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“I am sure you will enjoy acting out whatever you pick up,” she said, and he sighed heavily.

Mei could not help but smile and shake her head at them, even as the back of her neck prickled again. She swore she could feel the Duke of Bolton behind her, staring down at her, yet she did not dare to turn and look.

Tiffany put the other group’s bowl down on the table in front of Mei, between the two teams, and smiled at them before turning back to St. Albans.

“Your Grace, would you like to flip to see which team goes first?” she asked him. The Lord of Luck’s face lit up.

“Not with your lucky coin,” Johanna admonished. “A regular coin.”

“As much good as that will do,” Montagu said with a large sigh. “He’s still devilishly lucky, regardless.”

Unsurprisingly, St. Albans flipped for his team to go first in their game, then Bolton was offered the chance to flip for theirs. He won, which meant that he stepped up to the crystal bowl first, reaching his hand into the paper and pulling out a small strip.

Which meant Mei not only had the opportunity to stare at him, she had to. Everyone else on and behind her couch was. It would be very odd if she was the only one not watching his every move. Her gaze held on his face, watching as his lips moved as he silently read the answer, then he sighed and cast his gaze heavenward before looking at the team.

No, not at the team.

At Mei.

At least that’s how it felt for a brief moment before his cheeks colored and he looked away, clearing his throat.

“Do something, Sebastian,” Tiffany called out from the sidelines, already giggling at her brother’s obvious discomfiture. “They cannot guess what you are doing if you are doing nothing.”

“Perhaps that is the answer,” he retorted, shaking his head, but he was already lifting his arms in front of him.

The other group had begun and were laughing, which could be easily distracting… except Mei was so very focused on the Duke of Bolton’s handsome face with his resigned expression that she did not feel even the smallest temptation to look. Holding up his hands in front of him, he looked almost as though he was holding invisible reins.

“Praying!” Northumberland said from behind her, and Bolton shook his head, spreading his hands wider apart.

“Picking up a stone… a cabbage?” Lady Juliette guessed.

Bolton kept shaking his head. His expression turned pained as he spread his feet apart, bending slightly at the knee.

“Ah… dropping something?”

“Wrestling a bear?” Miss Fenley asked.

Bolton began bouncing up and down, pressing his lips together as everyone began giggling. It was highly absurd looking but also familiar.

“Riding a horse!” Mei clapped her hands together gleefully when Bolton immediately straightened his knees, pointing at her, relief suffusing every line of his body. He hastily returned to his position behind the couch as Drake came forward to take his turn.

The game was far more competitive and far more entertaining than any other game of charades Mei had ever played. The competitive aspect came from Astrid, who wanted very badly to win, yet struggled with guessing. Her constant nonsensical guesses, before Drake could even change what he was doing, finally had him straightening up and glaring at her, which had her shouting out the word “anger” to the amusement of everyone else. The rest of her team could barely get a word in edgewise, though Christian very quickly guessed Rose acting as the Queen.

On her team, Mei found that she and Bolton were surprisingly good at guessing each other’s, though not quite as good at guessing anyone else’s. However, she would maintain that was not entirely their fault.

It took forever for anyone to understand that Northumberland’s word was ‘worm,’ mostly because he refused to lie down on the ground to do it. Not that standing with his arms flat against his sides and undulating his body was that much more dignified than lying on the ground to do it.

Mei had barely put one hand to her chest and lifted her other hand in the air in front of her, her mouth open wide, before Bolton correctly guessed opera singer.

And he merely had to wave his hand in the air in front of him, fingers pinched together as if he was holding something, for Mei to know he was “painting.”

Their eyes met as he nodded his head, and Mei felt the tension rise in the air between them, taking her breath away. It seemed impossible that no one else would notice the energy between them, yet no one commented. Too distracted by the game, possibly.

She could feel him moving behind her, even when she could not see him.

It was unnerving.

This had to stop. One way or another.