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but definitely not someone she’d consider having…
    Having what? His thoughts trailed off as he paused in front of the door of the room where he’d instructed Joseph to place her, the one down the hall from his own. He placed his hand on the door, wondering just what he’d gotten himself into, and what he really wanted from her.
    She’d been through enough. He certainly didn’t intend to compromise her while she was seeking his help. But if not, then why was that all he could think of?
    With a groan, he pushed away from the door and continued to his room, though he knew it was pointless to expect that he’d get much sleep.
     

 
     

     
    For the next two days, Samantha did not so much catch a glimpse of Lord Chattel. She found out from talking to his cook, Mrs. Lotte, that he had been working non-stop and taking meals in his laboratory.
    If he didn’t plan to spend any more time with her than this, she couldn’t imagine why he’d invited her into his home. Her frustration grew with each passing day, but she didn’t know what to do about it. She’d nearly gone out of her mind with boredom since she’d arrived. She wasn’t used to having absolutely nothing to do. She’d browsed his library, read a few books, and gone on a few rides with John, but she was desperate to do what she’d come here to do. If she didn’t learn how to play Chattel better, all the risk she’d taken would be for naught.
    The contest was on December fourth and it was already November tenth. Less than a month. Was it even possible to become a master of the game in so short a time? Not if he never played with her.
    At last, on the third day, he came in late to dinner, looking unshaven, rumpled, and dirty, as though he had been out rolling in the garden. All his former civilized trappings were gone, but she actually liked him better like this. 
    His gaze caught hers as he took his place at the head of the long, cherry wood table, immediately to her right. Joseph efficiently placed a plate down as soon as he was seated and then left the room.
    He looked her up and down with his smoldering dark gaze. “Hello, Mrs. Blake. I see you’re out of your boy’s clothing and back to your widow’s weeds. Can’ t say they flatter you like those trousers did.”
    “Hello, Lord Chattel,” she said with a radiant smile. “I see you’re wearing dirt to dinner.”
    He gave a surprised bark of laughter and nearly choked on his food. “ I’m sorry. Does it offend you?”
    “Not if you stay over on your side of the table.”
    “I often do not have time to change for dinner. That always seemed like an unnecessary custom to me in one’s own home.”
    They dined on a veritable feast of succulent ham, buttery potatoes, green beans with almonds and soft bread. It was much more food than she would normally eat and more delicious than anything she’d ever tasted.
    Lord Chattel concentrated on his dinner and made no attempt to explain his appearance or engage in further conversation. He seemed distracted, obviously by a riddle with his work.
    “You know, I’ve heard that when you are consumed with a problem you can’t solve, the best thing to do is walk away. Let your mind go somewhere else and it will return with the answer when it is well rested.” She gave him an innocent grin, hoping he’d take the bait. 
    “Yes, I’ve heard that. It is tough for me to walk away, so I stay, beating myself up for days, trying to come up with a solution.”
    “It sounds like a perfect time for a game of Chattel to distract you,” she said , when her obvious nudge didn’t seem to work.
    He put down his fork and sat back in his chair, seeming to finally focus his attention on her again. “Yes, I suppose we really should. You have been most patient. I know I haven’t been a very attentive host, but I did warn you my work came first.”
    She nodded , trying to hide her annoyance. “Yes, you did and it has been two days. I’ve patiently walked the grounds,