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“No,” he said. “It was encouragement.”

She would have liked more. Instead, she straightened and tried to recall the room as she had last seen it, summoning the shapes in her mind. The hearth stood to her left. The windows were beyond him. The sofa... She had no useful idea where the sofa was.

Dominic’s voice came from a few paces before her, warm and unhurried. “What shall you claim if you catch me?”

Amelia considered the question, aware she could ask for a kiss and receive it gladly. She could ask him to remove his waistcoat, continuing the game she had begun. Both prospects were appealing, and a flush rose in her cheeks at the thought of either.

Yet something else occurred to her, a small, bright, daring idea. “If I catch you, I shall decide where we sit.”

“That sounds a modest demand,” he said in a curious tone.

“And you must remain there while I collect my prize.”

He was quiet for a moment, and she heard the faint creak of the floorboards as he shifted. She enjoyed imagining his expression, the raised brow, the slow smile, the darkening of his eyes. “What prize?”

“One kiss,” she said, borrowing his earlier precision. “Where I choose.”

His answer came lower than before, a husky rumble that she felt along her spine. “Agreed.”

“And if I fail?” she asked.

“You remove the ribbon and let me see your face while I kiss you.”

Amelia’s pulse quickened, fluttering in her throat. “That arrangement appears suspiciously agreeable, whichever of us wins.”

“I have begun to appreciate the advantages,” he admitted.

She laughed softly, a little breathless. “Turn the glass.”

A moment later, she heard the small click upon the mantel. The game began. Amelia took one careful step, then another, her slippers sinking into the carpet. She lifted her hands before her, fingers spread, and felt foolishly conscious of how she must look. A dowager viscountess wandering through a gentleman’s drawing room at an hour when respectable women were asleep. All the while, she hoped to catch him so she might kiss him. The absurdity bubbled up in her, warm and delightful. She could not remember the last time she had enjoyed herself so much.

“You have grown very quiet,” Dominic said.

His voice came from her right, near and low. “I am attempting to win the game.”

“I had hoped you might attempt to win me,” he said, amused.

“Isn’t it one and the same?” she asked.

She moved toward him and the air changed as he passed nearby. A faint stirring that carried the scent of sandalwood. His sleeve brushed her fingertips, warm and fleeting. She reached too late, catching only the warmth he left behind, and a frustrated laugh escaped her.

Dominic laughed too. The sound was low and close enough to make her turn immediately, her heart leaping.

“Do you intend to be helpful?” she asked.

“I thought you might prefer to earn your prize,” he teased.

“I prefer to win,” she said firmly.

“So I have discovered.”

Amelia reached toward his voice. Her hand met the edge of his waistcoat; the embroidered silk was smooth beneath her fingertips. He moved away before she could hold on. She felt a brief flare of frustration, followed by an unexpected pleasure, bright and effervescent. He was playing properly. He hadn't decided she needed an easy victory. The respect warmed her more than any gentle coddling could. “You are enjoying this,” she accused.

“Immensely,” Dominic admitted. “More than I thought possible.”

“How unfortunate,” she said, amused. “I had intended to remain your chief source of amusement.”

“I that you are succeeding.” His voice roughened. “Nothing compares to you.”