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“An advantage I had not anticipated when I arranged the game.”

She looked back at him, her expression softening into something open and unguarded. “Yes, Dominic. I have enjoyed myself.”

The answer settled something in him that he hadn't realized was still uncertain. A knot he'd carried beneath his ribs since her carriage first pulled up. He had wanted her to enjoy the evening. He had also wanted her to be glad she came, and the second wish had been far more fragile than he cared to admit. He found he cared considerably more about the second. “I am pleased,” he said, and his voice was warmer than the words.

“I had gathered that.”

She ran her fingers along his waistcoat, tracing the edge of the embroidery. The light touch sent small ripples through him. He reveled in the small motion, remembering how she had caught hold of the fabric while blindfolded, her face alight. Her triumph had been immediate and utterly sincere. She wanted to win, and he enjoyed being found more than he enjoyed any victory of his own.

“You must have played this often,” she said.

“Blindman’s buff?” he asked.

She smiled. He was beginning to love her smile. “Before you began altering it to suit your wicked intentions.”

He relaxed into the cushions. “My cousins were enthusiastic. Particularly when they discovered they could direct me toward something painful.”

“An affectionately malicious family,” she surmised.

“I was taller than most of them.” He hadn’t thought much about his child. “I suppose it was their way of evening the playing field.”

Amelia laughed, the sound spilling warm and bright against his throat. She shifted slightly upon his lap. He adjusted his arm around her before he could think. He steadied her, settling and curling his arm protectively around her back. She looked down at his hand, then raised her gaze to his face, a flicker of thought crossing her features.

Did she want him as much as he wanted her? Did she notice how his body had learned to curve around hers so naturally? Before he could ask, her attention moved to the pianoforte against the wall. “Do you play?” she asked.

“Badly,” he admitted.

“How badly?” she asked. Dominic wanted to know everything about her too. He didn’t fault her for the questions.

He laughed. “Well enough to recognize that an audience deserves better.”

“Then you may be certain I shall request a demonstration at some point.” She grinned.

He sighed, a groan only half in jest. “I feared as much.” At some point. The words lodged in him. She had spoken of a future as though it were a matter of course, and he held the thought carefully, afraid to disturb it.

“I have no intention of allowing you to become too pleased with yourself,” she told him

“You have been remarkably effective at preventing it.”

Her laughter quieted. For a moment she merely looked at him, her fingers still resting against his chest, the firelight turning her hazel eyes to amber. No reply ready on her lips, she seemed more thoughtful than before. He found himself reluctant to fill the silence, content to let it stretch between them. At last she said, “You do not seem to mind.”

“What?” he asked, tilting his head.

“Being laughed at,” she said softly. Her gaze dropped to her hand, resting against his waistcoat, and she smoothed the embroidered edge once with her thumb, a small, unguarded gesture that tightened something beneath his ribs.

“By you?” He considered that, and found the answer rising from somewhere deep and certain, unburdened by any need to be clever. He covered her hand with his, keeping his touch light enough that she could draw away. “I find I like discovering what amuses you.”

Her eyes lifted to his, searching and wary, as though she were testing the words' weight for some hidden crack. “And if I am particularly unkind?” she asked, the question quieter than she had likely intended.

He heard what lay beneath it. A protective ache rose in him, fierce and tender, and he kept his voice gentle, stroking his thumb once across her knuckles. “I shall complain.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “Loudly?”

“With whatever dignity remains to me.” He let a slow, rueful smile curve his mouth. The tension eased from her shoulders, the faint crease between her brows smoothing away. She let out a soft breath, nearly a laugh, and her fingers turned beneath his, curling around them.

She smiled, but the answer appeared to matter. He had no wish to ask what made such a small assurance necessary. A fierce, quiet ache rose in him. She had chosen how much of herself to share, and he would let her continue choosing, however long it took.

For now, she was here, warm and real in his arms. That was enough to make him feel absurdly fortunate, as though a stranger’s hand had pressed a treasure into his own. Amelia touched the open edge of his collar, her fingertips brushing the bare skin of his throat. “You have lost more than your coat this evening.”