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Cleo looked at him, surprised. They had danced together several times since they first met, and Lilford had never spoken.

“I assume that you wish to avoid Addison,” he added.

“I have no need to avoid anyone,” Cleo said, tipping up her nose.

“Ah, then this dance is meant to prompt jealousy?” With a smooth movement, the earl pulled her closer, turning in a circle, just slow enough so that anyone could tell their legs were brushing.

“Stop that,” Cleo hissed.

“I am an actor ignorant of his role,” Lilford said.

To her surprise, there was a hint of dark humor in his eyes.

Cleo opened her mouth, but she couldn’t think what to say.

“British can dance as extravagantly as Americans,” Lilford added. Before she could respond, he drew her even closer and began to turn, weaving with extraordinary grace between the revolving couples around them. Her skirts flew out and fell back; the music felt as if it were in her bones, as if they were a couple revolving atop a music box.

She found herself laughing, unable to resist the glint in his eye. Just as with Jake and the duchess, the other dancers drew to the side, allowing Lilford to spin her through the open dance floor, the two of them spiraling like falling maple leaves in autumn.

Throughout, a prickling in her shoulders suggested that Jake was watching. She edged closer to Lilford until her bosom was touching his coat. Just as the duchess’s had touched Jake’s.

The music ended when they were on the opposite side of the rotunda from her grandfather’s table.

“Thank you,” Cleo said, shaking her skirts. Her cheeks were pink, and a few curls had broken free from the intricate arrangement Gussie had worked on for over an hour, braiding silver trim into her curls. “I didn’t imagine . . .”

“You thought I was too high-blown and highborn for dancing?” Lilford asked, quoting Yasmin’s earlier judgment.

Cleo cleared her throat. “Of course not.”

“Shall we stroll down the avenue?” He raised an eyebrow and then added, silkily, “Your back is turned to your grandfather’s table, but it does seem that our dance gained everyone’s attention. You’d be doing me a favor, because I am quite certain that Lady Yasmin will offer an acerbic review of my dancing skills.”

The avenue leading from the rotunda was brightly lit, unlike the avenues reputed to be shady and dangerous.

“The Duchess of Trent has joined our table,” Lilford added.

Cleo frowned. “You see a good deal more than you let on, don’t you?”

His mouth flattened. “Silence doesn’t equate to idiocy, Miss Lewis. I do not care to chatter like a mob of sparrows.”

“Yes, I should like to go for a stroll with you,” Cleo said.

She felt pricklingly embarrassed that he guessed she wished to avoid the duchess; yet another part of her felt strangely comforted. She wasn’t the only person who had noticed the unusual closeness between Jake and his best friend.

Lilford took her arm as they walked down the steps, and as if the statement didn’t come from the blue, he said, “Mr. Addison is fond of the duchess, but no more. The Duke of Trent is a close friend, and I can assure you that his duchess is his and his alone, whether His Grace is in London or not. There is no adultery.”

“I would never suggest that!” Cleo cried. “How . . . how bold of you to venture into the subject.”

He glanced down at her, his face impervious. “I am bored by trivial chatter.”

“No wonder you and Lady Yasmin are not friendly,” Cleo said, before she thought better.

His jaw hardened. “Speech with Lady Yasmin is like drowning in trivialities.”

She opened her mouth, but he shook his head. “Undoubtedly, she has inestimable qualities, but when she starts chattering like a metal clapper, it’s all I can do not to leave the room.”

“I didn’t know you felt so much emotion about the matter.”

His eyes flickered. “I do not.”