Page 39 of The Belle of Belgrave Square

“And Miss Maltravers with them?” Lady Heatherton’s face spread into a self-satisfied smile. “Well, well. I thought she had more mettle.”

Julia’s gloved fingers curled tighter on her reins.

The viscountess had taken a particular dislike to Evelyn, owing to Evelyn’s involvement with Mr. Malik. Julia didn’t know the full story. It was something about Mr. Malik having once been Lady Heatherton’s dressmaker. A falling-out had set the two of them at odds. A romantic falling-out, Julia suspected. As a result, Evelyn had become Lady Heatherton’s enemy.

“Miss Maltravers will be back,” Julia said. “She’s only gone home to Sussex for a fortnight.”

“Oh?” The smile froze on Lady Heatherton’s lips.

“Miss Hobhouse and Lady Anne will be returning soon as well. I expect them by Sunday evening.”

“You’re quite alone until then, are you? Or, not quite alone.” Lady Heatherton’s eyes glittered with renewed malice. “Was that Captain Blunt I saw you with?”

Julia didn’t know why the viscountess should ask when she clearly already knew the answer. “It was.”

“Fascinating.” Lady Heatherton’s blond hair glimmered in the sunlight. It was caught up beneath a silvery-gray felt hat, trimmed in black and white ostrich feathers. The stylish chapeau complemented her formfitting riding habit, a costume made to showcase her narrow waist. Her ladyship was a well-known proponent of tight lacing.

Next to her, Julia felt a veritable dowd.

“Brave of you, too,” Lady Heatherton added. “To be alone with him that way.”

“We weren’t alone,” Julia said. “No more than anyone else riding in the park.”

“I should be nervous myself,” her ladyship went on, “given the man’s history.”

Julia gave her a sharp look. “What do you mean? What history?”

“You don’t know?” Lady Heatherton affected an expression of surprise. “A shame. If you did, you wouldn’t risk his company. Not without your chaperone.”

“I’m sorry . . .” Julia’s brows knit into a puzzled frown. “Are you acquainted with Captain Blunt?”

“One needn’t be acquainted with a man to form an opinion of his character. One need only keep their ears open.” Lady Heatherton gave her little mare a tap with the crop, urging her into a faster stride.

Julia easily caught up with her on Cossack. “You’ve heard something?”

“It’s not my place to say,” her ladyship replied airily. “I daresay you’ll catch wind of it eventually.”

Julia’s temper flared at Lady Heatherton’s casual tone. How dare she malign Captain Blunt in such an offhand fashion? Spreading reckless innuendo about town in an effort to blacken his name—and why? Simply because she was bored and wished to amuse herself?

“I abhor gossip,” Julia said. “It’s bad enough to listen to it, but to repeat it—”

“I’ve done nothing of the sort.” Lady Heatherton’s gimlet eyes flashed sparks. “And it isn’t gossip. My husband was in the Foreign Office during the war. He read the dispatches from the front. What I know, I learned from him.”

“What did you learn?”

“That your Captain Blunt was a ruthless soldier, feared as much by the British as by the enemy.”

Julia huffed. “That’s no secret.” Captain Blunt’s reputation had been alluded to often enough in her presence. “If that’s all you’ve heard—”

“There’s more,” Lady Heatherton said.

Julia steeled herself. “Go on.”

Lady Heatherton dropped her voice as they rode past a gentleman on a prancing bay. “According to Heatherton, Captain Blunt gave no quarter to the enemy. He was known to execute captives in cold blood rather than imprison them.”

An icy chill seeped into Julia’s veins. “Even if that’s true . . . It was wartime. And if they were indeed the enemy—”

“It wasn’t only his adversaries who aroused his cruelty. His conduct toward his own men was just as pitiless. He marched them until they collapsed, and flogged those who were insubordinate to within an inch of their lives, making them subsist on half rations, starving at his pleasure. And the way he dealt with deserters! There were executions. Brandings. Horrors you can’t imagine.”