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Dominic had been married for six weeks when his wife accused him of cheating. He looked across the card table at Amelia, who sat with her cards held neatly in one hand and a look of deep suspicion on her lovely face. Afternoon sunlight caught the pale curls beside her cheek. Her wedding ring gleamed as she tapped one finger against the green baize.

“I have done nothing of the sort,” he said.

“You are distracting me deliberately,” she accused him.

“That is not cheating,” he told her. “You established the distinction yourself.”

Amelia’s mouth twitched. “I had hoped you would forget.”

“I have remembered a remarkable amount since meeting you,” he told her. “My secretary finds the change encouraging.”

“Then perhaps I should send him a letter explaining how unreliable that improvement is.”

Dominic laughed and played his card. She studied it, considered her hand, and answered with a selection that made him reconsider his certainty of winning. He liked afternoons such as this. They had spent the morning apart. He handled estate correspondence, and she had visited a friend. They had met for luncheon, argued pleasantly about the wisdom of accepting an invitation, and ended up at the card table because Amelia wanted to settle the matter.

If she won, they would attend. If he won, they would decline. Dominic had started the game determined to keep the evening quiet with his wife. Now he suspected she would have her way, and he was already considering how to make the proposed dinner less tedious. Marriage had made him adaptable. It had also supplied an astonishing number of opportunities to lose gracefully.

“You have grown quiet,” she observed.

“I am contemplating the consequences of your victory.”

“You concede it?” she asked.

“Certainly not. I am merely preparing for it.”

“How industrious.” She gathered the trick with a satisfied smile. “You may comfort yourself with the knowledge that I shall sit beside you.”

“That improves the prospect considerably.” He meant it. He had discovered that most occasions improved when Amelia attended them with him. She had opinions worth hearing, an excellent instinct for rescuing a dull conversation, and a talent for finding amusement where he had expected none.

When the final cards were played, she reached for the pencil. Dominic watched her count. He knew the result before she finished, but he enjoyed watching her arrive at it. “I win,” she announced.

“So it appears,” he said, leaning back in his chair with an air of great injury. The candlelight caught the rueful curve of his mouth.

“You may try to sound less resigned,” Amelia said, tapping the pencil against the tally.

“I was hoping for sympathy.”

“You may have some at the dinner.”

“I shall require a great deal.” He pressed a hand to his chest, though his eyes were warm and bright with amusement.

Amelia laughed, the sound spilling out unguarded, and laid down the pencil. The scrape of the chair as she pushed it back was lost beneath the rustle of her skirts. Before she could rise, he reached across the table and caught her hand, his fingers warm and sure around hers. “Come here.”

“That was not part of the wager,” she said, though she made no move to pull away. A pleased flush rose in her cheeks.

“I am making a separate request.”

She came willingly, circling the table with a small, private smile, and stopped beside his chair. Dominic drew her close enough to kiss the hand he had held. His lips lingered on her knuckles. Then he lifted his gaze to hers. “I have something for you.”

“If it is a request to count the points again, I refuse,” she said lightly, to hide how his look had affected her.

He smiled and reached into his coat pocket, his movements a little slower than necessary. The folded paper had been there since breakfast, pressed against his ribs through every dull errand and idle conversation. Waiting for a moment when she had nothing more pressing than laughing at him. He drew it out and smoothed the crease once with his thumb, an unthinking gesture that betrayed him.

Amelia looked at it, then at his face, her brows drawing together in gentle surprise. “A letter?”

“You informed me that you wished them to continue.”

“I did.” The words came out softer than she intended, and her fingers tightened around his.