Keeping the reins in his hand, he stepped on the mounting block and vaulted onto the horse behind her, his right arm going around Ophelia to steady her. She put a hand on his chest and smiled up at him, and he changed his mind about sidesaddle.

If she had been seated astride before him, he couldn’t have seen her face.

“We merely need to make our way through Hyde Park,” he told her.

“This is so improper,” Ophelia said a moment later, as they rode out of the circle of torchlight, leaving the carriage behind them. Their lantern cast a pale light by comparison, though the snow reflected every ray with the glint of diamonds.

Hugo pulled her close and felt an indescribable satisfaction when she relaxed against him. “It’s a beautiful night,” he said, trying to distract himself from imagining her leaning against him naked. “All the hedges look like puffed-up pillows.”

“Or large ladies huddling under rabbit-fur cloaks.”

“My daughter Betsy loves fairy tales,” he said, forgetting his sister’s admonishment not to mention his children under any circumstances. “Last week, she told me that snowflakes are fairies in little slippers that spin over the church steeple and don’t come down until they’re tired.”

“How old is she?”

“She is four years old, almost five. She can already read,” he said proudly. “Her brothers were much slower learning to talk, and Alexander—my youngest son, who’s three—still speaks mostly in short sentences. But Betsy could instruct Parliament in its duties.”

“My daughter, Viola, is two,” Ophelia said. “I’m not precisely sure what she should be saying, but she’s mastered a few words.”

“My Joan is two as well and she doesn’t say a word,” Hugo told her. “Nothing to worry about.”

Chapter Six

Ophelia adjusted her hood so that she could look up at the duke. He didn’t appear to be trying to impress her by telling her stories about his children. Most aristocrats didn’t speak of their children with easy familiarity and pride.

She had the distinct impression that this particular duke would never try to impress a lady. Perhaps no duke would bother. The title was enough to make the female half of the population simper and beg for a ring.

That thought was souring, but he was giving her a lopsided grin. “Betsy is the most talkative of my children.” A guarded look went through his eyes. “Damn it, I forgot. My sister told me not to mention them.”

Laughter bubbled up in her. “The children?”

He nodded. “No talk of children while courting a lady. Please forget that I said anything about Betsy.”

“I haven’t given you permission to court me,” she pointed out. “Although I do like children.”

His hand tightened around her waist. “I couldn’t have imagined being so lucky as to meet you. We are courting, Ophelia.”