Miss Gabriel's Gambit (24 page)

“I owe you an apology, Sylvia,” David said, worried at the wan look upon her face.

“So, pay your penance and be done with it!” Sylvia snapped. “As you have obviously heard, I am a dangerous woman. Association with me can adversely affect your health.”

“I would like to help you,” he began.

“Dear heaven!” she exploded. “Is this to be another of your infamous offers of help? First you help me climb back into Polite Society and thereby into Hugo’s notice. Then you proceed to help me with my uncle’s puzzle only to further complicate matters and lastly, you offer me
carte blanche
. I do not know if I can survive any more of your mode of help, milord.” She took huge gulps of air, endeavoring to calm herself, but the burden of fear, anger and weariness had become too great to bear. She could no longer contain the sob that wrenched loose from her throat. Somehow, she found herself enfolded in David’s arms.

“It will be alright, Sylvia,” he whispered, soothing her as he would a child. “It will be alright.”

Her sorrow was like a storm in its fury, wracking her body in a tempest of emotion until she stood limp in his arms, utterly spent. David held her, stroking her hair gently, murmuring quiet words of comfort. The knowledge that he had utterly misjudged her plagued him, but her words twisted like a knife in his breast.
Donhill is nothing to me.
Sylvia had evaded Hugo’s attempt to force her into his bed this time, by dint of her skill. However, from what David had heard, it was clear that Highslip would not be so easily thwarted. She would have to be protected, yet David thought ruefully, he had already been too free with offers of protection. Somehow, he would have to undo the hurt he had caused, move with care if he ultimately hoped to win her.

“Your linen is wet. All the starch is gone.”

The calm tone of her muffled words caught him by surprise. “The devil take my linen,” he declared roughly. “Highslip is the problem that we must needs deal with.”

At the mention of Hugo’s name, Sylvia reluctantly disengaged herself from David’s grasp, leaving his temporary haven. She would not allow him to put himself into danger for her sake.

“
I
shall deal with Highslip,”

Her eyes gleamed fiercely, like a feline’s in the dark. The strength of Sylvia’s spirit was admirable, but David had no illusions as to her ability to deal with a madman. “Do you think the money you won as Madame Echec will put him off for any length of time, Sylvia? ‘Tis you he wants.”

Sylvia gasped. David knew how she had humiliated him. “How?” she asked, despair filling her voice, wondering who else might be aware of her identity? “How did you find out?”

“No one else knows.” He hastened to assure her, reaching out to steady her. He turned her hand, tracing the healed line of the scar gently. “’Twas this that gave you away, the wound where that dog bit you. Only I saw, so you need not fear. Once I knew you were Madame Echec was easy to surmise the rest. It was you that played the game by post, wasn’t it?”

Sylvia nodded. “Uncle was far too ill, that last year.”

“And you wrote the letters as well?” A nod confirmed his suspicions. “I sat up all last night reading them. Kept them all, you know. You mimicked your uncle’s style well, but it was your thoughts, your voice in those last letters.”

“I was all alone,” Sylvia attempted to explain. “Will was off at school and Uncle was dying,” Sylvia said, turning away. “Although Uncle encouraged me to play, he thought that prowess at chess was somewhat unsuitable for a female. Most men hate to be bested by women, so I did not dare reveal myself for fear of how you might react.”

“True enough,” David said, recalling his own feelings on the matter. “I was an arrogant fool. Will you, look at me, Sylvia?” He touched her lightly, turning him to face her once again. “Why did you refuse my offer of marriage?” he asked, searching her face. “Did you hate me so much because of that unfortunate offer I made that you would not have me, even as a prize?”

“It was because I could not hate you that I refused you,” Sylvia answered softly. “Even though you did not know it, there were years of friendship between us, a friendship far too strong for my anger to break. When I saw you kneeling there, I knew that I could not force a marriage without love upon you. I could not harm you, however much you had hurt me.”

Without love
, David agonized, the words tearing at his soul.
Be grateful you fool,
he told himself.
You have acted like an utter knave, impugned her honor, be glad that she does not hate you.
He swallowed the bitter gall in his throat and seized upon the only thread of hope.

“Can we be friends again, Sylvia?” David rasped, his heart aching. Friends. At least it was a start. She cared for him. If she would let him into her life once again then he might be able to build upon that comradeship. “I am sorry that I hurt you. It is just that I was afraid that you would go to Highslip, afraid that he would do you harm. It was the only way that I could think of, short of marriage, to keep you safe, Sylvia. And unfortunately, in my position, I could not offer to wed you.”

“You must have a very low opinion of my common sense, milord,” Sylvia said, a warm feeling glowing within her at the thought that he would have married her to protect her from Highslip.

“I shall deal with Highslip,” David vowed, “as I would any threat to a friend.”

Sylvia looked at him sadly. Never before had “friend” seemed so painful a word; doubtless, she would never be anything more to him. It was unlikely that she would be able to content herself with the crumb of friendship when she was starving for the whole cake. It would be exquisite torture, watching him court others as he surely would. Madame Echec was still the best solution to her problems. Once Sylvia removed herself from the scene, Hugo would no longer be a threat to either her or David.

“I too, owe you an apology, milord,” Sylvia found her voice once more. “I should not have brought you to your knees, the other day.”

“I am glad you did, else I would never have known it was you,” David said. “You play remarkably well. In fact, I have reviewed that game in my mind over and over and I am stunned by that brilliant gambit you used mid-game. You must publish it. A variation on your father’s strategy was it?”

“My own actually. I formulated the original Gabriel’s Gambit,” Sylvia said distractedly, his suggestion of publication disturbing. “I have no desire for notoriety. You will not tell anyone of Madame Echec’s identity?”

 “Of course not!” David exclaimed, taken aback. “Though I think it a shame that you hide your talent, I would not betray you. We are
friends
.”

“Yes,” Sylvia said. “Honor has been satisfied all around. We are friends.”

There was a rustling sound behind them and they turned. A basket was descending from the window above.

“Cream cakes,” Sylvia sighed. “I shall fetch your cakes in a few minutes Miles,” she called. “Wait at the window for me.”

“I’m starving,” came the reedy wail as the basket was withdrawn. “Come back
soon
.”

“He shall likely be sick to his stomach in the morning,” Sylvia commented as she and David walked toward the ballroom.

“Every boy deserves a chance to gorge himself silly at least once in his lifetime,” David said, pausing to let her through the door. From within the house came the distant strains of the orchestra, striking up a waltz. The empty floor gleamed invitingly. “Do you think Miles’ sweet tooth would wait for a few moments? Would you dance with me, Sylvia?” he asked.

Sylvia hesitated. They had never waltzed together and she wondered if it would be wise.

“To seal our newly cemented friendship?” David cajoled softly.

It would do no harm Sylvia decided. Hugo would not see them dancing here in this secluded room. One last dance with David. It would be a memory to cherish in those empty years ahead. Wordlessly, she moved closer. David put his arm about her waist, taking up her other hand as they stepped onto the black and white marble floor of the small ballroom and began to move to the rhythm of the distant music.

David knew that he was holding her far closer than he ought, but he did not care in the least. The satin of her sleeve brushed against his cheek and he breathed in the soft lilac scent of her hair, trying to fill the empty feeling within himself with her. He had been a fool, thinking that he would be satisfied to have her merely as a mistress.

Forever was what he wanted, with all that an eternal pledge implied; home and children and loving until that blonde hair was as silver as moonlight. But that knowledge had come too late. He should have sent Brummel and the wager to hell; gone after his heart when he had the chance. Caution had rarely lost him a chess game, but now, he was on the brink of losing the most important match of his life, a novice playing against hopeless odds in a game that had no rules.

Sylvia leaned against David, the far-away music not nearly as loud as the beat of her own pulse. Now she knew why the waltz had been condemned as the most dangerous of dances. It was intoxicating to move so closely in tandem, joined in rhythm to a man that she loved absolutely. She closed her eyes, whirling in darkness, feeling the touch of his hand, the fluttering caress of his breath upon her cheek.

The world spun in a pattern of black and white as David led her to the music, wishing that he could command them to play on, that he could suspend time itself so that he could hold her in his arms this way forever. Black and white, black and white, the floor passed beneath them, black and white, black and white. Nearly dizzy with motion and desire, David looked down at the marble tiles, coming to an abrupt halt. Jarred, Sylvia opened her eyes and peered anxiously at David’s stunned face.

“What is wrong, David?”

“Count the tiles, Sylvia!”

“What?” Sylvia asked in growing bewilderment.

“The black and white tiles,” he said, his eyes aglow with excitement. “Think upon it. Your uncle’s will sends you immediately to London for your come-out ball-”

“-to a ballroom re-done not less than two years before, when Hugo began to court me,” Sylvia said breathlessly, realization dawning. “A chess puzzle set to be played-”

“Upon a huge chess board!” David concluded, continuing his count. “Fourteen squares long. Too many.”

“Look,” Sylvia pointed to the center of the room. The moonlit shone full upon a patterned border. There within its center was a perfect square of alternating two foot black and white tiles.

“Eight by eight. A chess board,” David declared, his face nearly splitting with a grin. “Now call out the rhyme.”

 Sylvia began to recite slowly,

“‘ ... When you seek to tread the matrimonial measure,

you shall recall these words with pleasure

King’s pawn black, king’s pawn white,

Bishop’s move black and black’s move knight.

Knight to rook’s forth move again

Queen to rook’s fifth, bishop’s mate at end.

Seek the board and step at leisure

And you shall uncover the Rajah’s treasure.’”

David stepped upon the tiles in sequence. As he touched on the final square there was a click from behind him. He turned to watch open-mouthed as a panel in the wall silently slid aside.

“Dear heaven,” Sylvia whispered, grasping his hand. Together, the two stepped into the concealed room, the moonlight illuminating the glistening hoard of the Rajah’s treasure. Sylvia recognized many of the valuables that her father had accumulated upon his travels; she reached for a velvet box, opening it to find her mother’s diamonds.

David saw shelves filled with banded piles, all carefully labeled- deeds, certificates and notes undoubtedly worth a fortune in themselves. At the center of the room stood a small stand with a gold and silver chessboard upon it. The pieces were carved in semi-precious stone and were set in the configuration of a fool’s mate. In the center was a piece of paper. David picked it up, shaking off an accumulation of dust before handing it to Sylvia. Beside the board was a tinder box and candle-holder. He lit the taper, holding the light aloft as Sylvia read.

“My dearest child.” The paper in her hand trembled as she recognized the familiar scrawl. “I knew that you would solve the puzzle and hope that you will forgive an old man’s interference. I love you dearly and would not have you shackled to a man such as Highslip. By now, I am sure that he has revealed his true nature and you are safe. Forgive me, Sylvia. It was the only move that I could make. My love always, Uncle Miles.” Her voice trembled as she read his last salutation and the tears ran down her cheeks.

“Shall I find your aunt?” David asked.

“No,” Sylvia shook her head, smiling ruefully. “I do not think that I could bear Aunt Ruby quite yet. 'Tis certain she would look at this hoard and advertise that I now have enough of a dowry available to secure me a duke. However, Will ought to know. ‘Tis his fortune as well. You will likely find him at the supper table.”

As he went off to seek Sylvia’s brother, David cursed his abominable luck, wishing that he had made his feelings plain prior to the treasure being found. The value of what they had found in the secret room was beyond reckoning; Sylvia was now a very wealthy woman. Combined with her looks and wit, her new-found fortune would allow her to look as high as she wished, certainly higher than a mere baron who was something of a minor nabob, a man who had not valued her enough to offer her marriage when he had the chance; a man who had placed a drunken wager above love.

* * * *

Lord Highslip sat in a corner of the grand ballroom watching the door for Sylvia’s entrance. From his vantage point, he could see the entrance to the small ballroom and the garden. He waited impatiently, pulling the wad of bills from his pocket to count them once again. Where had she gotten the money? Certainly not from her pinch-purse aunt. He could have sworn that her uncle had not left her a feather to fly with.

The door to the small ballroom opened and David Rutherford looked around before hastily pulling the door closed behind him. Highslip’s expression hardened. “Rutherford,” he whispered angrily to himself. “He is free now, damn him, but he shall not have her. He shall not have her” When Rutherford had disappeared into the supper rooms, the earl rose to head for the small ballroom.