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A FTER THE CRISP AFTERNOON spent outside, Astrid felt refreshed for the evening’s activities. Dinner had been lovely, and now music was playing for some of the couples to take a turn on the dance floor.

“You were right, Isaac. Dancing on our first night.” Astrid nudged her brother in the ribs. “So who are you going to ask to dance?”

Isaac shrugged. As his eyes tracked the dancers, they stopped on one couple. The woman had her back to them, but her hair was raven black. Astrid could sense Isaac’s body still, as if he were holding his breath but trying to appear as though he weren’t.

When the couple turned and revealed the woman, Isaac exhaled.

“No one here of particular interest for me.”

“I’m not surprised,” Astrid said somewhat smugly. She didn’t elaborate on that point—the point being that she knew who her brother was in love with and was denying himself—because the most handsome man she had ever met was approaching her.

His eyes were glints of coal. Dark. With the potential to combust. And his dark hair was swept back in a humble manner.

But there was nothing humble about how his frame filled out his jacket and trousers.

The man cut the finest figure she could ever imagine trailing her fingers along.

Her body’s reaction was spontaneous and almost unmanageable.

When his gaze met hers, she squeezed her legs together, in a futile attempt to retain the heat leaking out of her.

“Isaac,” the man greeted her brother, but she felt the tone of his voice hum around her. If it vibrated long enough, it would quite possibly burrow into her bones.

“Michael,” Isaac’s eyes continued to scan the room, “are you up for some piquet?”

Michael lightly cleared his throat. “I’ve come to ask for an introduction. I believe this lady is your sister?”

The heat was everywhere now. Between her legs. Running down behind her knees. Her chest. God, that felt heavy. And her face. Surely, it was flushed. She couldn’t remember the last time she had experienced such a physiological reaction to someone.

Fleetingly, Isaac’s eyes had widened at the request, but then a small smile crept onto his face. “Didn’t take you for much of a dancer, Michael.”

“Didn’t take you for much of a busybody. Isaac.” He said her brother's name an octave lower than the rest. At the sound, her nipples poked into the fabric of her bodice.

“Michael, may I introduce my little sister, Lady Astrid? Astrid, the Duke of Tinsder.”

Unnecessarily, he emphasized my little sister . Irritated at the excessive protectiveness, Astrid lifted her hand for a light kiss.

“May I have this dance?”

“Yes.” She hadn’t meant to answer breathlessly, but there was no way around it. Her hand in his was doing indelible rearrangements inside of her, and her vocal chords were among the most rattled and displaced.

The man was stone. But hot stone. Like rocks made from lava.

Intense. She couldn’t look away from his eyes.

With each spin, each step in the waltz, there was only him.

And only her. In his arms, she felt like the only woman in the world.

With her hand in his, she felt as though she could follow him anywhere.

And the possessive touch on her back…she shivered.

That touch would be all too easy to crave.

She wasn’t the kind to believe in love at first sight, but who was she to argue with herself if she was currently experiencing it?

They were moving to the music, but to their own beat. Their heartbeats. Intertwined. Surely, even fate herself was surprised at the magnetism pulling her soul to his.

This, without saying a word.

And then the waltz was over.

Not a word. Not a smile. Just a touch. His hands on her body. His eyes claiming her.

***

THE DANCE SETTLED IT.

It was everything in Michael not to propose to Astrid on the spot. Never in a million years would Michael have expected himself to lose his mind and his heart to a woman so quickly, but as in philosophical pursuits, one did not fight the click.

He had hardly spoken to Astrid, but he already knew.

He had seen everything he needed to when he had observed her surreptitiously.

A person in private was who they were in public.

Since he had witnessed her semi-private state, he trusted his intuition.

Where that intuition had come from, he had no logical explanation.

He had never seen its kind before. But it was here, and it was loud. Commanding.

But he was not impulsive, so he would give it at least a full twenty-four hours before acting on anything. So long as he could manage the tremble in his knees around her. He could wait. They were at a house party after all. No one was going anywhere anytime soon.

As Michael watched men lead Astrid onto the dance floor, he had unfamiliar pangs of jealousy stab his heart. Hard enough that his hands balled into fists at his side, ready for a defensive maneuver if needed. Or perhaps, aggressive.

So he could only sigh in relief when the dancing finished.

It was late and most of the guests were heading upstairs.

Surprisingly, Isaac was in their numbers but Astrid was not.

Did the man not have a care for his sister’s wellbeing?

Or had he made arrangements for someone to be her chaperone?

Or…did the brother have lax rules when at a house party?

Michael loathed the thought. Siblings ought to stay together.

It was his duty to protect his sister. Michael winced as an old, painful memory dredged itself up from the mire.

The memory itself was old, but it was often revisited.

In fact, it probably paid Michael a visit a few times daily, sometimes more.

This was not the time to give it the attention it deserved. Astrid was alone.

He studied the guests still milling about. A dozen or more had stayed. This was usually Michael’s cue to leave, but he wasn’t going anywhere tonight until he knew Astrid was safe in her bed. Especially with her neckline as low as it was.

If nothing else, he would read his book and observe.

It wouldn't be completely out of character. He had brought a copy of David Humes’ An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals and left it on the mantelpiece just in case he needed it.

It was an odd piece to bring to an evening of dancing and visiting, but well, he was Michael. It was expected.

The guests were standing around, unsure of what activity to engage in, but not wanting to go to bed yet.

“How about a game?” one man piped up.

“Hot cockles!” a second voice chimed in, clearly three sheets to the wind.

Michael did not feel like giving or receiving any lashes in front of these people, as light as they usually were.

“Wink Murder?” he suggested. It was an innocent game. No spankings involved. But the men groaned.

“Snapdragon?” And then the voices were clamoring to be heard.

None of the games suggested were harbingers of good.

“Shall we play Blind Man’s Bluff?” Bethany chirped.

Several heads nodded in amusement. Mostly the men darting glances between Astrid and Bethany.

Bethany lifted her finger to the air, “A variation actually.” She stole a glance at Astrid.

“This version is called Echoes in the Dark. We shall all be blindfolded except one person. That person has to make sounds for the rest of us to follow. Each person has to touch the person who is not blindfolded. Once the last person touches her, the game is over.” Bethany paused to tap her chin playfully.

“Any volunteers? Astrid?” There was no delay between the two questions.

If Astrid was the one everyone had to touch, Michael was definitely not going anywhere. If he stuck around, at least he could ensure the shenanigans were devoid of anything scandalous.

After the blindfolds were distributed, Michael fastidiously took note of Astrid’s position in the room. He caught her eye, and she smiled at him. He almost smiled back, but he wasn’t the type.

The lights were extinguished and the game was on. Michael was already taking a few strides toward her, hoping that she wasn’t moving.

He could sense he was close to a body, so with little certainty, he raised his hand to touch her. Instead, he tripped over something and fell into her.

“Ooomph!” the sound jetted out of him.

“Shh!” Astrids silky voice brushed against his ear. Her finger was on his lips. She was pressing herself against him, but her body was wriggling.

“What are you doing?” he whispered as quietly as he could, desperate to understand her jerky movements. Though it helped mask his voice that some of the buffoons were crooning her name.

“Creating a diversion.” Her lips left his ear. Until that point in time, he never knew an ear could hold a grudge.

He felt her body turn, and then it must have been her arm swinging, because he heard a crash on the other side of the room.

“Did you just throw something?”

“I needed to divert their attention.”

“What did you throw?”

“Just an old book I happened to see on the mantelpiece?”

“You threw Humes—”

And then for the only plausible reason he could think of—that is, she wanted to shut him up—her lips were on his.