He raised an eyebrow. “Were you madly in love with Sir Peter?”

“That is private.”

“Yet you never succumbed to bitterness or ennui,” he said, ignoring her unhelpful response. “You built a life with him, a man whom you’d known for the space of two dances. He enjoyed London, so you accompanied him here.”

“That is common for married couples,” she pointed out.

He shook his head. “I’ve been in an unhappy marriage. My wife was unwilling to be in the country for a day more than she had to, although my responsibilities did not allow me to always live in the city. She returned to London without me.”

“If you would like to marry me because I would put your desires ahead of my own,” Ophelia said, “I think you should return to your former theme.”

“I will put your desires above my own. You love dancing; if you wish it, we can engage a dancing master to bring me up to snuff. What I am saying is that if I was lucky enough to win your hand, you would be my partner, Phee. I know that Sir Peter would agree with me that a true marital partnership is a gift from God.”

“Partnership suggests friendship,” she said. “You declined to be my friend.”

“I wasn’t clear,” he said, frowning. “I want to be so much more than merely a friend. You would be my closest friend, but also my lover. The person I wish to walk beside for the whole of my life.”

“Hmm,” she said. Her eyes were shining, and Hugo felt a flash of hopefulness. “Let’s go back to the question of whether I am more beautiful than Maddie, which is plain absurdity.”

He walked closer to her, unable to resist her smile. “To me, you have the perfect nose.” He kissed it. “I adore your chin.” He kissed it.

“Now I know you’ve lost your mind!” But she didn’t move away.

“Your lips are exquisite,” he whispered, and dropped a kiss on them. “Your eyes are like deep, like . . . like pools of hot chocolate.”

She started giggling again.

“I’m not a poet,” Hugo said. “All I can say is that I am putting my life, my title, my family at your feet, Phee.” He caught her hands in his. “Everything that I am. And fair warning, I shall keep trying to convince you. Last time I saw you, you were adamant that you would have nothing to do with me. But now . . . you allowed me to escort you on this ridiculous errand. You walked into this room with me.”

He held his breath, hoping.

“I don’t like seeing you with another woman,” Ophelia confessed, a delicate wash of pink rising in her cheeks. “I didn’t like it at the Frost Fair either.”

“I won’t marry the lady.” He stated it calmly. “There will never be another woman, if you won’t have me.”