To her further enjoyment, she discovered his assessment of his chess skills hadn’t been entirely off the mark. She wasn’t yet willing to acknowledge his claim to being the very best, but she would grant, and appreciate, that he was a challenging opponent. Further to recommend him was his obvious appreciation of her own skills.
On the last of occasion of playing one of Kate’s admirers, Evie’s opponent had made a flustered—not to mention transparent—excuse to quit the game when it became obvious he would lose. Women, apparently, were not supposed to be accomplished at games of strategy.
Mr. Hunter, on the other hand, seemed not to mind the possibility—the very real possibility—of defeat.
He frowned thoughtfully when she took one of his bishops. “Does all your family enjoy chess?”
She watched him put his other bishop into a more secure position. “Yes, though Kate and I are the most evenly matched.”
“And how is Lady Kate?” he inquired.
Evie was careful not to smile at the topic she was most interested in discussing with Mr. Hunter. “She was quite well the last I sp-spoke with her.”
“And her maid…Lizzy, isn’t it?” He waited for her nod before continuing. “How is it she was at Haldon rather than with her mistress?”
She pushed one of her pawns forward. “Lizzy is my lady’s maid as well as Kate’s.”
“That’s unusual, isn’t it?”
It was more unusual that he should ask after a lady’s maid at all, but Evie couldn’t see the benefit of mentioning it. “For women of our rank, you mean?”
“I suppose I do.”
“And I suppose it is,” she replied. “Lady Thurston attempted to p-persuade us at one time to take on another young woman, but neither of us was willing to give up Lizzy for someone new.”
He brought out his queen. “She’s very good at what she does, then.”
Evie thought about that. “Not particularly,” she decided, and smiled at his surprised expression. “But we love her dearly.”
“And Lady Kate? Does she feel the same?”
“Very much so.” She chose her next words carefully. “I’m surprised you’ve not asked her for yourself.”
“I would, if she’d sit still long enough for me to attempt conversation.” He tapped his finger on the table idly. “She seems to be in a hurry every time we meet.”
In a great hurry, Evie knew, to distance herself from a man who flustered her. Evie didn’t doubt for a second that Mr. Hunter was aware of Kate’s reaction to him, or that he took some pleasure from it. She’d watched the interplay between the two more than once, and she hadn’t missed the amused gleam in his eyes. Nor had she missed the desire.
“Are you in love with my cousin?” She shouldn’t have asked, or at least should have found a way to ask with a modicum of tact, but the words were out of her mouth before she’d realized she meant to say them.
Mr. Hunter didn’t so much as bat an eyelash. “Whit? That would certainly be ill-advised.”
Evie laughed with a mixture of humor and relief that he hadn’t derided her for her rudeness. “Yes, it would. Mirabelle would have your head.”
“The countess is too generous a soul for that and too confident in Whit’s affection. She’d pity me, and I can’t abide being pitied.” He gave her a sorrowful expression. “Do say you’ll keep my desperate secret?”
“The Coles never make a promise they can’t keep.” She fingered the top of a bishop before changing her mind and pushing forward another pawn. “I was referring to Kate.”
“Were you really? Imagine that.”
“Are you going to answer the question?”
He looked directly at her. “I am not in love with Lady Kate.”
She studied his face, expecting to detect some sign of discomfort, an indication that he was hiding something, but his expression gave nothing away.
“You may be just a g-good liar,” she said.
“I take offense to that. I am an exceptional liar.” He waited until she stopped laughing to continue. “But as it happens, I speak the truth at present. I don’t believe in love. Not the sort you’re referring to.”
“Have you ever believed in love?”
“Perhaps, when I was boy. Then again, I also believed that if I found a comb on the ground and bent to pick it up, the mermaids would come to spirit me away.” He smiled at her bewildered look. “An old Irish myth. My grandmother was an O’Henry.”
“Oh. Did you dismiss the idea of love when you dismissed the idea of mermaids? Or is there a story behind your reluctance to believe? Did someone break your heart?”
“Of course. But not romantically.”
She opened her mouth to respond with a clever quip, but thought better of it. Heartbreak under those circumstances could have originated from anywhere—a family member, a friend. For all that she knew, he could have lost a child.
“I am sorry to hear it,” she said instead.
He smiled and used his rook to take her pawn. “The heart is merely a piece of the body, and it heals like any other.”