Page 13 of The Belle of Belgrave Square

“Forgive my impertinence,” he said. “It’s only that I can’t fathom how it is you remain unattached.”

She was indignant to her marrow. “You’re mocking me, sir.”

“I don’t mock. I speak plainly. You’re free to do the same.”

Her gaze was riveted to his. She’d never spoken plainly to a gentleman in her life. Not a stranger, anyway. Given the choice, she rarely spoke at all.

But what would it hurt?

He appeared interested. And she had nothing to be ashamed of.

She exhaled an unsteady breath. “If you must know, my circumstances are complicated. My parents are in poor health. And my own health is often indifferent.”

“You’re ill?”

“Not ill. I suppose you might say I’m . . . fragile.”

He regarded her steadily. “You didn’t look fragile on that horse of yours this morning.”

“That’s different. Cossack makes me stronger. Without him, I’m generally viewed as inadequate. Except in one respect.” Her pulse throbbed in her ears. A voice in her head warned her to hold her tongue. She didn’t heed it. “I have a sizable dowry.”

Captain Blunt said nothing in reply. He merely looked at her, still holding her gaze, even as the tension crackled palpably between them.

She pressed on against all better judgment. “Perchance you’ve heard of it?”

“I have,” he admitted.

Naturally, he had. Why else would he be paying her any attention? She’d known that from the moment he’d first requested an introduction to her at Lady Arundell’s ball. Even so, his confession left Julia deflated.

So much for thrills and danger.

The infamous Captain Blunt was, when it came down to it, nothing more than a garden-variety fortune hunter.

“I expect you’ve heard a thing or two about me as well,” he said.

She couldn’t deny it. “I have.”

The silence grew between them. It was too painful to endure.

She rose abruptly from the bench. Captain Blunt was immediately on his feet. She took a step back in a futile attempt to put space between them.

He closed the distance. “Miss Wychwood.”

“Captain Blunt,” she uttered at the same time.

He paused, allowing her to proceed.

She made herself continue, despite the anxiety tightening her chest and the scorching blush burning its way up her throat and into her face. “I hope you won’t trouble yourself to pursue me. We’d never suit.”

His gray eyes flickered. “You think not?”

“I-I do. That is, we wouldn’t.” She stumbled a little over her words. “I have a substantial dowry, it’s true, but no amount of money lasts forever. And after you’ve run through it, you’d be stuck with me.”

His expression hardened. “An observation that flatters neither of us.”

“You asked for plain speaking.”

“So I did.” He offered her a rigid bow. “Miss Wychwood.”