Page 51 of The Belle of Belgrave Square

Julia shuddered at the thought. She had no desire to see Lord Gresham ever again. But given the circumstances, her own desires counted for very little. Not when they stood against the adamantine will of her parents.

Good gracious. Mama would be coming home in the morning. And then, who knew what would happen?

Julia had hopes that Anne’s return the following day would alleviate some of her anxiety. But even Anne—her dearest friend in all the world—had stated in no uncertain terms that Julia’s best chance of escaping Belgrave Square was to marry. The fact was, despite all her ardent opinions, Anne was, in many ways, as much a prisoner of her family as Julia was of her own.

A dispiriting truth.

“I don’t know,” she said.

“You should refuse to see him again,” Captain Blunt advised.

“You imagine I have a choice?”

“Everyone has a choice.”

“Spoken like a man,” Julia said under her breath. She arranged the voluminous skirts of her ball gown with restless hands. “If you knew anything about ladies of my rank, you’d know our own preferences don’t matter. Not when it comes to marriage.”

Captain Blunt didn’t reply. He only paced and muttered to himself. “I knew he would try something like this. From the moment I saw him with you—”

She raised her brows. “You saw us together tonight?”

“Tonight. And at Lady Clifford’s musicale. And then again at Lady Holland’s dinner. I knew he was the type of man who—”

“I wasn’t aware—”

“Of course not,” he said harshly. “Your opinions of him must be guided by your father. And if your father approves—”

Julia gave Captain Blunt an alert look. “What do you know of that?”

“I know you deserve better.” He paused, adding, “And I know Gresham deserves a good thrashing.”

She smiled in spite of herself. “He can be in no doubt of your opinion of him. I’ve never seen you look so fierce as you did when you stepped into the clearing.”

He gave a humorless laugh. “Consider yourself fortunate.”

“I didn’t know you could look that way. As though you would tear a man limb from limb.”

“I was a soldier, Miss Wychwood. One not known for his pleasant disposition.”

Her expression sobered. “Yes. So I’ve heard.” Her hands dropped to her sides, fingers curling around the edge of the marble bench. “Indeed, only this morning, as I was leaving the park, someone told me the most alarming stories about your time in the Crimea.”

He stopped pacing and turned to face her. His gaze held hers, but he said nothing. Admitted to nothing.

A frisson of uneasiness made Julia hesitate. She considered dropping the matter altogether. After all, what difference did it make? The two of them weren’t going to end up together. But she wanted to know. She had to know.

“I wonder how many of those stories are true,” she said.

Captain Blunt appeared strangely unmoved. “All of them, very likely.”

She stared at him. “But . . . you don’t even know what this person said, or how terrible it might have been.”

“I don’t need to know. If the actions described to you were brutal, cruel, and entirely lacking in humanity, I probably committed them at one time or another.” His scarred mouth twisted in a sardonic smile. “I told you, Miss Wychwood. I wasn’t a very nice man.”

Twelve

The fine hairs lifted on the back of Julia’s neck. She hadn’t anticipated Captain Blunt admitting to the behavior Lady Heatherton had accused him of.

Perhaps he didn’t fully understand the crux of the accusations?