Olivia warily touched the jade to his skin.
“Hard. Cold,” he announced. “Smooth.”
“How about this?” She took up an ebony King and ran it across his fingertips.
His mouth pursed in thought.
She waited, and as she watched his face, a strangely intimate awareness suddenly stirred inside her head. John. His given name is John. Olivia decided it fit him. There was a strong, steadfast, sensible ring to the sound.
John cleared his throat, interrupting her musing. “It somehow feels…more alive.”
The answer took her by surprise. She hadn’t really expected a hardened soldier to have such a sensitive touch.
“That’s very good, Lord Wrexham.” I must not think of him as John. “Wood was once a living, growing organism, so for me it has more soul than stone.”
“An interesting observation,” he replied. “By the by, may I open my eyes now?”
“Not just yet.” Olivia took a moment to gather a turquoise and a jade pawn. “Can you tell the difference between these two?” She drew first one and then the other down the length of his hand.
John’s face furrowed in a thoughtful frown. “Both are stone and both are polished, yet the first one felt slightly rougher.”
“Yes, there are subtle differences in texture. Look—you may open your eyes now. See how the turquoise has pebbled veins swirling through it while the jade possesses a translucent smoothness.”
He nodded. “Yes. It’s somehow warmer, too, as if it was formed by a hotter fire.”
“Y-you…” blurted out Olivia, then let her voice trail off.
“What?” he asked, looking slightly quizzical. “Did I say something wrong?”
“On the contrary. You have an excellent feel for nuances. I confess, I didn’t expect it.”
“Soldiering is not all about slashing sabers and cavalry charges, Miss Sloane. Indeed, careful observation and attention to detail often ensures that victory can be achieved without the senseless loss of life.”
“I—I see.” A sudden shivering sensation—A sliver of ice? A tongue of flame?—licked through her limbs as John reached out and took the two pawns from her hand. But then, her emotions were always at a fever pitch when working to the crescendo of an essay.
Speaking of which…
“I really must be going, sir,” said Olivia. “I’ve lingered here too long and I’ve tasks that await me at home.”
He shifted back a step but remained blocking her path to the corridor. “A moment more, if you please. Might I ask you to help me select a set for my sister before you go?”
“You don’t need my help, Lord Wrexham. Besides, one can’t go wrong with any of Mr. Tyler’s offerings.”
“Nonetheless, I should like your opinion.”
Olivia’s face took on an odd sort of pinch in reaction to his question, and John recalled that she had once remarked on how Society frowned on any lady who dared to express an opinion.
I should not like having to constantly bite my tongue, he thought. That he was free to give voice to his ideas, no matter how roughcut and unpolished, simply because of his sex, was indeed unfair.
Intelligence was not simply a matter of a person’s intimate…plumbing.
Clearing his throat, John forced away all thoughts of her body—however intriguing they were—and quickly added, “To begin with, I assume you would recommend a set made of wood instead of stone.”
That stirred a fleeting smile. “Not necessarily. Yes, I know I said that I prefer materials with soul. But there are other factors that come into play.”
“Such as?”
“I’m also affected by the visual form of the chess figures—I love fanciful creations like centaurs and basilisks. And I respond to bold colors as well.” Olivia pressed her palms together. “It is hard to describe in words, but the essence of a set’s attraction is how it feels against my fingertips.”