He may have been known as the Hero of the Crimea, but the moniker was rarely spoken with honorable connotation. Captain Blunt had been notorious during the war.

She wasn’t privy to the particulars of his conduct. At the time, she’d been too young to read the papers. And now, among the ladies with whom she associated, there was only the vaguest of murmurings. All Julia knew for certain was that his notoriety had increased since returning to England.

If what her best friend, Lady Anne, said was true, the captain’s haunted estate in Yorkshire was presently playing host to his brood of illegitimate children. A scandalous fact. What sort of gentleman flaunted his sins in public? The answer was evident: a man who was no gentleman at all.

If he wanted to compromise Julia, he could, and easily.

She contemplated running away, but glancing up at the captain, she found him gazing down at her with single-minded attention.

“Miss Wychwood . . .”

“Yes?” Her voice was a breathless whisper.

“I wonder . . . What is it that appeals to you about that novel?”

Julia blinked up at him. “You want to know about Lady Audley’s Secret?”

“I do.”

She owned to a flicker of disappointment. What had she thought he was going to say? Something scandalous?

Something thrilling?

Stupid of her. One might think she wanted to be thrilled by him.

“What is it in the story that captures your interest?” he asked. “That makes you read it over and over again?”

That was simple enough. “It’s the way she transforms herself. I’ve always found the idea fascinating.”

Captain Blunt gave her an inscrutable look.

“Reinvention,” she explained. “Changing oneself into someone else.”

His gray eyes were glacial. “To what purpose?”

She feared she’d said something wrong, but she couldn’t for the life of her imagine what. “Why . . . to be happier.”

“How so?”

“By being another person,” she said. “Obviously.”

“You’d still be the same person underneath it all.”

“Yes, but circumstances would be different. You could start fresh in a new place. Somewhere you would be welcomed and admired. Where you’d feel as if you belonged.”

Captain Blunt appeared skeptical.

“It’s true,” Julia insisted. “For ladies, anyway. Everything with us is based on outward appearances. On rumors and innuendo. Once a lady develops a bad reputation, she may as well retire from London society completely. The only option is to reinvent herself somewhere else. In India or America or some spa town or other. Many ladies have done so.”

He studied her in the gaslight. “You don’t have a bad reputation.”

“I wasn’t talking about myself.” Her silk reticule hung from her wrist. She drew it open, dropping her book back inside. “And anyway,” she muttered, “I have a reputation for being strange. It’s much the same.”

“Strange? How?”

“Different. Odd. I don’t fit in.” She pulled closed the drawstring mouth of her reticule. “That must be abundantly clear.”

“Not to me it isn’t.”