This was the moment. Never one to require an opportunity present itself twice, Hugh walked boldly towards her.

“Excuse me—Mrs. Massot?”

She turned towards him, her head lifting automatically at the English voice and English title. It made the briolettes dance and sparkle in the candlelight. She has grey eyes, he thought; unusual, very pretty.

“Yes?” she said.

Hugh bowed slightly. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” he said. “But I wonder if I might have a few moments of your time, madam. My name is Hugh Montfort.”

She reacted with a little start, then calmed herself. Oh well, it would have been asking too much to hope she’d never heard of him.

“Certainly, Mr. Montfort,” she said, coolly. “How may I help you?”

And a pretty voice, he acknowledged; southern England modulated by years and years across the channel.

“I have a proposition to put to you, Mrs. Massot, and would rather do it when you are not surrounded by advisers,” Hugh said. He gave her the dry smile that had women panting after him on three continents. “You’re in charge, and I would like to talk to you directly.”

“Mr. Montfort,” Sophie said, her voice now pure ice. “This is a social occasion, sir. I trust you are not planning to bring up business.”

Hugh stiffened. For all he regarded himself as unsnobby, he had an innate sense of his place in the world. Sophie was beneath him in class, for all her elegance and style, yet she had just rebuked him on etiquette.

And she was right. It stung.

For once he had no comeback. He simply could not continue; she had as good as accused him of behaving in an ungentlemanly manner.

“You are perfectly right, madam,” he said. Damnation, was he actually about to blush? Hugh could not recall having felt more discomfited. It was the last thing in the world he had expected her to say to him. “This is not the time. Please excuse me.” And he bowed again and began to walk away.

“Just one minute,” Sophie said, halting him in his tracks. “Permit me to save you some trouble, Mr. Montfort. The answer is no, and it will remain no.”

“You have not seen the figures, Mrs. Massot.”

“The chief executive of my company is M. Gregoire Lazard,” she said. “I believe you know him.”

“He is not a man with your shareholders’ best interests at heart, madam,” Hugh said, firmly.

She was not to be swayed. “If you have a proposal to put to him, please do call anytime during business hours. I am sure he will see you.” The grey eyes and dark lashes, he did not think she used any mascara, they were so naturally dark, swept over him disdainfully. “Our number,” Sophie said, “is in the phone book. Good evening, sir.”