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She glanced over her shoulder, one brow arched. “Do you require assistance?”

“No.” His voice was huskier than he intended.

“Then you might let go,” she suggested.

He did, reluctantly, his fingers trailing the fabric as it left his grasp. His butler accepted the cloak and withdrew, closing the door behind him. They were completely alone now.

Amelia turned slowly, her skirts swaying as she examined the room. “No card table,” she observed.

“I thought we should avoid giving you an opportunity to win so easily this time.”

“How disappointing,” she said. “I do enjoy winning.”

He raised a brow. “You just want to keep another one of my cravats.”

She looked at him, and the brief assessment was frank enough to send warmth through him. A slow, spreading heat gathered low in his body. His mouth went dry.

“Perhaps...” Her smile widened. “Or I may wish to acquire a different piece of you to keep.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. He would give her anything she desired. All she had to do was ask. But he didn’t tell her that. Instead, Dominic offered her wine, which she accepted. He poured a little into each glass, glad for the task. She was still studying the room as he worked. The decanter clinked faintly against the crystal, and he realized with some dismay that his hand was not quite steady. She touched the back of a chair, glanced toward the covered pianoforte, and finally noticed the ribbon upon the mantel.

Her expression changed, curiosity sharpening her gaze. “What is that for?”

He handed her the glass, their fingers brushing, and braced himself. “Blindman’s buff.”

For a moment she simply stared at him, lips parted. Then she laughed. The sound was so immediate and delighted, so bright and unguarded, that every doubt he had entertained became considerably less important. Relief rushed through him, sweet and dizzying, and his shoulders dropped an inch. “You invited me to your house in the middle of the night to play blindman’s buff?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“How old do you imagine I am?”

“Old enough to appreciate a few alterations.” He winked.

Her laughter died down, though pleasure remained in her face, softening her whole expression. She took a small sip of wine, watching him over the rim, her eyes dancing. “Tell me about the alterations.”

He set his own glass aside and picked up the ribbon. It was black silk, broad enough to cover his eyes without needing to be tied tightly, cool and smooth in his palm. He ran it once between his fingers before meeting her gaze, steadying himself. “You will blindfold me.”

Amelia’s brows lifted, and a flush touched her cheeks. “That is an interesting beginning.”

“You may move wherever you please within the room. I must find you.”

“And when you do?” she asked.

“I ask for a forfeit.”

She considered it, her eyes returning to the ribbon and lingering with an intentness that made his pulse jump. “A rather convenient arrangement for you.”

He believed he had thought of every argument she might have and was ready for this one. “If I fail, you choose mine.”

“How do we determine that you have failed?” she asked.

He gestured toward the mantel, where a small sandglass stood beside the clock, its pale sand glowing in the firelight. “When the sand has run through. You may turn it.”

“And am I permitted to make you stumble into the furniture?” she asked.

This was why he had his staff working so tirelessly most of the day. “I have spent some time removing that possibility.”

She grinned. “How industrious.” She pressed her lips together, her eyes sparkling. It did not help. A laugh escaped, then another, and she set her wine down before she could spill it, one hand pressed to her chest. He watched her with a satisfaction entirely out of proportion to the occasion, a warm, fierce gladness rising in him. “There are no other guests?” she asked, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.