“You certainly don’t look like Romeo,” Olivia said. “Why are you dressed like that? Is that paint on your face?”
“I had business to do. I didn’t have time to take it off.”
“Just what are you?” she demanded.
“A pirate… a smuggler…” He laughed slightly.
“And a man who frequents the king’s presence chamber pretending to be a dandified half-wit. And now look at you…” She flung out a hand at him. “What are you supposed to be now?”
“A fisherman.”
“A fisherman?” Olivia stared at him, momentarily defeated. “How many people are you, Anthony… or is it Edward?”
“Hard as it may seem to believe, just the one,” he said simply. “And Anthony will do for you. Right now, though, I’ve a mind to play physician.” He reached forward and twitched aside the covers. “Turn over and let me have a look at your thigh.”
“It’s all healed up,” she said, grabbing for the sheet again. “Phoebe looked at it.”
“Nevertheless, I prefer to judge the progress of my handiwork myself.” His eyes darkened and he placed his hands, cool and strong, over hers as they clutched the sheet. “Why would you be so shy with me now, Olivia, after all that we shared?”
She didn’t answer him, repeating instead softly, “Why did you c-come?”
“To look at your wound and to return this.” He took his hands from hers and there was no disguising the disappointment, the flash of frustration in his eyes. He reached to the bedside table and gave her the book he had brought.
“You left your Aeschylus behind on the ship.”
“Oh.” It was the book she had been reading when she’d fallen off the cliff. She opened it and the folded sheet fell to the covers, the map uppermost. “Who drew this?”
“Mike. I wanted to be sure I found the right window.”
Idly Olivia turned the map over in her hands. She stared at the sketch. “This is me! You drew me, while I was asleep! How c-could you!”
“Because it was irresistible,” he said. “And you know my passion for anatomy.”
“You are despicable!” Olivia declared. “Spying and c-creeping up on people. Despicable!”
Anthony contented himself with a raised eyebrow. He rose from the bed and began to wander around the chamber, whistling softly between his teeth. Head on one side, he examined the pictures on the walls; he ran a finger over the spines of the books in the shelf; he picked up her ivory-backed brushes and the little pearl-studded hand mirror.
“Good God, I’d forgotten for a minute I was still covered in paint. You don’t mind if I use your washcloth?”
He didn’t wait for an answer but proceeded to make free with soap, washcloth, and water, scrubbing the rouge from his cheeks. “There, much more presentable, don’t you think?” He laid the mirror down and turned back to her with a smile that demanded approval.
Olivia told herself she would not laugh. She had been watching his careless peregrinations in an incredulous silence, wondering why it was so impossible to shame him. And now he was looking at her like a hopeful wolfhound.
Anthony grinned, reading her mind as he had so often before. His eye fell on the chessboard on its inlaid table beside the empty hearth.
“Shall we play chess?” he asked casually.
“Shall we do what?”
“Chess,” he said. “An unexceptionable activity, I would have thought, since we will be safely separated by a board.” He picked a black pawn and a white one from the table and came over to the bed, holding them behind his back. “Choose.” He extended his closed fists to her.
Wordlessly, Olivia tapped his right hand. He uncurled his fingers and revealed the white pawn.
“White opens,” he said.
“And white will win,” Olivia declared, pushing aside the covers. A game of chess in the middle of the night! It was insane, but it also excited her. And on some strange level it felt perfectly natural to do such a thing with the pirate.
She went over to the chess table, noticing how smooth and cool the wooden floor was beneath her bare feet. She replaced the white pawn on its square.
Anthony lit the candles on a two-branched candlestick that sat on a little shelf to the side of the chess table.
“Before we start, can you still feel that wound?”
Olivia hesitated. “It throbs sometimes. It feels tight, a bit stretched if I walk fast.”
He sat down and beckoned her. “Physician’s hat, I promise you. There’s no need to be shy.”
“I’m not shy,” Olivia said with perfect truth.
“Well then…?”
Olivia thought of the sketch he’d made of her. It was all too absurd. She went over to him and turned around, raising her nightgown. His fingers were cool as they brushed over the wound.
“It’s healing nicely,” he said dispassionately, letting his hands drop.
Olivia shook down her nightgown. “I already told you that. Phoebe looked at it.”
He laughed. “She has some skill, does she?”
“As a herbalist, as much as you, I daresay,” Olivia retorted. “Except that she’s not a surgeon.”
“I must discuss such things with her at some point.”
Olivia spun around on him. “And just how do you propose doing that?”
He laughed again. “With a little ingenuity. Have faith, my flower.”
“What kind of flower?” she asked involuntarily.
“Oh, I don’t know.” He smiled lazily. “Sometimes an orchid. Tonight at the castle you were an exotic orchid in that flaming gown with your midnight hair. But at other times, you’re more like a daisy or a marigold, wild and slightly raggedy.”
Olivia thought it was a compliment, but when he was smiling in that secret way he had, it was hard to tell.
“Let’s play chess.” She sat down at the table opposite him.
“By all means,” he agreed cheerfully. “A nice safe thing for us to do.”
Olivia looked at him suspiciously but his expression seemed quite serene. She moved pawn to queen four.
Anthony shot her a quick amused glance from beneath raised eyebrows. It was an unusual opening.
He imitated the move.
“Pawn to queen’s bishop four,” Olivia said, suiting action to words. She sat back and watched his reaction.
Anthony knew the gambit she was playing. If he didn’t stop it, he would find himself entangled and slowly squeezed to death.
“White will win,” Olivia stated again.
“Oh?” He moved his pawn to king three.
Olivia without pause for thought moved her knight to king’s bishop three. “White has the advantage, but I never lose,” she said. “Even if I’m playing black.”
“What a cocky young thing you are,” he said, making his responding move.
After that they played in silence.
Until Olivia said quietly, “Check,” as she moved her rook. “And mate in three. Unless you want to play it out.”
Anthony examined the board. He examined it for a very long time. He’d sensed his defeat coming several moves back and had done, he thought, everything he could to circumvent it. But she had him. There was no denying it. And much to his surprise the loss piqued him.
His long, slim forefinger tipped over his king. He sat back in his chair and regarded her.
“Still say I’m cocky?” Olivia asked, unable to hide a rather smug smile.
“I think you have to give me the return match,” he said, a smile flickering in his eyes now. There was something quite endearing about her smugness.
“Best of three,” Olivia said instantly. She began to replace the pieces on the board.
Anthony glanced at the window. The night darkness was lightening. It would soon be dawn. “No more now,” he said, rising from his chair. “I need to be away.”
Olivia followed his eyes to the window. “Oh, yes, I suppose you do.” She sounded disappointed. “I know I would win playing black.”