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“No.”

The answer came rougher than his earlier ones, scraped low in his throat.

She drew her hand away, though she did not retreat immediately. His gaze moved to her mouth, and the small, intent shift of it sent a thrill through her that curled low and hot in her belly. She wanted him to kiss her.

She also wanted to finish what she had begun, to savor every moment of an evening she had made entirely her own. Amelia folded the cravat, laid it beside her hairpin on the table, and returned to her chair, her legs not quite steady beneath her. Dominic watched her the entire way, his eyes following the sway of her skirts.

“Now,” she said, taking up the pack, “we are even.”

He looked toward the little collection beside her glass, the pin and the white linen lying together like tokens. “I am not convinced.”

“That sounds like a complaint,” she said.

He shook his head. “It was an observation.”

She laughed, and for the first time all evening, she forgot to wonder whether she appeared as composed as she wished. The laughter bubbled up from somewhere deep and unguarded, and she saw him smile in answer, softer than before.

They chose a kiss for the final forfeit. That ought to have made the game easier. They didn't need to pretend they didn't want it, or invent increasingly foolish reasons to approach one another.

Instead, Amelia became so conscious of what waited at the end that she had to examine her cards twice before settling them in her hand. Her fingers began to tremble again, this time with anticipation rather than nerves, and she pressed them flat against the table to still them.

Harwick did not appear much better.

He had stopped commenting on her play. His eyes returned to her mouth whenever she spoke, and once, when she leaned forward to gather a trick, his attention dropped low enough that she knew the gown had done its job. A flush of heat rose through her, not from embarrassment but from a wicked, glowing satisfaction.

She should have been scandalized. She was delighted. “Are you attending to the game, my lord?”

“With difficulty,” he admitted.

“How unfortunate for you.”

“I suspect you intended it,” he replied.

Amelia considered denying that. Then she looked at his loosened collar, the dark hair beginning to fall across his brow, and decided honesty might be more entertaining. “Yes.”

His smile came slowly, warming his whole face. “Then I commend your preparation.”

She played her next card before she could lose the thread entirely, her heart skipping in her chest. The final deal was close. Close enough that she began to enjoy the game for its own sake, setting aside the promise of his mouth as she tried to determine what he still held. She knew the temptation to take a trick too early. She had watched men do it simply because they wished to demonstrate an advantage, puffing themselves up like cocks in a barnyard. Hartwick waited, his gaze steady and calm.

She found herself admiring that, even when it cost her. At last they laid down the remaining cards, and Amelia counted the points in a silence that felt far less comfortable than it had ten minutes earlier. Her breath felt tight in her chest.

He had won. She stared at the tally, then lifted her gaze, her heart thudding.

“The match is yours by very little.”

“It is enough.” He grinned. “I win.”

“I might insist upon counting again,” she said just to be obstinate.

“You may,” he said. “I have no objection to spending longer here.”

The answer was light, but she heard something beneath it, a quiet sincerity that tightened her throat. He was enjoying himself. She already knew that, yet the certainty warmed her in a place the more obvious signs of his desire had not reached.

She had given him an evening he wished to prolong. For years, she had arranged entertainments to see whether everyone else would approve, measuring every glance, every word. Tonight, she had chosen the gown, the hour, the game, and the stakes. She had enjoyed all of it.

So had he. Hartwick rose, but this time he stopped beside the table, his hand resting lightly on its edge. “May I claim my forfeit?”

Amelia stood, her knees unsteady, her pulse pounding in her ears. “You may.”