The Ice Princess

Coral gritted her teeth and pulled with all her might. The boot came off, nearly sending her tumbling on her nose.



"Well done," Wargate drawled. "Now the other."



Coral threw down the boot in disgust and bent again, aware her position was comical, if not downright ungainly. Her breasts hung down, her bottom was presented to him, and he'd once again placed a foot on it. The second boot came off more easily than the first. She straightened and turned, still holding the wretched boot, and tried to regain some of her former aplomb.



"What will you have me do now?"



He raised his eyebrows as if surprised. "Why, nothing. I'm quite comfortable. I'll bid you goodnight, madam."



And then Captain Wargate folded his arms, stretched out his legs, and before her disbelieving eyes did the most insulting thing possible.



He fell asleep.



Chapter 4



Whenever a flesh and blood man heard the Ice Princess's song he was as if transfixed. So desperate was his need to console the woman who sang to him, he forgot his family, his country, his very self, and would turn and journey toward the singing. When at last he reached the Ice Princess on her lonely throne, she would lean far down and kiss him on the mouth. . . .



--from The Ice Princess



Isaac woke in the morning to the sound of the maid clattering at the grate. He yawned and stretched, wincing at a twinge in his neck from having slept in the chair. Aphrodite was gone, her bedcovers thrown back, the endearingly worn green velvet robe tossed at the foot of the bed. He'd hope to break his fast with her, but was unsurprised to be disappointed. The lady was a cat--he'd invaded her inner sanctum and no doubt that made her nervous.



He'd have to wait for nightfall.



"Will ye be wantin' coffee, sir?" the maid asked gruffly.



"Yes, thank you," Isaac replied pleasantly.



The woman's suspicious expression eased fractionally at his tone. "I can bring you some hot water, too, if you'd like."



He nodded. "You're not used to men staying the night?"



"I'm not used to them staying at all." The maid snorted. "Herself doesn't bring men to her rooms."



His jaw tightened. "She entertains them elsewhere in the Grotto?"



The maid shot him an unreadable look. "I'll be getting that coffee and water, sir." She slipped from the room.



Isaac rose, finding and using the chamber pot. The maid was protective of her mistress' secrets, which said something about how the servants viewed Aphrodite. The worth of a naval captain could always be told by how his sailors spoke of him. When the maid returned with his breakfast. He ate, shaved, and donned his hat and cloak before leaving the Grotto. He had important business to see to if he wanted to play with Aphrodite tonight.



Nearly ten hours later Isaac tramped back up the street to Aphrodite's Grotto. He could've hired a chair to bear him, but after months at sea he welcomed the chance to stretch his legs.



Even if it was in the most notorious part of London.



The big man Aphrodite had identified as Billy stood by the doors to the Grotto tonight. He eyed the small satchel Isaac carried, but merely nodded. "She's awaitin' you in 'er rooms."



Isaac gave the man a coin and entered the entrance hall. His heart beat like an ensign boarding his first ship. Hold hard, son, she's a whore, he reminded his surging libido. She might not entertain gentlemen in her rooms, but she certainly entertained them somewhere in the Grotto. She was the brothel's madam, after all.



Yet oddly the thought did not lower his anticipation. Whore or not, he was looking forward to seeing Aphrodite tonight. He ran up the grand staircase and strode down the long corridor, past giggling girls and men with stupid lust in their eyes--pray he did not wear the same expression. No one gainsaid him when he turned down the smaller corridor and entered the hidden passage, remembering to duck his head. He paused outside the door at the end and then knocked.



There was a moment of suspense when he wondered if she would insist on meeting him elsewhere, away from her rooms.



Then she opened the door.



Aphrodite wore a dress that was almost simple tonight, green, with a bodice that was very low, although it did cover her nipples. He didn't know whether to be grateful or mourn the loss of their distraction. The cold golden mask was firmly in place. Isaac realized oddly that he knew her—knew the grace of her slim arms, the delicate hollow at the base of her neck, the challenging way she tilted her head when she caught sight of him—knew all this, yet had no idea what her face looked like.



It irked him, like a pebble caught in his shoe, that knowledge that she refused to reveal that most basic part of herself to him.



"Do you intend to enter, Captain Wargate?" she asked, her tone acid.



He grinned and bowed. "I have every intention of entering your secret room, ma'am."



That surprised a short laugh from her. "Touché, Captain. Please come in."



He passed her, conscious that she stepped back so he wouldn't brush her person as he moved. "Call me Isaac."



"What a very Biblical name."



"What's yours, then?" He turned to look at her. "Your real name, not the one they call you here."



She hesitated and for a second he thought she might tell him, but she shook her head. "Would you like some wine?"



"Aye." He set his satchel on the square table before the fire. A man must be patient with a cat. She'd only drew near when he wasn't looking.



He heard the clink of the glass behind him as he opened the satchel and brought out the board. The pieces were in a soft leather pouch and he laid them out on the black and red squares.



"What is that?" She was closer than he'd realized.



He hid a smile. "What does it look like?"



She moved around him to set a glass of wine on the table. "A draughts board." She frowned down suspiciously at the game. "What did you bring it for?"



"I thought we'd play." He sat at one side of the table and picked up the wine glass, watching her.



"But . . ." She glanced about the room. "You came here to—"



"Play a game with you," he said softly. "That is if you wish to."



She debated that a moment and he'd have given all the winnings from last night to have seen beneath the flat golden mask. Then she lowered herself to the chair opposite his, her back as straight and rigid as if she were about to take tea with the king.



He nodded and moved one of his men. "You don't have wine yourself."



"I don't drink it while entertaining." She pushed a round piece forward. "Why draughts?"



He shrugged and made his move. "It's easy to play, but hard to master. I thought you might enjoy it."



"Enjoy it." She said the words as if tasting a strange meat. "You'd rather play a child's game than bed me?"



"Right here, right now, yes," he said and took the two pieces she'd played. "And it's not a game for a child."



She stared down at the board and he knew that under the cold metal mask she was frowning.



He made sure to keep his mouth straight.



"I don't think I like this game," she said regally and flicked a piece forward with her fingertip.



"That's because you're not used to playing it," he replied. "It takes but a bit of practice. A smidgen of thinking ahead."



"Thinking ahead in what way?"



He scratched his chin. "Draughts can be played in two ways. One can move the pieces at random, reacting to the plays of the opponent. That is how a child plays draughts." He pushed forward a round wooden piece, tempting her to capture it. "Or one can plan ahead, anticipate the moves the opposite player makes. The game is more complex then."



She stared at his lure for a moment and then moved a different piece forward. "It sounds like too much thought for what is merely a game."



"A game is what one makes of it," he said softly. "Much of life is a game. If played skillfully, with an intelligent and fascinating opponent, it can become almost like a dance. One challenges and moves, the other teases and skips away, only to dart forward later and strike a telling blow."



She looked at the board and then suddenly leaned forward and jumped two of his men, capturing them. She set the pieces neatly by her side of the board before looking up her green eyes flashing triumphantly behind the mask. "Perhaps I like this game after all."



He felt the thrill go through him—the knowledge that he'd engaged her, this mysterious woman, but he bowed his head to hide his own triumph. A commander knew not to celebrate too soon and let the enemy ship duck thorough his defenses.



Aphrodite was fingering one of the wooden markers she'd captured. "Where did you get this game?"



"I made it."



She bent her head as if to examine the piece she held. "You carved it?"



"Mmm," he murmured his assent. "The evenings are long at sea. I carved that and stained it several years ago."



"Who do you usually play with?"



His lips twitched her suspicious tone. "My first mate or one of the lieutenants. King me."



She placed a second marker on top of his first and then stared down at the board, but made no move. "It must be dreary to be so long at sea."



"No, not at all." Isaac sat back in his chair and took a sip of wine. "The sea is ever changing, sometimes so mild and sweet it makes your heart ache at the beauty. Sometimes she throws a fit and tosses the ship about so that you'd like to leave her and never return. But a sailor always returns to the sea."



She pushed one of her markers too near his guard. "You make the sea sound like a woman."



"She is to most sailors," he murmured absently. He could see no trap so he took three of her men.



Aphrodite made a sound of displeasure at his move and bent her head to the table. "You're widowed, but you must have a woman waiting for you somewhere?"



"I wouldn't be here if there was."



Her head jerked up. "What a very fine sentiment, Captain."



He cocked his head, eyeing her. "You don't believe me."



"No." She took one of his men. "In my experience all men are happy to dawdle with more than one woman, given the temptation."



"Most men, perhaps—"



"All men," she said with finality.



"Not this one, madam," he growled and took six of her markers at once with his king.



She gasped, looking down at what remained of her men. "A gentleman would let the lady win!"



"No." He shook his head. "No quarter, no false pity. We play this game as adults, you and I."



"I don't understand you," she said and for the first time he heard uncertainty in her voice.



"Make your move."



She glanced at the board. "Whichever way I move I'll lose."



"Do you admit defeat, then?"



"No." She played.



He took another man. "I'll ask a forfeit when I win."



"You made no mention of a forfeit before we started." She sounded indignant.



"I do now."



"Humph. Then it is my decision whether I'll grant it or not." She looked up at him through the slanted eyeholes of her mask, her eyes glowing green. "Perhaps you'd like me to perform a service for you."



"Perhaps I would," he replied and cornered her last man.



She looked at the board and then sat back in her chair, the angle of her body making her breasts thrust at him invitingly. "What would you have me do, Isaac? What do you most desire?"



His throat had gone dry at her purring tone. Somehow the sight of her in her own rooms, in the more modest green dress was much more alluring than the night before. There were parts of him that clamored to take her up on her offer.

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