"I warn you," she was declaring, "I'm awfully good at this!"
"No doubt..." His eyes captured hers and held them until she blushed.
Micheline thought that the game of chess would be her salvation, but the opposite was true. Before her marriage she had played so often with her father that she often won, but this was much different. The silence combined with Andrew's nearness to unnerve her. She found herself more aware of his fingers on the chess pieces than she was of their destination. He snacked on cheese and pomegranate seeds while she tried to concentrate on her moves, and Micheline couldn't resist the urge to study him under her lashes. Watching him rub a drop of red juice from his mouth with his fingertip, she felt a frightening surge of desire.
Occasionally he would look up, catching her in a moment of lust, and Micheline would stare at the board, her cheeks on fire. She was shocked at the longings of her own body. Still, these hours at the queen's cottage felt like an interlude out of time. With each passing minute she found it increasingly difficult to remember past and future, promises and responsibilities. The barriers she had so carefully built against Andrew in her mind and heart were melting away.
"Check." Sandhurst lightly moved his black knight to capture her queen.
Micheline was aghast. How could this have happened? She saw the board clearly for the first time and burned with embarrassment as she remembered her boast at the beginning of the game. Without one superior word or glance Andrew had casually played so well that now she had no choice but to resort to a defensive strategy. Sipping her wine agitatedly, Micheline surveyed the possibilities. She tried to protect her king with her rook, but he was steps ahead of her.
"Bad luck, fondling," Sandhurst murmured with a rueful smile. One move of his bishop allowed him to tell her softly, "Mate."
Breathing anxiously, Micheline glanced down to see that her breasts were moving in rhythm with her heart. She attempted a cheerful smile. "It must have been all the excitement of the day. I just couldn't concentrate!"
"Perfectly understandable."
When he spoke in that low, masculine voice, tiny shivers of pleasurable panic ran over Micheline's nerves. Slowly, she looked up to find Andrew staring at her. Golden firelight played over his face, casting soft shadows and accentuating each chiseled feature. His eyes, though, were what rendered Micheline literally breathless. He looked at her with a warm, melting gaze that was both compelling and sensual.
"We shall have a rematch," she managed to whisper.
"Certainly, but not tonight. It's getting cold and that bed looks like the place to be."
"Why don't you put on your doublet? And your jerkin?"
"I can't sleep with clothes on," Sandhurst told her with a small, slightly wicked smile. "Besides, those furs on the bed look warm enough."
"I didn't mean in bed!"
"I know what you meant, Michelle." Lifting his cup of wine, he drained it. "Don't look so nervous. I have myself under control. Didn't I just prove it during our game of chess?"
What was going to happen? she wondered wildly. "Do you intend that we should sleep in the same bed, m'sieur?"
Sandhurst gave in to low, irrepressible laughter. "I don't see that we have a choice, madame." He arched a brow. "Shall we be formal? Would that make it easier for you?"
"Don't say it!" He held up his hand. "I know; you are betrothed to the dreaded Marquess of Sandhurst! Never fear, sweeting; your honor is safe with me. I won't trespass on your side of the bed unless you insist."
She straightened her back and replied primly, "In that case, we shall both sleep soundly."
Several irreverent replies danced on his tongue, but he managed to swallow them. Instead, he pushed back his chair. When he began to gather up their soiled dishes, Micheline waved him off.
"No, no, you cooked the pigeons. It's my turn to clean up. You're tired and cold; go along to bed."
He laughed. "You shouldn't pretend to be selfless when we both know you're hoping I'll be fast asleep when it's time for you to slip under those furs!"
"Don't be rude!" she retorted hotly, clattering the dishes together.
Shaking his head and smiling, Sandhurst put a pot of melted snow over the fire so that she would have hot water to clean with, then crossed the room and began undressing. Micheline