Page 18 of The Belle of Belgrave Square

“On the contrary.” He leaned against the counter. He was wearing a black three-piece suit, impeccably tailored, but plain to the point of austerity. A faded gold pocket watch chain glinted at the front of his single-breasted waistcoat. “Marshland’s prose can be very affecting.”

“Then you’ve read her? And liked her?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he said. “But I’d be interested to know your thoughts on the novel once you’ve read it.”

“Of course. I daresay I shall finish it before this evening.”

His mouth curved. What might have been a smile in another man appeared more like a snarl because of his scar. “So quickly?”

She managed a sheepish smile in return. “I’ve never been successful at postponing my pleasures.”

“I trust it will be a pleasure.”

“I have reason to hope. The plot points the critics complained about are the elements I like best.” She paused, explaining, “The romance.”

Her words were met with silence.

Awkward silence.

She felt a rush of self-consciousness. Some gentlemen didn’t approve of romances. But Captain Blunt wasn’t one of them, surely. After speaking with him at last night’s musicale, she’d been left with the impression he had some interest in the genre.

Looking at him now, it was hard to believe it. He appeared so fierce and formidable. A gentleman impervious to finer feeling. A man with ice in his veins.

It must be nice not to feel things. Not to stammer and blush in the presence of the opposite sex. She couldn’t imagine Captain Blunt blushing over anything. He seemed invulnerable.

She wished she could say the same about herself.

Mere proximity to him was enough to set her stomach fluttering. To make her insides quiver and quake.

She had felt just the same when he’d approached her at Lady Arundell’s ball. At the time, she’d mistaken the sensation for fear.

But it wasn’t fear. She realized that now, much to her chagrin. It was something else. Something worse.

It was attraction.

Despite all she knew of him—despite the warnings of her friends, and of her own mind and conscience—her body was disposed to like the man.

More than like.

She wondered if he felt it, too; this low thrum of physical awareness. It was impossible to tell. His scarred face was wiped clean of expression.

“You must be shopping for a new book yourself,” she observed for lack of anything better to say. The stupidity of the remark struck her the instant she uttered it. “But of course you are. Why else would you be here?”

“Why indeed?”

The clerk eyed them with thinly concealed interest as he finished wrapping her books in brown paper.

Mary eyed them, too, her broad face etched with disapproval. No doubt Julia would get an earful when they returned to the carriage

“Any book in particular?” she asked.

Captain Blunt hesitated a fraction of a second before answering. “A new adventure story for my eldest boy.”

Understanding came over her. Embarrassment swiftly followed. He was talking about his child. His illegitimate child. One of the many he housed at his estate.

Julia supposed she should be offended. A gentleman wouldn’t speak of such things in the presence of a lady.

But she wasn’t offended.