Miss Farquhar pulled out the chair across from him, curtsied like a footman, and said to the whole room, "Your Grace, your next victim. She's only the companion. She will not mind losing."It was a dare. Miss Farquhar had bet her pearl bracelet that the poor companion would cry.Mrs. Strickland's ringed hand pushed down on Thomasina's shoulder until her knees gave, and she was in the chair.The Duke did not rise or bow. He only swept a white pawn back onto its square with the side of his hand and sat back."Twelve moves," he said. "Somebody time it."Miss Farquhar laughed and turned the gilt clock on the mantel to face the table like a judge. Mrs. Strickland bent to her companion's ear:"If you waste His Grace's evening, girl, your quarter's wage is stopped."Thomasina felt the words go into her stomach like cold water. That wage was her winter. She put her hands in her lap so no one would see them shake."Take white," said the Duke. "You will want every help there is."She moved. He answered, bored, his eyes on the far wall.On her fourth move, she pushed out a pawn where his bishop could take it for nothing. For one breath, the Duke of Eisgarth's face went white. Then his mouth hardened. He took the pawn and dropped it beside the board with a small click."You play like a parson's daughter," he said. "You give things away.""I am one, Your Grace," said Thomasina, and moved.Across the room, a white-haired old man in a green coat heavy with gold braid put down his cards and turned his chair to face them. The Duke saw him turn. So did Miss Farquhar. Neither of them knew what it meant. Thomasina did. The old man was the Russian ambassador, Count Belsky, and every chess player in Europe knew his name. She had read it in the back of her father's books for half her life. She did not look at him; if she looked at him, she would lose her nerve, and she could not afford to lose her nerve tonight.She looked at the Duke's hands instead. They were big, brown hands, rough across the knuckles, and they did not belong in a card room. There was a white scar across the back of the left one. There was another scar, thin as thread, through his left eyebrow. People said he'd got it in Spain at a siege nobody at this party could have found on a map.He moved a knight and waited, and while he waited, he looked at her for the first time. It was not a kind look. It went over her dove-gray gown, her plain white fichu, her auburn hair twisted into a knot with two pins, and it found nothing it wanted."How long have you played?" he said.