Page 25 of Love Is A Draw (Check Mates #2)

Still the same night…

I n the quiet corridor outside Maia’s room, the only sound came from the muffled tick of the longcase clock at the end of the hall. Gail eased the door shut, fingers lingering on the latch, then turned slowly, as if the shadows themselves might ask her to stay.

But they didn’t. The house had settled. All the danger and hope had folded itself into stillness.

Downstairs, one lamp flickered and cast shadows onto the staircase. She followed it.

The faintest light and the steeping scent of tea warmed the half-dark drawing room. Victor sat near the hearth, long legs folded beside a low table, shoulders hunched in the way of men too used to solitude. A teacup sat before him, untouched but still steaming.

He didn’t hear her at first. Gail stood in the doorway, watching. The fire cast him in bronze and soft shadow. His jacket hung on the back of a chair, and his rolled-up shirtsleeves revealed forearms that bore the memory of long hours over chessboards.

She cleared her throat, and Victor turned.

For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke.

“I thought you’d gone to bed,” he said. “But I’ve been hoping to speak to you before I leave.”

She stepped inside, letting the door click softly behind her. “I checked on Maia. She’s asleep. I can stay here with you now.”

He nodded. A pause. Then, “She’s brave.”

Gail crossed the rug, unsure whether to sit or stay standing. In the end, she stopped beside the table, her fingers grazing the back of the armchair beside him. “She is. Too much so. She believes in fairy tales.”

Victor’s brow lifted faintly. “You don’t?”

“I used to.” Gail let her hand fall to her side. “Not anymore.”

He reached for the tea, cradling it in both hands like a talisman against the things they hadn’t said. The silence between them stretched—awkward, expectant.

Still, she didn’t leave.

Finally, he spoke. “You never told me why Dmitry hid you.”

Gail looked down. “You never asked.”

“I’m asking now.”

Her throat worked. She moved to the chair across from him and lowered herself slowly, as if the truth would hurt less if she said it sitting down.

“There was a riot in Bessarabia. Rumors spread that Jewish children were being trained to carry messages for revolutionaries. My parents were named. They were”—her voice caught—“Grandfather got me out before they came for me too.”

Victor’s gaze stayed on her face. “You were what, seven?”

“Six. Like Maia now.” Her hands twisted in her skirts. “He told everyone we were traveling for chess. But we were running. He gave up his students, his lectures, his legacy. All for me.”

“Until he sent you here to the Pearlers?”

She nodded.

Victor inhaled through his nose. “I always thought he sent me away to keep me safe. I never realized he did the same for you.”

“He protected those he loved, even if it meant risking losing us both.”

“I’m not his grandson. Not his family.”

“He loved you like family, though,” Gail said.

He looked down at the tea. “He told me to go to Paris and London. Said there was no future for me in Odessa. I thought it was punishment for not being good enough.”

She smiled, thin and tired. “You always were dramatic.”

That made him laugh—a soft, surprised sound. “And you were always the one who listened from the other side of the wall.”

“As a girl, I had more than virtue to lose if I’d been found. I didn’t have a choice.”

“Neither did I. We both grew up with our existence risking our lives. What a macabre farce.”

She looked at him then, noting the lines at the corners of his eyes, the careful way he held the cup as if it might slip if he didn’t concentrate. He wasn’t completely confident anymore. But he was here. That meant something.

“Why didn’t you finish your studies with him?” she asked hesitantly.

Victor hesitated. “Because I was angry. At him, at the world. He wouldn’t let me publish.

Said it was too dangerous. I wanted to take my notes and send papers to the Chessman’s Chronicle and other publications.

He said the wrong people might use my ideas for power. I didn’t understand then. I do now.”

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “That’s why you stopped writing the ledgers but still cling to the old ones?”

“Yes. They hold wisdom.” His mouth twisted. “But it was so easy for List to steal the old ones, so I stopped creating. I just… replayed what I’d already done in my head. Still do.”

“Until now.”

He met her gaze. The air between them grew taut with recognition. “I don’t want to leave.”

“I don’t want you to either.” Gail swallowed the glob in her throat.

Her hand rested on the table, close to his. Not touching. Almost.

Victor set down the teacup and took her hand. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Gail blinked. “Tell you what?”

“That you were afraid. That someone might try to send you away.”

She swallowed. “Because fear follows me everywhere. If people knew who I was—who my grandfather is—List could use it. He’s done worse to others.

That’s why the Pearlers can’t bring my grandfather openly to England.

Every step leaves a trace, and traces give men like List power.

I wanted at least one corner of my life untouched by that. ”

Victor reached across the table. His fingertips grazed hers, the barest touch, and yet it sent a current through him sharp enough to steal his breath. “This isn’t fear. You’re protecting your life. It’s survival.”

She didn’t pull away.

The space between them tightened, charged. No kiss came. No declaration. Just skin against skin—honest, fragile, profoundly true. And somehow it carried more weight than any embrace could have.

“I should go to sleep,” Gail whispered, though she didn’t move.

The tournament would predict their future, not what was between them. People like them, no matter how smart or accomplished, bowed to circumstance and could rarely shape their own fate.

Victor didn’t answer. His chest ached with the wanting. He only thought—fiercely, hopelessly— stay.

She had gone. Not far—he could still hear the whisper of her footsteps retreating down the corridor. The chair where she’d sat held the heat of her presence like a brand.

Victor’s fists clenched against his thighs.

What he wanted to do—to say—made his blood surge, his breath rough in his chest. He wanted to follow her, take her hand, pull her into the shadows, and kiss her like a man who hadn’t forgotten her sweetness on his tongue since those stolen moments in the hackney and the balloon.

He wanted to press her against the wall and feel her smile break against his mouth. He wanted to bury his hands in her hair and her skirts and whisper everything. But he didn’t.

Because she was Dmitry’s granddaughter, and he owed the man—the legend—more than this.

Victor stood, pacing the room like the fire still burned in his chest. She had opened herself to him—quietly, fiercely—and now his entire body ached with how much he couldn’t have.

He pressed a hand to the mantel. “You don’t touch a woman like that,” he muttered. “Not unless you’re prepared to give her everything.”

And oh, how he wanted to.

But if he lost in the morrow, he couldn’t… and Gail deserved more than perhaps . She deserved forever.

He glanced at the chessboards and shook his head. Fave Pearler had said he could stay as long as he liked, even offered him a room—but all Victor needed was a chess board. And Gail.

So he’d stood in the night, but it was no match to his thoughts, unsure how long it had been when he heard the soft pad of feet—bare, unhurried—and turned.

Gail stood in the doorway, her hair unbound, the shadows of the hall trailing behind her.

She must have removed her shoes. There was something disarming about her simplicity—like a queen who’d discarded her crown and walked barefoot into battle.

“I couldn’t sleep now anyhow,” she said softly.

Victor’s throat dried. “That makes two of us.”

She stepped inside, the hem of her robe brushing the rug. “You’re angry.”

He laughed, short and bitter. “No. I’m—” He stopped. Then forced out, “Yes.”

She tilted her head. “At me?”

“No. In the world. At Dmitry. At myself.” He looked away. “And at you. Because you’re perfect, and I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”

Silence crackled between them.

Gail didn’t flinch. She walked toward him, slow and measured, until they were barely a breath apart. “So why haven’t you kissed me tonight?”

His jaw tightened. “Because you’re a better player than me. You’re brilliant.” He swallowed. “And because I’d never stop.”

Her smile, barely there, shattered him. “And all these things are bad?”

“Yes.” He exhaled, ragged. “You deserve more than this. Than me. Than a man with no future, no name that means anything.”

“I don’t care about your name,” she whispered.

“But I do. You’re Dmitry’s legacy. You’re the child he protected. A woman like you shouldn’t be burdened by marriage.”

She froze. “You think marriage is a burden?”

“No. I think you shouldn’t be trapped, not by expectations, or society, or even my love. You should be free to play. To win. To choose.”

“Your love?” Her eyes flashed as if she’d already thought five moves ahead. “And what if I choose it? Build a home with you? A family?”

Victor stilled.

She closed the distance to him, her breath warm at his jaw. “What if I want four children? Maybe more. What if I want to play chess with them on rainy mornings and let them lose badly to their father in the afternoons?”

His heart stopped.

“I don’t need the world to know I’m good at chess, Victor. If they give me praise, it’s to tell me nothing I don’t already know.” Her voice dropped. “Chess is in my heart. And in my blood. But none of that means anything if I don’t pass it on. You know, that’s why I reckon he sent us both away.”

Victor looked down at her. She was everything he had tried not to want. Everything he had fought to protect. “I love you,” he said hoarsely. “But I can’t ruin you.”

“You’re not ruining me. You’re running from me.”

And then she kissed him.

Soft. Sure. Devastating.

His hands lifted before he could stop them, one cupping her cheek, the other at her waist—and for a moment, he forgot everything .

Then, slowly, achingly, he pulled away.

She let him.

Victor stared at her, every part of him breaking. “If I kiss you again, I’ll never be able to walk away.”

She didn’t flinch. “Then don’t.”

But he did.

Because he was still trying to be a man Dmitry would respect, and maybe—just maybe—that meant leaving the one thing he loved most behind.

Unless he could protect her as the Black Knight, and tomorrow that title was on the table to be earned by the best player.