Passionately Yours (Hellions of High Street 3)

“Actually, I am very familiar with the game.” As he lifted his gaze from the checkered board, the undulating flame lit a momentary spark in his dark eyes. They were, noted Olivia, an unusual shade of toffee-flecked brown.

A powerfully mesmerizing mix of gold-flecked sparks and burnt sugar swirls that seemed to draw her in to a deep, deep vortex of shadowed spice…

She made herself look away.

“However,” he went on, “I have always been under the impression that it is not an activity that appeals to ladies.”

“Then you think wrong.” Olivia moved the ebony knight, putting both the ivory bishop—who in this set was depicted as a wild-eyed whirling dervish—and a pawn in danger.

The gentleman didn’t answer. Drawing in another mouthful of smoke from his glowing cheroot, he studied the arrangement of the remaining pieces for several long moments.

His reaction was a little unnerving, as was his aura of calm concentration. Olivia wasn’t quite sure why, but her fingertips began to tingle.

“Which one will you save?” he asked gruffly.

“The pawn, of course,” she replied.

A look of surprise shaded his face. Looking up through her lashes, Olivia watched as the low, licking light accentuated the chiseled cheekbones, the long nose, the sun-bronzed skin. It was an interesting face, made even more intriguing by his oddly expressive mouth.

Sensuous. That was the word that popped to mind.

And like the sinuous coiling of a serpent, her ribs suddenly contracted, squeezing the air from her lungs.

With an inward frown, she shook off the unwelcome sensation and quickly shifted the pawn out of danger. “It’s easy to see why if you look three moves ahead.”

“Strategy,” murmured the gentleman. “You seem to have”—a tiny cough—“a good grasp of the game’s strategy,” he went on as she picked up the whirling dervish bishop by its phallus and placed it aside.

“Do you think that ladies are incapable of conceiving a plan of attack that requires thinking three or four steps ahead?” She knew the answer of course. Most men were predictable in their prejudices, assuming the fairer sex had naught but feathers for brains.

Which made his reply all the more unexpected.

“I have a sister,” he said slowly. “So I am acutely aware of how sharp the female mind can be.” A rumbled chuckle sof

tened his solemn expression for just an instant. “Indeed, their skill at riding roughshod over an enemy’s defenses put the efficiency of many of my fellow officers to the blush.”

He is a military man?

That explained the ramrod straightness of his spine, the hint of muscled hardness beneath the finely tailored evening clothes, the tiny scar on the cleft of his chin.

The unmistakable impression of steely strength.

She made herself shift her gaze from the intriguing little nick. “So, you are a soldier, sir?”

“A former soldier,” he corrected. “Duties here at home made it imperative for me to resign my commission in Wellington’s forces and come back to England from the Peninsula.”

Olivia returned her attention to the chessboard, but not before muttering under her breath, “There are plenty of important battles to be fought on our own soil.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She repeated what she had said in a louder voice.

His eyes narrowed—in censure, no doubt.

That was hardly a surprise, thought Olivia bitterly. Ladies weren’t supposed to have opinions about anything meaningful. Especially if they were one of the three poor-as-a-churchmouse Sloane sisters.

Of course that did not stop her from saying what she thought. It didn’t matter that Society dismissed her as a rag-mannered hellion, tolerated only because of the beauty and charm of her younger sister. She could take a measure of inward satisfaction in knowing there were far more effective ways of being heard…

Clearing her throat with an exaggerated cough, she added, “If you must blow a cloud, sir, might you do it on the other side of the room?” She had come here for the express reason of avoiding the other guests. With any luck, he would take the hint and go away.