took residence at Park Lane, moving the white queen as the letter indicated. He sat for several long minutes, but finally, he had to concede that the letter writer, one Miss L. Welton, was entirely correct.
Robert chuckled to himself. “You crafty old witch.”
He had been playing chess with the woman he privately called the Chess Witch of Westchester for years, and though he occasionally made a grand showing, she beat him more often than not. Their early games, started before his father died, had been nearly humiliating routs, and the only reason he had kept on at all was because the old woman was so very encouraging in her letters.
Robert paused for a moment, balancing not the letter but the envelope in his hand. The address was carefully printed in the upper corner, and it was nearly time to rusticate in the country anyway. Perhaps they could play a few games in person, and perhaps there were pretty girls in Westchester.
He came abruptly to his decision. He was done with London for a while. He would go shopping for some gifts, and then have the house closed up. He grinned at how delighted his chess partner would be at having some excitement to liven up her twilight days and started making his arrangements.