George ached to refuse him, but she was committed to making this ball a success, and common politeness forced her to allow the duke to lead her out onto the dance floor with every appearance of willingness.

She didn’t smile at him, though. If he wanted to act as though she were a dreary duty, she wouldn’t bother to pretend His Frozen Grace was a desirable partner.

“Do you always get old ladies to kidnap dance partners for you, duke?” she said as he led her toward a set that was forming.

“Lady Salter offered,” he said smoothly, adding, “I expect she thought you needed help finding a suitable partner.”

“I had a suitable partner. He engaged himself to dance with me several days ago.” How had he convinced Sir Matthew to give up this dance? Bribery? Intimidation? Or had Aunt Agatha done it?

The music started, they bowed and moved into the dance. “Most men I know find their own partners—” They separated to twirl briefly around with another partner. When they came back together, George continued. “Dukes are different I suppose—” She broke off to twirl with another partner. “Silver spoon and all that. I expect all your needs are provided by others.”

The gray eyes glinted as he took one of her hands in his and set the other at her waist. “Not all of them.”

At her first-ever ball, when she was still quite nervous of dancing in public and getting her steps mixed up, George had discovered that the right partner made an enormous difference. The revelation happened during a progressive dance, where a couple would perform a set figure of steps and then the lady would be twirled on to be received by the next partner. She’d gone from having to concentrate hard, to dancing effortlessly and gracefully, not missing a beat. She’d thought she’d mastered the dance and was enjoying herself hugely—until she was passed on to her next partner, an earnest, clumsy young man, who took them both back to beginner status.

The duke was, she had to admit, an excellent dancer, though it was a mystery how he’d achieved that level of skill when he rarely attended balls. The way he guided her through the steps was both deft and masterful—and a little unsettling.

It wasn’t that he behaved in any inappropriate way; indeed he was perfectly cool, distant and conventional. It was just that whenever his hands touched her—and it was only in the various required movements of the dance, nothing untoward—she . . . she felt it. The warmth, the strength of his hands—even though they were both wearing gloves.

Shivers ran through her, though she wasn’t at all cold.