The Countess by Catherine Coulter

and that is exactly what I just did to you, sir. However, tomorrow is another

day, perhaps even another game of chess, and then it begins all over again. In

chess there is no ultimate victory. It is a good thing, but perhaps it is also a

very disappointing thing.”

Lawrence began to gather the chess pieces into the center of the table. He

righted his fallen king and placed it in front of the white pieces, on the

square directly opposite my black queen. He looked up into my face, his eyes

narrowed and grim, the blue so dark as to be nearly black. I forced myself to

look back at him steadily. It was he who looked away first, into the fire, and

then down at his shapely white hands. I sat perfectly still, and waited. I had

no choice at all. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, almost pensive. “You

played with intelligence, finesse, and yes, courage, Andrea. Most unusual

characteristics for a woman. As to your intemperance just now, perhaps in the

glow of your small victory, I should let you revel in it, even if it will only

last for a very short time.”

He was a different man now. Perhaps he was finally the man he truly was. “I was

not aware, my lord, that men were the sole proprietors of intelligence and

courage.”

He kept playing with his damned white king, turning it between his long fingers.

I wanted to throw the board at him. Then he sighed. “Ah, my dear, there you are

wrong, and I think that you must perforce bow to my superior years of experience

in the matter.”

“I don’t see why.”

He stiffened. He was focused directly on me now. His eyes were cold, hard,

utterly without feeling or compassion. His voice was as cold as his eyes now,

and cutting, like a rapier through the silent air, “Oh, yes, your sex is weak,

vain, and totally lacking in moral character. You are no different.”

Still I could not see through this morass of anger in him, but I did realize

that it had to do with a woman. I stood and leaned over the table toward him, my

palms flat on the chessboard. My own voice matched his now, and I felt the

harshness of my voice to my very soul. “Those are words of a bitter man, my lord,

words that lack both measure and a balanced judgment. No, my lord, even your

immense number of years, all your endless supply of experiences, none of it can

justify such an unbalanced, even an unstable opinion.”

He jerked forward in one swift movement, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me toward

him across the table, so that my face was very close to his. I heard chess

pieces roll on the wooden floor. “Brave words, my girl, but words without

substance, without meaning. Ah, yes, you silly creature, you can taste fleeting

victory at a game of chess, for you were well taught. But in life, Andrea, in

life you have been but an insignificant pawn in a game of my own making. And now

I have what I want, my girl. I no longer need you. I no longer need to pander to

your foolish whims and laugh at your outlandish attempts at humor.”

“I do not understand you. What are you talking about? What do you mean?”

His grip tightened. Pain shot up my arm, but I made no sound.

“You are mad.”

“Mad, am I? We shall see.”

I looked into his eyes then. I saw no madness there. He looked as cold as my

grandfather’s flesh had felt when I had given him a final good-bye. He looked

deadly and calmly furious. I wondered if he was going to kill me, right here,

right now.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Abruptly he released my wrist, and in one swift motion, closed his long fingers

around my throat. I instinctively grabbed at his hands to free myself, but his

hold tightened inexorably. “You shall see, my dear, that you are quite helpless.

And never forget, will you, that you belong to me. You are my new, my very

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