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“I know,” he said.

“Then you need not look so concerned.”

He turned to her, brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, and let his fingers linger against her skin. “I promised to see you home.”

She looked at him quietly, her eyes soft and unreadable in the lamplight. For one foolish moment, he wondered whether she might change her mind. He would have liked to wake beside her. The desire came so easily that he scarcely recognized its significance. That is until he imagined the empty space she would leave, the cool hollow in the sheets, and the faint scent of jasmine fading from the pillow. The thought hollowed something in his chest.

He had no business asking her to surrender her conditions simply because he had begun to dislike them. She had set her boundary with open eyes, and honoring it was the least he could do. “I shall ring for your carriage,” he said, forcing lightness into his voice. “There is no need to hurry while it is being brought round.”

Amelia’s hand closed around his, her fingers warm and firm. “Thank you.”

Two simple words. They ought not to have affected him so, tightening his throat and stinging his eyes. He kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger against her skin, then rose before he could become foolish enough to delay.

By the time Amelia returned to the drawing room, dressed and with her hair gathered into a loose arrangement, Dominic had recovered his coat and put the ribbon upon the mantel. He had smoothed it flat twice without noticing. He now stood with his hands clasped behind him, trying to look like a man who’d memorized the way she walked toward him.

She stopped beside the mantel, her gaze falling on the silk. “May I keep that?”

He looked from the ribbon to her face, and warmth spread through his chest. “You need not win everything you take from this house.”

“How fortunate for me,” she said. “You are generous.”

“Take it.”

She folded the ribbon carefully, almost tenderly, and slipped it into her reticule. The sight pleased him almost as much as her request, a quiet, glowing satisfaction. He had kept her hairpin, tucked into his waistcoat pocket where rub his fingers over it when he desired. Now she would have something of his beside the cravat.

They were acquiring a rather intimate collection for two people who had agreed upon three evenings. His stomach churned. Only one more evening remained. Then what? He didn’t like the feeling settling inside him. He did not want this to end. He helped her into her cloak. “What shall we do for the third evening?” she asked.

Dominic’s hands paused upon the clasp. “We each contribute something,” he said, fastening the clasp.

“That was the agreement.”

“Have you considered your contribution?”

Her smile was immediate and private, curving her mouth in a way that sent a slow flush of heat through him.

“I may have.”

“Perhaps you will share your thoughts so we can plan it together.”

“You may comfort yourself with the knowledge that I enjoyed tonight.” She smiled. “We can exchange some letters to plan the third. When we are both satisfied, arrangements can be made.”

He looked at her, pleased despite the small unease the words had stirred. Enjoyed, in the past, as if it were already finished. He pushed the thought aside. “Then I shall endeavor to maintain the standard.” He took a deep breath. “I shall wait for your first letter.”

He helped her into the waiting carriage, keeping beneath the doorway's shadow as she settled inside, the night air cool against his heated face. She looked back at him before he stepped away, her face pale and lovely in the lamplight.

“Good night, Dominic.”

“Good night, Amelia.”

The carriage moved off quietly, wheels murmuring against the cobbles. He watched until it turned from the street, the lamps dwindling to small yellow points. He stood a moment longer in the stillness. Then he returned indoors. His drawing room remained as he had arranged it for her arrival. The chairs stood against the walls. The small tables were absent. One wineglass bore the faintest mark where her mouth had rested upon its rim, a pale, perfect crescent.

Tomorrow, the servants would put everything back. Dominic stood beside the sofa, where the cushion still held the faint hollow of her weight. He touched the place with his fingertips. It was already cooling. He had started the evening hoping to give her something she had never experienced. He hadn't expected to discover how much he wanted an invitation without a finality attached to it.

Six

Amelia had meant to wait until after breakfast to write to Dominic.

Instead, she sat at her desk with her tea untouched and the black ribbon lying beside the blotter. She had removed it from her reticule when she returned home, smoothed it between her fingers, and set it where she could see it.