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Amelia laughed, bright and unrestrained. She moved toward the mantel, her skirts swishing. The sandglass stood where she had left it. Its upper chamber empty, pale grains heaped at the bottom. She turned it, set it carefully on the polished wood, and watched the first thin thread of sand fall. Her heart beat a quick, eager rhythm.

“Now.”

This time Dominic moved at once. Amelia slipped aside, narrowly avoiding his outstretched hand. Her breath caught on a startled laugh. He had been listening more closely than she realized. His fingertips brushed her bare arm, and the contact sent a small, sharp jolt through her. A spark that raced to her fingertips before she moved out of his reach.

“Already running?” he asked.

“Walking,” she insisted. “I should hate to distress your dignity by making you hurry.”

“Please be assured,” he said lightly. “My dignity has suffered sufficiently.”

“It appears quite resilient,” she teased.

She circled toward the middle of the room, keeping the sofa behind her. She kept her slippers silent over the carpet. He lifted his hands less widely than before, his head cocked to catch every sound. There was something unexpectedly enticing about watching him move with such assurance. As he felt his way toward her, his confidence tempered by careful attention. It sent a slow, delicious shiver along her spine.

She could have remained quiet and waited for the sand to run through. Instead, she stepped closer, drawn by something she couldn’t name. “Perhaps you require encouragement.”

“I have been very plain about that.” He smiled. “I am motivated to find you.”

Amelia touched his shoulder, a feather-light brush, then moved away as his hand rose. His fingers caught hers for a moment, warm and firm. Then they closed around her with a gentleness that made her heart skip, before she slipped free.

Her laughter betrayed her, spilling out breathless and giddy. Dominic turned, smiling beneath the ribbon, the corner of his mouth lifting in a way she found almost unbearably attractive. She should have remembered he learned quickly.

She moved toward the window, intending to pass behind him, but her skirt brushed against his leg. He reached toward the sound. Amelia turned to escape and found the carpet's edge beneath her slipper, the fringe catching her toe. The smallest hesitation was enough. His hand settled at her waist. “Caught you...”

She could have argued that one hand was insufficient. She might even have tried to duck beneath his arm and keep the game going. Instead, she stood still, suddenly much more interested in his fingers against her gown than in whether the sand had finished falling. The heat of his palm seeped through the silk, spreading outward in slow, languid waves. “That remains to be established,” she said huskily.

Dominic found her other hand with his free one. He drew her a little nearer. He leaned in to hear her, close enough that she could feel his warm breath stirring the curls at her temple. “There are no witnesses to deny my claim?”

“Do you intend to claim me then?”

He stopped at once, going perfectly still. “Only if you will allow it?”

“Perhaps I will...” She smiled, looking at his mouth, at the slight curve of his lips. “But not yet.”

His thumb moved lightly against her waist, a small, absent stroke. The touch through the silk, slow and distracting, sent ripples of sensation outward. Without the ribbon, he would have seen how quickly her amusement gave way to anticipation, the flush on her cheeks, the soft parting of her lips. She was almost grateful he could not. Its vulnerability made her breath tremble.

She trailed her fingers over the ribbon. “You may take it off,” she said.

He released her hand to loosen the knot, keeping the other at her waist, steady and warm. When the silk fell away, his gaze found hers immediately, dark and bright. The pleasure in his face made her throat tighten in a way she had not prepared for, a sudden, sweet ache.

He looked glad to have caught her. Not merely triumphant. Glad. “That was considerably better,” she told him, her voice softer than she intended.

“I have an excellent incentive,” he told her.

“The sand may have run through before you reached me,” she said.

“Then we shall have to inquire if it has.” Neither looked toward the mantel. The room had narrowed to the small space between them, the fire’s low murmur, the steady beat of her own heart. “But neither of us truly cares, do we?”

Amelia felt her smile deepen. “No.” That made it clear exactly what she wanted. The knowledge sent a warm thrill through her.

She laid her hand upon his shoulder, feeling the firm muscle beneath the linen. She tipped her head, exposing the place beneath her ear, the tender skin that had tingled all evening in anticipation. “You won,” she said.

Dominic stared at her. His hand tightened slightly at her waist, then eased again as he bent toward her, slow and careful. He gave her every chance to change her mind. His first touch was warm and soft. Amelia closed her eyes.

She had imagined that kiss as she fastened the blindfold. She had imagined it again as she moved out of his reach, and once, inconveniently, while laughing at him. None of those imaginings included the quiet care with which he rested his lips against her skin, nor its tenderness.

He lingered. Her fingers curled into his shirt sleeve, clutching the fine linen. A shiver ran down her back, and he answered by drawing her closer. He supported her as her knees grew less steady. His breath warmed the sensitive place he had kissed, and gooseflesh rose along her arms. Amelia wanted him to do it again. She wanted to turn her face and find his mouth, to let the wanting carry her wherever it would.