Page 3 of The Belle of Belgrave Square

It didn’t excuse how she’d behaved toward him at the ball.

She moistened her lips. “I believe I owe you an apology.”

He looked steadily back at her.

“When Lord Ridgeway was introducing you to me at Lady Arundell’s ball . . .” She faltered. “Perhaps you don’t remember—”

“I remember,” he said gruffly.

Heat rose in her cheeks. “Yes, well . . . I’m sorry to have run off like that. I’m afraid I’m not at my best when meeting strangers.”

“Do you often run off during introductions?”

“Not generally, no. Not unless I fear I’m going to swoon.” Her mouth ticked up at one corner in a rueful smile. “You wouldn’t have appreciated having to catch me.”

Something flickered behind his icy gaze. An emotion impossible to read. “You don’t know me very well, ma’am.”

Were it any other gentleman, Julia might have suspected him of flirting with her. But not Captain Blunt. His scarred countenance was as coldly serious as his tone.

Her smile faded. “No, indeed.” She tightened her fingers on the reins. “But I apologize all the same.” She dipped her head to him as she urged Cossack on in the opposite direction. “Good day, Captain Blunt.”

He didn’t return her farewell. He didn’t say anything. He only sat there atop his horse, watching her ride away.

Julia felt the burning impression of his stare at her back. And this time, she didn’t will herself to be brave. She did what she’d wanted to do since she’d first laid eyes on him.

She pressed her heel into Cossack’s side and she fled.

Jasper was tempted to ride after her, no matter that she’d just dismissed him.

But no.

He held Quintus to a standstill as Miss Wychwood rode away. She kept to a walk for several strides before kicking her horse into a lofty, ground-covering canter. Her seat was impeccable, her gloved hands light on her reins. She had a reputation for being a good rider. And she must be one to handle a horse so obviously too big for her.

Good God. She couldn’t be more than five feet and three inches in height. A petite lady, with a gentle way about her. Had she no one to choose her a more suitable mount?

Jasper suspected not.

Her parents were well-known invalids, prone to all manner of fancies. Their elegant town house in Belgrave Square played host to an endless stream of doctors, chemists, and an ever-changing roster of servants.

Even Miss Wychwood’s groom was of a recent vintage—a different fellow from the one who had accompanied her three days ago. He cantered a length behind her, the pair of them disappearing into the distance.

Jasper’s frown deepened.

He’d learned many things about Miss Wychwood in the past several weeks, enough to know that marrying her and whisking her away to Yorkshire was going to be anything but simple.

Damn Viscount Ridgeway for suggesting it.

Exiting the park, Jasper returned to Ridgeway’s house in Half Moon Street. It was a fashionable address, if not an ostentatious one, tucked between the house of a rich old widow on one side and that of a well-to-do solicitor on the other. After settling Quintus in the stable with his groom, Jasper made his way up the front steps to the door.

Ridgeway’s grizzled butler, Skipforth, admitted him into the black-and-white-tiled hall. “His lordship has requested your presence in his chamber,” he said as he took Jasper’s hat and gloves. “He’s breakfasting there.”

Of course he was.

Ridgeway rarely emerged from his room before ten, and then only on sufferance.

Jasper felt a flare of irritation. Not for the first time, he regretted accepting Ridgeway’s invitation to stay.

“Shall I take you to him, sir?” Skipforth asked.