and the fierce reaction burning through her told her exactly who it was.
She ought to guess and simply forfeit the blindfold. Put an end to this foolish game and reckless desire to keep touching Mr. Blade Winter. He was the last sort of man she should want. There was no future for her with a man like him. He was the sort who ruined ladies. And had not Lady Aylesford told her all about the duel he had so recently fought? Over a married lady, no less.
The reminder caused a new burst of resentment to unfurl within her. She ought to push him away. To stomp on his foot.
Instead, a wicked idea blossomed.
She could touch him as she pleased, and he could do nothing to stop her. He could not tease her, say a word, or display his maddening grin. He could not touch her in return, beyond steadying her as he had done.
“I am no longer in danger of falling,” she told him crisply. “Thank you.”
With more of a delay than was necessary or proper, he slowly released his gentle grip on her arms. There. Mayhap if he was no longer touching her, the rushing in her ears would stop and her heart would resume its normal, sedate pace instead of running on at a distracted gallop.
Her fingertips glided over his coat, finding his broad shoulders and skimming across them. “Your shoulders are quite small,” she announced to the chamber. “Why, if you were not wearing a gentleman’s coat, I should have thought you a lady.”
It was difficult indeed to keep the smile from her lips as she uttered the last.
He made a snorting sound but said nothing.
“You must be a young man,” she guessed next, running her hands down his arms.
In truth, touching him thus was intoxicating. Her heart had only sped up its pace. It was as if no one else existed in the drawing room beyond the two of them. Her lips tingled, and she wondered if his brilliant gaze was upon them. Somehow, instinctively, she knew it was. She ran her tongue over her lower lip.
He made another sound. Not a snort this time.
She had his attention.
Felicity reached his hands. Strong hands, big hands, work-roughened fingertips. Yes, this was him. Had she had any doubt, here was her proof. So, too, in the heat that slid through her. She recognized him. Her body recognized him. But another, deeper part of her did as well.
Her breath caught as his fingers unexpectedly linked with hers, but then she forced herself to continue as if she were unaffected. It would not do to allow him to see how much his nearness undid her.
“Small, dainty hands,” she said, continuing her campaign.
His fingers tightened on hers in warning.
She suppressed a smile of triumph, realizing she could not guess him to be any of the ladies in attendance lest she offer them the insult of suggesting they possessed the same muscled bearing as Mr. Winter.
Felicity attempted to tug her hands free, but he held her in his steady grasp, their fingers tangled.
“Come on then,” someone called. “Make your guess, Lady Felicity.”
“Who do you suppose the lady in question can be?” chortled yet another guest.
He gave her fingers another warning squeeze, as if to suggest he intended to get even with her following the game. She had no doubt he would try, and she was not entirely certain she would be sorry for it, though the rational part of her knew she must keep her distance. He was a rogue. A scoundrel.
Not husband material.
And she most definitely needed a husband.
But first, what was the matter with indulging in temptation?
“I am not certain,” she announced to the group of revelers, finally succeeding in removing her hands from his grasp. “Perhaps a bit more of an inspection.”
Titters met her words.
What had she expected? She was the sole one amongst them who was blindfolded. But she had pretense on her side, and she was enjoying the freedom to explore Mr. Blade Winter’s form, all while taunting him.
The upper hand was hers, at least for the next five minutes.
And she intended to enjoy it while she could.
She reached up, settling her hands on his jaw. The subtle prickle of his whiskers was a delightful abrasion against her seeking palms. She barely suppressed a shiver of awareness as she caressed along those sharp lines. She could not resist trailing her fingers over his lips next.
His breath coasted over her skin. His lips were soft, supple. She inhaled