“Where will these sessions take place?”
“In my penthouse.”
“Absolutely not. The library will do for a game of chess.”
“Fine,” the chancellor says through gritted teeth. “But I want permission to touch her.”
The room falls quiet as the two men stare each other down. I hold my breath, afraid to move.
Because the thought of being in Liam’s arms again so soon has me on the edge of my seat, antsy with hopeful excitement.
“You seem to care a great deal about our lovely queen.”
“Don’t you?” Liam challenges with an arch of his brow.
The strength of Mr. Bordeaux’s stare touches on me like an appraisal, as if he’s calculating my worth in the ten long seconds he takes to reply to the chancellor.
“She’s proven her obedience.” From the corner of my eye, I spy the edge of his mouth curl. “And apparently her value.”
“Do we have a deal, then?” Liam presses, voice bold except for the small waver I’m hoping the man sitting at the head of the table doesn’t notice.
“Bi-weekly sessions and ten percent off the price.”
“Five percent,” Liam counters.
“Seven percent.” A lengthy pause ratchets the tension. “And no sexual contact.”
A telling tick goes off in Liam’s jaw. He wants the physical connection between us as badly as I do. “No deal, Heath. At a minimum, I require permission to kiss her.”
“Desperation does not suit you, Chancellor.”
Liam’s brows narrow. “Don’t mistake my affection for desperation.”
“I stand corrected. Bi-weekly sessions it is, kissing allowed. Do we have a deal?”
“I’ll accept your terms if you give me twenty minutes alone with Novalee first.”
A pause of silence, and then hope pumps through my veins as Mr. Bordeaux stands, his chair sliding soundlessly across the floor. “Come find me when you’re finished.” He exits with the same brusqueness I’m coming to expect from him.
If I thought the tension was thick before, it’s nothing compared to the sexual haze that falls over the dining table, food forgotten, as soon as the door shutters us in relative privacy.
Liam and I drink in the sight of each other for what feels like the first half of our twenty minutes, when in reality not even five seconds sneak by. A grandfather clock chaperones from its unobtrusive corner of the room, and I listen to the hands swing back and forth.
“What is the Heart of the Queen?” I ask, fracturing the quiet.
His attention lowers to my mouth, thoughts blatant as he folds his hands on the table—as if he wants to touch me but knows he can’t. “It’s a rare diamond necklace passed down the Castle line. Evangeline gave it to her eldest son before he married his queen.”
His explanation whirls in my mind, and I struggle to keep up, to grasp onto the meaning behind those telling words. “So this necklace…it’s a family heirloom?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t understand.” Offending him is the last thing I want to do, but I can’t help but question the wisdom in the deal he just made with my keeper. “Why would you sell it to Mr. Bordeaux for two chess games?”
“Because, my sweet inquisitive girl…” His smile is the only sign he picked up on the subtle incredulity in my tone. “You’re worth it.”
I haven’t heard him speak the endearment since the morning I left his penthouse, but now it washes over me with the comfort of sunshine, enfolding me in a warm spring breeze, and I ache to hear him say it again. “It’s just chess,” I whisper, rather stupidly, because we both know he’s not selling just to play a game with me.
It’s true he’s bartering for time with me, and he’s willing to sell something undeniably valuable to get it—the kind of valuable you can’t put a price tag on—but there has to be more to this than he’s shared.
Because it doesn’t make sense.
“Novalee,” he says, leaning forward and fisting his hands between us. Frustration vibrates off him. “This isn’t about chess. I need to see you—as often as is possible—but the money I get for the necklace is more important than I can tell you. I don’t think I need to explain the extent of Heath’s wealth. Out of the twelve of us, his net worth is at the top.”
“Meaning he has the means to win the auction.”
“Yes, he does.”
“So what do you need the money for? Surely it won’t be enough to outbid him.”
“You’re correct.” Clearing his throat, he pushes his chair back and rises.
And that’s when I realize he’s not going to elaborate on his plans. Whatever his reasoning, he’s keeping it close to his chest.
“I won’t tell anyone,” I point out, a little hurt that he won’t let me in on the secret.
“I know you won’t. I trust you, but I won’t put you in a position where the knowledge can be used against you.”
“Used against me how?”
“I’m assuming you’ve been to the dungeon?”