“As I say, an impressive young lady. However . . .” He cast her a weighted glance. “She wasn’t my first choice.”

“I know that.” She straightened her habit skirt—a restless movement not entirely in keeping with her quiet hands and seat. “What I don’t understand is why.”

Honeyed words might have been difficult, but the truth came easily enough. Jasper didn’t hesitate to utter it. “You’re beautiful.”

She returned both hands to the reins. Her horse tossed his head, sending the curb chain of his Pelham bit clinking. “I’m flattered you think so. But beauty doesn’t last.”

“Your kind will.”

She gave him a doubtful look.

He gazed steadily back at her, as solemn as he’d ever been. “I believe, ma’am, that you have a beautiful soul. That you are a beautiful soul. I don’t expect that will alter with age.”

She stared at him for an instant, seemingly speechless. Her mouth trembled. “What a lovely sentiment.”

He shrugged. “It’s the truth.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything,” he returned. “Or better yet . . . tell me something of your own feelings.”

Her expression became wary. “What about them?”

“You said you wished to know me better. I assume that’s why you’re here. You must have known I’d be here, too. That I intended to speak with you away from your chaperone.”

“I always ride at this time of morning. But . . . Yes. I understood what you meant when we parted last night. I may be silly on occasion, but I’m not a fool.”

“No indeed.” He frowned. “Yet still you came.”

She gave him a bemused glance. “You sound as though you’re trying to warn me off.”

“I should,” he said. “I still might.”

“Your very changeable, sir.”

“I suffer from pangs of conscience. An unfortunate condition. I’m endeavoring to overcome it.”

She laughed.

The sound provoked a lump of yearning in his chest. He realized, to his disquiet, how much he wanted to be the one to make her laugh.

“Unfortunate, to be sure,” she said. “Given your purpose for being in town.”

Naturally, it was. A fortune hunter was meant to be conscienceless. Ruthless. A role that anyone would have said suited Captain Jasper Blunt to a certainty. And yet . . .

He hadn’t been ruthless with Julia Wychwood, not by a long chalk.

When she’d asked him to stop pursuing her, he’d done so. And then, last night, when he might easily have compromised her on Lady Holland’s balcony, he’d chosen instead to talk to her about romance novels.

J. Marshland’s novels, for God’s sake.

“My purpose hasn’t changed,” he informed her.

“I’m aware,” she said. “But you’ve been nothing but kind to me. It’s one of the reasons I wanted to see you this morning. I never got a chance to properly thank you for rescuing me last night.”

“That wasn’t a rescue. That was naught but a minor service.” Jasper’s eyes held hers, his voice dark with promise. “When I rescue you, Miss Wychwood, you’ll know it.”