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Cordelia’s heart gave a traitorous flutter even as she silently scolded herself for the reaction. “I should warn you, my lord, that I am entirely immune to the art of flirtation, particularly when it comes from a rogue.”

“That was not flirtation,” he said. “It was merely honesty.”

The first strains of the waltz drifted through the ballroom, and they began to dance. George kept his promise, matching his steps to hers without the slightest fuss. The simple joy of dancing nearly overwhelmed her as he guided her through a gentle turn, his hand steady at her waist.

“You are a viscount,” she said lightly. “You really ought to have warned me. I would have conducted myself with all the gravity and propriety such a distinction demands.”

His lips curved, that familiar, dangerous half-smile making its appearance.

“Would you have visited a second, a third, a fourth, and a fifth time had you known who I was?”

“Are you so certain I would not have tried to compromise you into marrying me?” she countered. “What makes you believe I would have run away?”

“I have learned a few things about you from our meetings.”

“You have?”

He led her through another turn, his attention fixed upon her despite the bustle of the ballroom.

“You are honest. You have honor. You possess too much sentiment and too much whimsy. You would never employ deceit to trap a gentleman into marriage. You would wish to marry for love, despite knowing that many marry for wealth, influence, and advantageous connections rather than affection.”

Cordelia could only stare up at him.

“I am rather pleased we remained George and Cori, are you not?”

“I fear I may already have disgraced myself beyond redemption,” she said softly, a strange ache stirring within her. How could he have discerned so much about her in only five meetings?

“On the contrary,” he murmured. “I find it most refreshing. I have little patience for pretension. Pray do not allow my title to dissuade you from trespassing. We can still be friends.”

She bit her lip, failing to suppress her smile. When her step faltered, he adjusted so naturally that she scarcely noticed the change. Around them, curious gazes followed their progress, but for once Cordelia did not care who watched. She felt safe in his arms, free to enjoy the music, and increasingly reluctant for the dance to end.

“You are a very fine dancer.”

Cordelia laughed softly. “I spent hours practicing with only Sir Charles and Sir Walters to observe and encourage me with great patience.”

One dark brow lifted. “Sir Walters?”

“My delightful pug,” she said, amusement brightening her voice. “One of my closest companions, and quite certainly Sir Charles’s dearest friend. Sir Walters adores the outdoors, so I knew London would make him miserable. I was obliged to leave him behind in the country.”

Cordelia glanced up at him, wondering whether their connection might extend beyond shadowed rooms and stolen conversations. Despite herself, she began to hope that it could.

“This is my third Season,” she said quietly. “And you are the only gentleman outside my family who has ever danced with me. Thank you, my lord.”

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Then they are damned fools.”

She wanted to explain it was mostly because of her limp. Gentlemen feared she might stumble and embarrass them before an entire ballroom. Yet she could not bring herself to say it, nor did she wish to confess that her meager dowry made her even less desirable.

The music ended, and he escorted her back to her mother with flawless courtesy, his hand lingering just long enough to steady Cordelia before releasing her. Emelia waited, positively radiant with anticipation.

Viscount Templeton inclined his head. “Ladies.”

Then, without offering another dance, he excused himself and melted seamlessly back into the crowd.

Emelia gasped. “Why did he not ask me to dance?”

The baroness looked equally startled, then hopeful and distinctly pleased. She leaned toward Cordelia and whispered, “Perhaps there is hope for you this Season, my dear.”

Cordelia smiled, unable to suppress her happiness. To her surprise, a young gentleman she recognized as one of Philip’s friends soon approached and requested a quadrille. She accepted, still floating on the remnants of the evening. Afterward, overwhelmed by heat and perfume, she slipped out onto the terrace for a breath of fresh air.