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“Do you have all that?” she asked, glancing up from the board.

“Aye.”

“Pink is paler than green, and the rules are white first. Therefore, it is your move ... Mr. North.”

Barely sparing a glance at the table, he moved one of his pawns to the center of the board, and then waited for her to make her first move.

She frowned. “You didn’t even look.”

“I looked.” He nudged his chin at her, urging her to get on with her turn.

“Chess is about strategy and taking one’s time,” she intoned, her gaze firmly trained on the board. Verity chewed at a fingernail, the distracted worrying endearing. Fifteen loud ticks of the wall clock marked the passing time before she moved a pawn.

He moved his queen.

Verity eyed him quizzically. “Do you remember what I’d mentioned about the queen?”

Nay. It had been somewhere between that lesson and the one of the rooks that he’d become lost in improper thoughts about her mouth. “I know what she does.”

The young woman dropped her elbows on the edge of the table. “You’re just moving the pieces.”

Malcom matched her pose. “Would it matter if the only purpose is to pass the time until it is safe for you to leave?”

They locked gazes in a tense battle—and yet, this battle was altogether different from any he’d ever fought before. This had nothing to do with life or death or a fortune to be made and then grown. This was simply about ... playing a damned game. And damned if he wasn’t enjoying himself ... and her company.

Verity was the first to relent. “I suppose not,” she conceded, going back to her study of the board. Another fifteen beats of the clock passed as she hovered her hand over her pieces before settling on a pawn.

They didn’t speak for the remainder of the game. And this companionable silence was just as comfortable as their earlier discourse.

Malcom slid his piece and knocked her queen. “Checkmate.”

Verity didn’t move for several moments. Her eyes widened as she frantically scoured the board. “But ... that’s ... not possible.” She scrambled forward in her chair, and then moved her hand around the chessboard as if she re-created each of her previous steps.

His lips twitched. “You were done at the beginning. Not only did it take away your control of the center, it blocked the center square for the knight. It didn’t allow development of any pieces, and also it seriously weakens safety of your king. Hence ...” He waved the captured piece. “Chess pieces are like people. They should all be working for you.” It was how he’d built his empire. “Even your queen, at the onset.”

Sputtering, Verity sat back in her seat. “Why ... why ... you’veswindledme.”

“Nay. One has to be playing for something in order to be swindled out of it.”

“I don’t know if that’s true,” she groused.

“It is,” he said bluntly.

“But you said—”

“I didn’t say I couldn’t play, Verity. I said I hadn’t played this chessboard. You incorrectly assumed I hadn’t played with another.”

She peered at him. “Are you a barrister?”

“A ... ?” And then that question fully registered. A laugh exploded from his chest, shaking his frame. Good God. Hers would be the first and last time that Malcom would ever find himself confused for a man on the right side of the law. “No.”

“You argue like one,” she mumbled.

A sharp knock at the door shattered their exchange, and with it ushered in reality.

Climbing to his feet, Malcom stalked over to the door and yanked it open. “What?” he snapped.

Bram peered boldly beyond his shoulder, over to where Verity remained seated, toying with a chess piece.