To be twirled and turned and steered this way and that effortlessly and confidently by his big warm hands . . . She felt like a leaf caught up by an irresistible tide. She didn’t like it, the feeling of helplessness. But, she told herself, it was just a dance, a perfectly ordinary dance. She could stop, or step out of it any time she chose. And he was just a man, one she didn’t like very much.

His scent disturbed her too, a combination of clean pressed linen, soap and a faint hint of cologne—citrus and spice, something crisp and masculine. It took her instantly back to those moments when they’d stood, almost touching, in the darkness of the conservatory. It felt . . . too . . . too intimate.

It felt as though every eye in the ballroom was on them.

She couldn’t wait for the dance to be over.

“I suppose you’re used to it, all this attention,” she commented as they came together in a movement. It was polite, after all, to make conversation. Not that he was bothering.

His shoulder moved in the barest hint of an indifferent shrug.

“So disheartening,” she said, “seeing that after all these years of civilization, and for all our so-called sophistication, most people are still no better than the ancient Romans, gawking at a spectacle, hoping for blood—or scandal.”

A dark eyebrow rose. “Lions and Christians?” he said when they came together again.

“Yes.”

His eyes glinted. “And which would you class me as—lion or Christian?”

“Oh, neither.” The dance separated them then, and when the steps reunited them, his brow rose in a silent prompt.

“You’d be the emperor, above it all, looking down your long nose at the struggles of the mere mortals, untouched. Uncaring. Indifferent.”

His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

They danced on. A dance had never felt so endless.

Finally it was suppertime. But George found there was no way for her to wriggle out of supper with the duke. She tried, asking to be excused because she had a headache and needed to lie down.

To which he replied callously, “Nonsense. You’ll feel better with some food in you. And if the headache persists, we’ll find you a nice humid conservatory to cool off in.” Proving he had no belief in her purported—and imaginary—headache.

He escorted her into the supper room and, to her surprise, steered her away from the top table, toward a table that was already filling. Aunt Agatha and her tame escort hesitated, then made for the top table where Emm and Cal and Rose and Thomas were already sitting.

The duke seated her and took the chair beside her. There was a mild scuffle as two ladies dived to get the seat on the other side of him, much to the discomposure of their partners. The duke appeared not to notice any of them; his attention was all on George.