Page 35

When she eased back, her smile was softer, her eyes hazy. “You will crease the cravat before I have collected it,” she said, breathless.

“You may remove it now if you wish.”

She licked her lips. “I have plans. I think I shall wait.”

The words still him, and his heart gave a hard, startled beat. Amelia watched his reaction with unmistakable pleasure, then slipped her hand into her reticule. A moment later, she drew out the black ribbon. She allowed just enough of it to rest across her fingers for him to recognize it, the silk gleaming in the lamplight.

“You brought it,” he said in a low voice.

“I told you I would.”

“And has it become more cooperative?” he asked teasingly.

“That depends upon its company,” she said, running the silk slowly through her fingers.

Dominic looked from the silk to her face, his pulse thundering. “I shall do my utmost.”

She tucked it away again, leaving him with considerably more to anticipate than he could comfortably accommodate. He took her hand and held it as the carriage continued through the streets, his thumb tracing her knuckles. They returned to the opera for a few minutes, finding further amusement in its disguises and discussing whether any of its lovers would be wiser afterward. The conversation steadied him, and her laughter filled the dark.

He had meant to make a wicked remark about the journey. He found he enjoyed their conversation too much to devise one, and the discovery warmed him in a way no wickedness could. When the carriage stopped before her house, Amelia’s hand remained within his until he moved to open the door. He stepped down and helped her to the pavement, keeping her near as they crossed to the entrance. The cool night air brushed his flushed face, and her skirts slid against him.

She opened her front door and gestured toward him. “Come in,” she said softly. “I believe it is my turn.”

Dominic followed her across the threshold, his heart pounding, and the door closed behind them.

Eight

Amelia closed the door and stood for a moment with her hand upon the latch, the brass cool and solid beneath her palm. The house was quiet. A lamp burned upon the hall table, casting a warm pool of gold across the polished wood. Beyond the drawing-room doorway, the fire she had asked Mrs. Ellis to tend glowed upon the carpet. Everything was as she had arranged it. She had thought about this evening while dressing and while waiting for her carriage. Once, during the opera, Dominic’s thumb moved against her hand, a small, innocent stroke that unraveled her concentration for the whole of an aria.

Now he stood beside her, close enough that she could feel his warmth, and she found herself reluctant to rush any part of it. Her heart was beating in slow, heavy strokes, and she pressed her palm flat against the door as though it might steady her.

“Have you reconsidered?” he asked, his voice low and gentle.

She turned. He watched her with the same attention he had given her all evening, willing to wait while she decided what she wanted. No impatience crossed his face, only quiet readiness, and the sight of it loosened something tight in her chest.

“No.” She smiled and began loosening her cloak, her fingers clumsy at the clasp. “I was admiring how well you follow instructions.”

“I am not about to ruin this night by failing to do so,” he said, a smile touching his mouth.

“How prudent,” she said.

He helped her with the clasp, his fingers warm and careful against her throat. Then took the cloak as it slipped from her shoulders. Amelia turned to him. Without the theater's noise or the carriage's movement, she could hear his slow, slightly uneven breathing. The small sound quickened her pulse. She liked that he seemed less composed than he had in the box. She liked it far more than was wise. “Come upstairs,” she said.

Dominic set her cloak carefully upon the chair, smoothing the fabric once as though it were something precious. “I had hoped you might say that.”

“You have become rather hopeful.”

“I have found it rewarding,” he said, his eyes warm.

She took his hand, laughing softly, and led him up the stairs, the old boards murmuring beneath their steps. He curled his fingers around hers, steady and sure. At her bedchamber door, she paused long enough to look at him before turning the handle. She wanted to remember how readily he followed her, how little persuasion either of them needed.

Inside, the curtains were drawn, and the fire burned low, painting the walls in shades of amber and shadow. Her maid had left fresh candles upon the dressing table and turned back the coverlet, the linen pale and inviting in the dimness. Amelia had dismissed her before leaving for the opera. No one would interrupt unless she summoned them, and the knowledge sent a small shiver down her spine.

Dominic glanced around the room, taking in the candles, the fire, the carefully turned-down bed, then returned his attention to her. Something in his expression gentled. “You have everything prepared.”

“I told you I had plans.” Very wicked plans…

“I have thought of little else,” he said, and its quiet honesty warmed her through.