Page 10

Amelia set the pack down just as the door opened. “Lord Hartwick, my lady.”

He entered with his usual assurance, a dark coat lying smoothly across his shoulders and his cravat arranged with irritating precision. The night air still clung to him, cool and faintly sharp. Then he looked at her. His next step faltered. Amelia’s nervousness eased at once, replaced by a bright, fierce satisfaction that warmed her from the inside. She hadn't realized how badly she needed to see that look.

She smiled and then said, “Good evening, my lord.”

He remained near the doorway, his gaze returning to her face with an effort she could appreciate. A muscle moved in his jaw. “Lady Covington.”

Mrs. Ellis withdrew, closing the door behind her. In the quiet that followed, Amelia felt the cool air on her bare shoulders, the warmth rising beneath the silk of her gown. The fire’s soft crackle and the clock's slow, deliberate tick filled the room.

“You may come farther into the room,” she said. “I do not bite.” She winked. “Unless you want me to.”

He blinked several times, and then smiled. “I shall let you know if the desire arises.” His voice had changed. She liked the lower note in it, a rough edge she had not heard before. Though it made her pulse far less manageable. It beat quick and warm in her throat now.

She moved toward him, letting her skirts brush against her legs, deliberately slow. “Have I surprised you?”

“Yes,” he said in a husky tone. The answer came without embellishment. It pleased her more than she had expected, and the pleasure spread through her chest like warm wine.

“Then I have made a promising beginning.”

Lord Hartwick’s gaze traveled briefly to the curve of her shoulder before returning to her eyes. His hands had curled loosely at his sides, as though he were holding himself in check. He seemed determined to behave himself, and she found that rather inconvenient now that she had arranged so much to tempt him. “I had intended to compliment your gown,” he said.

“You still may,” she offered.

The muscle in his cheek twitched. “I find I am struggling to separate it from the woman wearing it.”

Amelia smiled, soft and unguarded. “That is considerably better than telling me I am beautiful.”

His voice was hoarse as he said, “You are beautiful.”

She arched a brow. “And now you are repeating yourself.”

“I suspect I shall do so frequently tonight,” he replied, honestly.

He took her offered hand and bent over it. His lips touched her fingers lightly, but the warmth lingered after he straightened. A bright point of sensation traveled up her arm. She had remembered his kiss on her wrist all day. She suspected she would remember this one tomorrow. He did not release her immediately. His thumb moved once across her knuckles, slow and almost absent, and her breath caught. “What have you planned for me?”

“An opportunity to discover whether you are as clever as you hope I believe.”

She drew her hand gently from his, reluctant despite herself, and turned toward the card table. Hartwick followed, his attention shifting from the pack to the two chairs, and she felt him behind her like a warm presence at her back.

“Piquet?”

“Unless you fear losing,” she said.

“Not at all,” he said. “Unless you plan on accusing me of allowing you to win.”

Amelia glanced back at him. “You would be wise to avoid giving me reason.”

His smile deepened, slow and warm. He held her chair while she sat, his fingers brushing the back of it so close to her bare shoulder that she felt their heat, then removed his gloves and took the seat opposite. She watched his fingers as he laid the gloves aside. They were long and capable, and she remembered how easily his hand had enclosed hers.

She had chosen cards because they would let her use her own hands. It had not occurred to her how much time she would spend watching his. “Will you have wine?” she asked.

“A little, thank you.”

He rose to pour it, the decanter chiming softly against the glass as he brought her a glass before returning to his chair. Amelia took a small sip, letting the warmth spread through her chest. She wanted enough to warm her, and no more. She had planned every part of this evening while sober and intended to remain entirely responsible for enjoying it.

Dominic looked at the empty space beside the pack. “No counters?”

“We shall not require them.”