Page 12 of Baron in Check
And if Greg was going to prepare his attack, following rule number three, he first had to find out where Hermy’s strategy lay. She didn’t look different, perhaps she still had the keenest mind in chess.
And she was in his house. He still couldn’t believe it was real.
She was back.
And she’d brought her dog.
Wait, she was back for what? Not for him but for his help, he had to remind himself.
It was a dream come true, a scenario he’d played in his mind so often, he nearly grabbed her and carried her off to his bed. But there was the other version, the one where … but this was not a hypothetical reunion. She was seeking his help.
He didn’t know how to behave around Hermy. She’d grown up. No. She’d blossomed. Her cheeks were even rosier thanbefore, probably from life in the country. Her waist was narrower, or did it seem so because her breasts were perkier and bigger than even in his dreams? She still had a pointy chin and nose, perfect for trailing kisses … but he was no fool, she knew he liked it rough. Deep and wilder, she used to call.
Stop! Greg hit his forehead as if he could slap the memories out of his mind along with the naughty thoughts he’d revisited almost nightly for the last five years.
Greg chastised himself. She was his charge now. This cruel decision gave a way for her late brother, Steven, to prevent them reuniting even after his demise.
Well Steven, she came to me now and I’m not going to let her go again.
I’m all grown up. I’m the Baron. I’m the Black Knight.
A piece of paper wouldn’t stop him. And yet, like the laws, words on paper wielded more power than even a sword.
After he’d paid the driver and given his housekeeper instructions for dinner, Greg prepared to pose his question in person. He found Hermy in the study, chessboard tucked under her arm and her poodle shuffling between her feet. Greg watched her from the other side of the doorway, unable to anticipate his strategy. Her touch was like a spark to dry tinder, igniting a blaze within him that no amount of logic could douse.
“You know Gambit, men play in low light. They go to the clubs and take ages to think about strategy with a drink in hand but that’s not how chess works.”
Tilting his head to one side, the cocker spaniel listened intently, ears flopping gently as if trying to catch every word. A soft, questioningwoofpunctuated the silent room, echoing Hermy’s intonation.
“Exactly! They drink, which dulls their senses. I doubt the men ever play a good game at the clubs; that’s why they don’t let girls in.” Hermy nodded as she spoke and switched the pillowsfrom the settee to the armchairs. Tapping her index finger on her chin, she seemed anything but shy about moving Greg’s furniture around.
“This old one needs a new slipcover.” Hermy threw the pillow to the dog. Can you chew on the tassels a bit to make sure this ugly thing won’t come back?”
The cocker spaniel’s tail wagged in rapid, short strokes, silently applauding his owner’s maneuver. The swishing sound filled the room with an atmosphere of approval and encouragement.
Greg stifled a laugh and ducked behind the door. His heart soared and he bit his lower lip. She was so adorable and she was so … so Hermy! So perfect!
Slow, Gregory. Don’t scare her away.
“I’ll never forget that game after Christmas, the first time Greg lost against me. A girl!” Hermy gave the dog a look that sparkled like the memory in Greg’s mind.
Greg peeked through the door again, unable to look away.
Hermy’s fingers moved gracefully across the chessboard, knights and bishops sliding into their power plays as if they were guests finding their seats at a grand ball she’d meticulously orchestrated. With a final, delicate touch, she positioned her queen with the flourish of a maestro conducting a symphony, the board now a masterpiece of anticipation and guile.
“He played white and guarded his e1 square. We had the same number of pieces, and the forces of attack were balanced.” Hermy picked Gambit up and pointed at the board. The dog watched as if he could understand her.
Had she been so lonely all this time that she played against herself and talked to the dog?
His initial excitement at eavesdropping on Hermy mixed with hurt and morphed into anger. He should have broken her out of the prison her brother put her in, out of the country.
“Then I found a move for my queen, c1, and deflected his rook. He had to play bishop f4 and then my queen captured his, completely destroying his rear defenses.” Hermy held Gambit with one hand while she slid her queen to the mating position on the board. “There, I had captured his king.”
Snuggling closer, the curly brown dog let out a contented sigh as if conceding the strategy. He rested his chin on the edge of the chessboard as if to say, “Well played.”
Greg stepped out from his hiding spot and into the light. “I don’t think I ever played white again.”
She bit her lip as if to hold the rest of her words back.
