The word felt strange. A lady was his niece, fancy nib title and all. He had a nephew already, thanks to Dom and Lady Adele. But Colin was a mister, not a lord. Blade had yet to reconcile himself to the fact he was bound by blood to this other half of the Winter family.
Grace chose that moment to appear at Lady Felicity’s side on the threshold.
She beamed. “Lady Felicity, I am so happy to find you here. It’s quite fortuitous. We need all the players we can find to assemble in the drawing room for a game of hoodman blind in one quarter hour.” She turned her enthusiasm upon Blade then. “You as well, brother.”
Hoodman blind? A game?
“I do not play games,” he informed her, suppressing a shudder.
“Of course you do,” Grace insisted, crossing the salon and holding out her arms for her daughter. “I must return my little darling to her nurse, and then I shall join you.”
“No games,” he repeated, the mere thought of engaging in something so frivolous making him want to hide.
“Nonsense.” Grace scooped up her daughter. “Were you a good little lady for Uncle Blade?”
His cravat felt too tight. What the devil was going on here? Lusting after a virgin, rescuing a kitten, holding a babe, and now being cozened into playing a game? And he rather missed the cherub, now she’d been taken from his arms.
Hell.
“She hardly made a sound,” he gritted, not certain if the question had truly been meant for him. Presumably—the babe could not speak.
But Grace was already moving from the room. He stood belatedly, in deference, remembering himself.
“Come with me, Lady Felicity,” Grace said smoothly. “It would not do for your reputation were you to spend so much as a moment in my brother’s presence. After that duel…”
Damnation.
Lady Felicity’s hazel gaze met his for a brief moment before she turned her attention back to Grace. She followed his half sister out the door. And for the first time in his life, he experienced the stinging rush of shame for what he had done.
Quickly, he banished it.
There was no way in hell he was going to play some silly drawing room game.
Mr. Blade Winter was not in the drawing room by the time the guests assembled for the game of hoodman blind. Felicity told herself she ought not to be disappointed by his absence. He had informed Lady Aylesford in his cutting way that he did not play games. Why should she have expected him?
It was not as if she wanted to see him or to spend more time with him. No, indeed. It was not as if she had been hoping for the excuse to touch him once more, albeit beneath the perfectly respectable guise of the drawing room entertainment.
Yes it was.
Felicity tamped all such unwanted emotions down, forcing herself to look instead at the eligible gentlemen in attendance. There was Lord Boddington. He had a head of dark hair, kind, brown eyes, and he was the heir to Marquess Worthly.
It hardly mattered that he was not a handsome golden-haired rogue with a dimple that drove her to distraction. Mr. Blade Winter was altogether unsuitable. Even his name was disreputable, to say nothing of the rest of him. Why, he was part of the Winter family who had been born on the wrong side of the blanket. The Winters who lived in the rookeries and ran a notorious gaming hell along with all manner of criminal enterprises.
Lady Emilia Winter, as the hostess, began speaking, explaining the rules of the game. A blindfold would be tied around the eyes of one person. That person would be spun about in a circle, then have to go about the drawing room as the other players attempted to avoid him or her. When the person who was “it” caught someone, they had to guess their identity.
“Who shall go first?” she asked.
“I will,” announced the Duchess of Coventry.
The blindfold was placed on her, the duchess was spun about, and she began searching the chamber. Fortunately for her, the first person she caught was her husband, the duke, who stood still for her comical exploration of his person, which began with his nose.
“Coventry,” she guessed with a grin in no time.
Her laughing husband admitted she was correct, and then it was Coventry’s turn to be blindfolded. The festivities proceeded for some time, Felicity mildly entertained as the various players took their turns. At last, Lady Aylesford caught Felicity and guessed correctly, much to Felicity’s consternation.
She held still as the blindfold was placed over her eyes and she was spun until she was so dizzy she stumbled. Good heavens, for the second time in as many days, she was going to fall and make a complete fool of herself. And just when she had to make the best impression.
When she was desperate.
She attempted to regain her balance and composure, but both had swung wildly in the wrong direction. Her arms stretched before her, waving in windmill fashion. It was too much. After attempting to take a frantic step forward, her slipper caught in the hem of her gown.
And then, she was hurtling forward.
Until she wasn’t.
She landed against a body. Masculine, warm, and firm. Her hands clutched at the lapels of a gentleman’s coat. With her eyes blindfolded, she felt so completely at a disadvantage. But the rest of her senses were more alive than ever.
A scent reached her. The hands that were on her upper arms felt…familiar.
Citrus, musk, man.
She gasped as recognition dawned. But how could it be? He had not even been in the drawing room when the blindfold had been tied around her eyes. Had he?
“You have been caught, Lady Felicity,” said a female voice.
Laughter accompanied her call from various ends of the room.
Still, the hands on her would not release Felicity. She had indeed been caught, and she feared she knew by whom. Her pounding heart 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.