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There was no appeal in the words, no attempt to make her feel unkind for remembering their condition. His voice was calm, warm, entirely without pressure. She had wanted pleasure without having to defend the shape of it, and gratitude swelled in her, sudden and fierce.

He was giving her that. “Not yet,” she said softly.

He looked back at her, and she saw how much the answer pleased him, the quick, unguarded warmth lighting his face. Amelia lifted her hand to his hair, brushing aside the dark lock that had fallen toward his brow. It was soft and slightly rumpled beneath her fingers. She had wanted to do that since he removed her pin.

“Another half hour,” she added. “Then I shall send you home with your cravat.”

“It is yours,” he said. “Keep it as a reminder of this night. I fully intend to keep your hair pin. I won it.”

“If you insist,” she said. She liked the idea of keeping his cravat.

His laugh warmed her, rich and low. He took the hand she had rested against his cheek and kissed her palm, his lips lingering against the sensitive skin. “I do.”

She settled closer, letting her shoulder rest against his arm and feeling his solid warmth along her side. When he bent his head, she lifted her face willingly, her eyes drifting closed. The cards could remain where they were. For the next half hour, Amelia had found a better use for her hands.

Three

For a man who prided himself on his seductions, Dominic had never before sent a porcelain statue from the drawing room in order to chase a woman blindfolded. His butler took the instruction without comment, though one grey eyebrow rose a fraction of an inch before settling back down. The footman carrying away the statue appeared less fortunate. His mouth twitched before he controlled it, and his ears turned faintly pink. Dominic decided to forgive him. If their positions had been reversed, he doubted he would have managed even that much restraint.

“The small table beside the window as well,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back to keep from fidgeting. “And those two chairs.”

“Shall we leave the sofa, my lord?” The butler arched a brow.

“Yes.” That piece of furniture would be put to good use…

That seemed to cost the footman another effort, and Dominic felt heat creep up the back of his neck. He turned toward the mantel before the man could see him smile, or worse, blush. He had spent the afternoon arranging an evening he hoped Amelia would enjoy, and the last quarter of an hour questioning whether he had lost his mind. He could have ordered musicians, offered wine, and relied upon his ability to make a woman laugh. He had never doubted the talent until tonight, when it mattered.

Instead, he had cleared a room for a game usually played by people with no intention of kissing one another afterward. Perhaps they did. He suspected he hadn't been attentive enough to the possibilities, and the thought sent a rush of anticipation through him, making his pulse stumble.

They carried away the last chair, its legs scraping softly across the floor. Dominic surveyed the remaining furniture, the room stripped. The room echoed strangely as he approached the bellpull to move the little stool beneath it. He had already tested the room with his eyes closed, shuffling about like a drunkard with his hands outstretched. He found the stool was exactly the right height to make a gentleman regret being adventurous.

He rubbed the spot upon his shin, where a tender bruise was already beginning to bloom. Amelia would have found that part entertaining. At least one of them ought to. He could not decide whether the flutter in his stomach was dread or delight, and suspected it was both.

“My lord?” His butler stood in the doorway, the discreet lamp in the passage throwing a narrow strip of light across the carpet. “Lady Covington has arrived.”

Dominic’s hand tightened around the silk ribbon, and his heart gave a hard, startled knock. She was precisely on time, though he had begun listening for her carriage twenty minutes earlier. He set the ribbon upon the mantel, smoothing it flat with his thumb, and drew a slow breath. “Show her in.”

He had sent the invitation two days after their card game, allowing what he considered a respectable interval before asking her to come to him. He had spent those two days remembering how she looked when she won his cravat. He couldn’t stop thinking about the warmth of her fingers at his throat, the quiet, concentrated delight on her face. The entirely unreasonable pleasure of hearing her call him Dominic... The memory had followed him through every dull errand, flaring mid-conversation unexpectedly until he lost the thread entirely.

Now Amelia appeared upon the threshold, and he forgot the ribbon, the displaced furniture, and the pain in his shin. All of it fell away, as though the room had narrowed to the single bright figure in the doorway. She wore dark green silk beneath a light cloak, the color deep as a forest at dusk against her fair skin. She had arranged her hair with more care than when he left her. A pale curl rested against her cheek as though she had placed it there expressly to torment him. Had worn his cravat against her skin? The thought curled through him, hot and wholly improper. It was a thoroughly distracting thought. He locked his knees and tried to look like a man in control.

“Good evening,” she said, glancing beyond him, her eyes bright with curiosity. “Have you been robbed?”

Dominic laughed, the sound loosening something in his chest, and crossed the room. “Only of my peace.”

She gestured to the room. “I meant the furniture.”

He shook his head. “I thought we might require more space.”

Amelia glanced over the open carpet, the chairs set against the walls, and the sofa beside the hearth. When she looked back at him, amusement warmed her hazel eyes, turning them gold in the candlelight. “What a remarkably hopeful arrangement.”

He bent over her hand and brushed his lips against her hand. Her fingers were warm, and they curled faintly against his own before she drew back. “I thought it best to be prepared.”

“For what?” She arched a brow.

“That is what you have come to discover,” he said.

He helped her remove her cloak, taking rather more pleasure than was strictly necessary in the act. The fabric slid from her shoulders in a soft rush, carrying her scent with it, Jasmine and something warmer beneath... The gown dipped low between her shoulder blades, revealing a soft stretch of skin above the silk, smooth and pale and tempting. He paused, his hands on the cloak between them, and his breath caught.