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He wished to deserve that ease. Turning toward the stage, he listened, though he remained aware of her. The faint rise and fall of her breathing and the shimmer of silver at her bodice. The wager was proposed. Two young men defended the constancy of the women they loved with an assurance Dominic distrusted almost immediately. Don Alfonso received their declarations as an invitation to demonstrate how little they knew. Beside Dominic, Amelia’s lips curved, and the sight of it warmed him more than the music.

He waited for a moment when a whisper wouldn't intrude on the singing, then leaned closer, close enough that his breath stirred the curl beside her ear. He felt her still. “I distrust any gentleman so determined to prove himself correct,” he murmured.

“That is an encouraging development,” she whispered back, not turning her head.

“I have occasionally possessed the fault,” he admitted.

“Occasionally?” She glanced at him, her expression far too innocent, her eyes alight with laughter.

“Shouldn’t you be paying attention to the opera?” he said, with as much dignity as he could manage. “Not chastising me on my faults?”

“I can manage both.” She chuckled.

He sat back before he became more interested in encouraging her laughter than in keeping his promise, though the effort cost him. Onstage, the deception began. The young men prepared to leave, and the women mourned their departure with sincerity. Their supposed lovers seemed determined to challenge them.

Amelia’s sleeve brushed his as she shifted, and a small shiver ran through him. He wanted to take her hand, but she kept it folded in her lap. He was content to let her decide whether that should change. His fingers curled around his chair's arm as he waited. As the farewell music rose, her fingers touched his sleeve, light and tentative. Dominic turned his hand upon the arm of his chair, palm up. A moment later, hers settled within it.

He gently closed his fingers around hers and kept his gaze on the stage. He suspected his expression would reveal far too much if he looked at her then. Such a small gesture shouldn't have pleased him so thoroughly. He had begun to understand how much he enjoyed being chosen without first having to persuade her. Her hand was small and warm within his, and he felt the faint pulse of her fingertips like a second heartbeat.

When the first act ended, she withdrew her hand to applaud. Dominic regretted the loss. The sudden coolness of his empty palm, though he could hardly object to her appreciating the very thing he had brought her to hear.

“Well?” he asked as the applause died down.

She raised a brow. “That was to be my question.”

He smiled. “I thought I might anticipate it.”

“Then you may begin,” she said, settling back in her chair with the air of a woman prepared to be unimpressed.

He considered the stage, where the performers had disappeared beyond the scenery. “The gentlemen have chosen an expensive way to test their own judgment.”

“And the ladies?” she asked.

“Have been told almost nothing,” he said.

Amelia looked at him more closely. He resisted the temptation to add a jest. He meant it. Men were testing the women by keeping the truth from them, and the thought weighed on him more than he expected.

“That is a better opinion than I expected,” she said, and her voice had softened.

“I am uncertain whether to be flattered.”

“You may be,” she told him. “Moderately so.”

He laughed, and she opened her fan, stirring the warm air between them. A knock sounded upon the door before he could ask what she thought of the performance. An acquaintance appeared, his broad smile suggesting he'd sought company rather than waited for an invitation. Dominic rose and introduced them, mastering his irritation. Amelia inclined her head, pleasantly composed, though he caught the faint tightening at the corner of her mouth.

The gentleman complimented the singing, then began explaining a disagreement with a neighbor over a boundary wall. Dominic recognized the opening of a lengthy complaint. He also remembered Amelia’s letter, and the quiet confession about her husband. The foolish man had found more important things to discuss than to pay attention to his lovely wife. Dominic would not make that same mistake. “I fear I must deny myself the particulars tonight,” he said firmly as the man paused to catch his breath. “Lady Covington and I have been discussing the opera.”

The gentleman glanced between them, his brows rising. “Of course. Another time, Hartwick.”

Dominic showed him out, closed the door, and stood a moment with his hand on the wood panel. When he returned to his chair, Amelia was watching him, her expression unreadable. “You might have wished to hear the rest,” she said.

He shrugged. “I have heard versions of it before.”

“Perhaps this one would have been particularly interesting.”

“Then I shall ask him tomorrow,” he said lightly.

Her fan slowed. He sat beside her, conscious that his answer had mattered more than the slight interruption warranted. Something tender and unguarded moved across her face before she lowered her eyes. “Thank you,” she said quietly.