The Most Romantic Move Is the One He Doesn’t Make

There is something delicious about a Regency hero who knows how to wait.

I don’t mean idleness. I mean the controlled patience of a chess player.

The kind that watches the room’s goings on with focus.

The kind that understands when to advance, when to hold, when to sacrifice, and when the quietest move is the one that changes everything.

That is Sander.

In my new book, The Lyon’s Sweet Temptation, Sander is one of Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s wolves (guards have these names only) at the Lyon’s Den. He guards the house, watches the doors, reads the guests, and understands that a gambling hell is driven by far more than cards or dice. Appetite moves through those rooms. So does desperation, vanity, secrets, and power.

And sometimes, chess.

Mrs. Dove-Lyon calls chess “wit against wit,” which is exactly why it belongs in the Lyon’s Den. A chessboard may look more respectable than a gaming table, but respectability has always been one of London’s prettiest disguises.

A card table can ruin a man loudly.

A chessboard can expose him quietly.

That is why I loved making Sander a chess master. He does not storm through every room with a sword drawn. He has no need for that. His strength is restraint. His gift is attention. His danger is precision.

Then he meets Rosine Cassis.

Rosine is a Jewish baker from Alsace whose hands know sugar, yeast, cardamom, lemon, and survival. She works in the kitchens below the Lyon’s Den, creating the sweets that tempt patrons who may never bother to ask who made them.

Sander sees her.

He sees the woman behind the trays. The ambition beneath the flour. The future she is determined to build with her own hands.

That is where the romance deepens for me.

A chess player can make a wonderful protector.

But love asks for more than protection.

Love asks him to learn partnership.

The most romantic move is sometimes knowing when to stand beside someone instead of in front of her.

Sander wants to keep Rosine safe. Rosine wants to build something that belongs to her: her own bakery, her own sign, her own name on the door.

Those desires do not begin as enemies.

But they do collide.

Safety can become too small if it is built like a cage. Love can lose its beauty if it asks a woman to trade away her independence. And in this story, the board is larger than either Sander or Rosine first understands.