You may regret giving me that advantage, she thought. They executed their first few moves in silence, but soon the game took on an easy rhythm and they were able to chat. James explained the situation with the house staff: Effie came from a long line of mundanes with the Sight, as did the two footmen and another maid who would come in on occasion to “do the rough.” Risa would remain at Curzon Street until Cordelia was settled before returning to Cornwall Gardens in time to help Sona with the new baby.

“My mother absolutely insisted Risa remain at least a few weeks,” said Cordelia, nibbling a slice of buttered bread. “Risa accompanied her when she first got married, and I suspect she believes that left to my own devices, I will be found drowned in a pot of stew or crushed under a pile of dresses.”

James moved a bishop. “Risa really doesn’t understand a word of English?”

Cordelia relocated a pawn. “Oh, she understands everything we say. She pretends not to, when it suits her purposes. Whatever Risa hears, you can assume my mother will hear as well. We will need to be careful what we say and do in her presence.”

James took a sip of tea. “So we must keep up the fiction that we are blissful newlyweds.”

Cordelia felt herself turn scarlet. She supposed it ought to be a relief that James didn’t find the situation as mortifying as she did. “Yes,” she said. “And we should probably discuss, er, how we might go about that. Specifically.”

James moved his rook so it threatened Cordelia’s queen, taking advantage of her inattention. “Like rules for the game of chess, only our rules will be for the game of our marriage.”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Well, I suppose the first thing to consider is that we must be careful about who comes and goes from the house,” James said.

“The Merry Thieves and Lucie are always welcome, of course,” said Cordelia. “But for everyone else, we must each seek permission in advance. No unannounced guests who might catch us …”

“Not in flagrante?” said James with a grin that made her think of the wicked sparkle she’d seen in his eyes earlier.

“Not being domestic,” she said primly, and moved another chess piece. A rook, this time.

“I ought to be sitting about with my slippers before the fire, and you ought to be nagging me about leaving my poetry books in the bathtub?”

“And …” Cordelia hesitated. Perhaps she shouldn’t say it. But abandoning her dignity had never been part of this scheme. “If you are going to see Grace Blackthorn, I ask that you tell me beforehand, so it doesn’t look like you are going behind my back. I wish to be prepared.”

“If I am going to—” James broke off, almost angry. “I had no intention of seeing her, Daisy. What do you take me for? I will not be alone with her, with your permission or not, not for this year. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Of course you wouldn’t.” She reached up to fiddle with one of her pearl combs; it was beginning to hurt. “We will be invited to parties and other public events,” she added, working it free. “We must accept one out of each two invitations—”

“Done.”

“—and when we attend one, you must appear to be wildly devoted to me the entire time.” She had finally gotten the comb untangled, and pulled it free. It must have been holding up more of the architecture of her coiffure than she’d imagined: her hair came tumbling down, brushing her bared shoulders. “All right?”

She had expected James to laugh, but he didn’t. He was staring at her. She felt herself blush—had what she said been too audacious? She had only meant to joke, but James looked as if she had mortally surprised him. His eyes had gone a dark gold.

She glanced down at the chessboard and saw that James had left himself open. She quickly moved her queen into a position that threatened both a knight and his king.

“Check,” she said.

“So it is,” James said, his voice oddly rough. “Cordelia, I—”

“You had better make your move,” she said. “It’s your turn.”

“Right.” He studied the board before moving a knight. “I was thinking—our best chance of success is to share everything with each other. Perhaps every night, we should each be able to ask the other a question. Something we want to know about the other, and the question must be answered truthfully.”

Cordelia felt a little short of breath. What if he asked—? No. He wouldn’t. “Or,” she said, “what if only the winner could ask a question?”

“The winner?”

“Every night we play a game,” she said, indicating the chessboard. “The winner of each game should earn something. Not money, but the right to ask something of the other.”

James tented his hands and looked at her thoughtfully. “I’ll agree on one condition. The loser gets to choose the next game. Chess, or draughts, or cards. Whatever they like.”

“Fine. I’ll match my wits with yours at any game you choose. Though I prefer chess. It was invented in Persia, you know.”

His eyes lingered on her mouth for a moment. Then he looked down, returning his focus to the board. “I hadn’t heard that.”

Cordelia examined the placement of a rook on the board. “Do you know the Shahnameh?”

“The Book of Kings,” said James. “Persian legends.”

“All the stories are true,” she reminded him. “And there is a story in the Shahnameh about two princes, Gav and Talhand. Talhand died in battle, but when they recovered his body, it had no wound on it. The queen, his mother, went mad with grief—she accused Gav of poisoning his brother, for how could a man die in battle with no injury? To convince her it was not so, the sages of the court created the game of chess, showing how the battle unfolded by moving the pieces on the board. Talhand had died of exhaustion, surrounded by enemies. From this we get the expression shah mat, meaning ‘the king is dead.’” She quickly darted out a hand and made the move she’d been planning for most of the game, a classic epaulette mate. “Shah mat. Otherwise known as ‘checkmate.’”

James sucked in his breath. “Bloody hell,” he said, and burst out laughing. Cordelia let herself float in that laughter for a moment—he laughed so freely very rarely, and it transformed his whole face. “Very well done, Daisy. Excellent use of distraction.”

“And now you’re trying to distract me,” she said, folding her hands demurely.

“Oh?” His gaze slid over her. “From what?”

“I won. You owe me an answer.”

He sat up straight at that, tossing back the hair that had fallen in his eyes. “Well, go ahead,” he said. “Ask me what you like.”

“Alastair,” she said immediately. “I—I want to know why everyone hates him so much.”

James’s expression didn’t change, but he took a long, slow breath. “It’s not true that everyone hates Alastair,” he said finally. “But there is bad blood between him and Matthew and Thomas. When we were all at school, Alastair was—unkind. I think you know that. He also spread a terrible rumor about Gideon and Charlotte. He wasn’t the one who started it, but he did repeat it. That rumor caused a great deal of pain, and Matthew and Thomas are not in a forgiving mood about it.”