She had been an unfaithful wife, for all he kept saying that he allowed her to leave him because she “had the right.”
On the very verge of a panic, she stopped herself.
She was no timid mouse, to be frightened by a man’s emotions. She was Jemma. And if she’d had an affaire, it was more than half the fault of Elijah and his stiff-necked moral thinking that drove her away, by showing such cold indifference. What sort of senseless man waits to visit his wife until he knows she has taken a lover?
The thought was steadying, bitter though it was.
She would simply be herself. In bed and out of bed. She was too old to claim a virginity she no longer had, and too experienced to pretend that she wasn’t interested in pleasure. In fact, she had a veritable passion for it.
And if there was one thing she remembered clearly about their early couplings, it was that there hadn’t been quite enough pleasure for her. It was, after all, easy enough for a man to satisfy himself, but it seemed to be harder for women.
If she pretended to some sort of naiveté, she would risk finding herself in the position of a disappointed woman: in short, without what the French called le petit mort. And that was unacceptable.
She rose from her simple meal, feeling composed. Delicious though she found Elijah’s tone of command, he would simply have to learn to take instructions.
“I’ll serve a small collation to His Grace tonight,” she told Brigitte. “He comes to my room for chess.”
“I know, Your Grace,” Brigitte said. “All of London knows…finally the chess match will be over!”
Jemma was taken aback by that. It was bad enough that the household would encourage the bedding of its master and mistress, but all of London?
“Because of the wagers,” Brigitte explained, catching the look on her face. “There are so many bets placed on the match between yourself and the master. Fowle says that the entire London Chess Club is riveted to learn the outcome. There are only two women in the Chess Club, you know, yourself and Mrs. Patton.”
“I’ve heard as much,” Jemma murmured.
“The majority are betting in favor of you, Your Grace,” Brigitte said happily. “And if you win the match, you will be the top-ranked player!”
“I shall win,” Jemma stated. She had spent years playing herself at chess—with the twist that she played Black (for sin), and Elijah played White (for virtue). Or rather, since Elijah was in England, and she in France, she imitated Elijah, playing White. She knew his style of play: he had foresight, courage, and an uncanny ability to corner an opponent and smash his—or her— resistance.
“How should you like to manage the game?” Brigitte asked rather tentatively. “I mean, with the two of you blindfolded…how will you manage the pieces? Shall you call the moves to me and I shall make the moves you request?”
“Oh no,” Jemma said absently. “Luckily Elijah and I are both masters.”
Brigitte looked confused.
“We don’t need a board,” she said, smiling at her maid. “We’ll play it in our heads.”
“In your heads?” Brigitte had obviously never considered such a thing.
“Unless His Grace feels he hasn’t had enough practice to keep the board in his head,” Jemma said, grinning.
She had no idea whether Elijah had ever played without a chessboard, but he could do it. He was one of the best players she’d faced in her life, better than the French genius, Philidor, better (sometimes) than Villiers. Though to her mind, Elijah, Villiers, and herself were fairly evenly matched.
No, that was a lie.
They each had different strengths: Elijah his steady, rational forethought; Villiers his sweeping battle plans; she her moments of brilliant and beautiful play.
But they had weaknesses too. Elijah would always find himself misled into questions of virtue. It was a passion for him: to carve life into black and white, good and evil, right and wrong.
It was all in the chess game.
Even blindfolded and in bed…She had to raise the stakes.
She knew exactly how Elijah saw tonight’s game: as a means to an end, the end being her body and her bed. He would try to win, but what he really wanted was the last click of the pieces.
Whereas chess had been her dearest companion in the years of their separation, and it would be so now. What she needed to do was turn the chess to her advantage by distracting him.
The slow smile on Jemma’s lips would have given Elijah pause, had he seen it.
“Brigitte,” she said.
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“There are a few other things that I will need for the evening, if you would be so kind.”