“Her father be damned,” Captain Blunt said. “You have no right—”

“On the contrary. I have every right.” Lord Gresham gave Julia an aggrieved look. “Tell him, Miss Wychwood.”

Julia met Captain Blunt’s eyes. “It was a misunderstanding,” she said. “That’s all. I’d rather not have a scene.”

“Quite right.” Mr. Hartford took Lord Gresham’s arm. “I’ll see you into a carriage. You can make your apologies to Lady Clavering tomorrow.”

The earl dragged his feet. “What about Miss Wychwood?”

Mr. Hartford looked to Julia. “Shall I fetch your chaperone?”

“Oh no.” She retreated until she felt the bench press against the back of her skirts. “Please don’t summon Mrs. Major. It will only inflame the situation. I’ll be quite all right here. I only require a moment to compose myself.”

“I’ll stay with her,” Captain Blunt said.

Julia’s gaze lurched to his. Her heart skipped a beat.

Mr. Hartford nodded once. “Very well, but don’t linger. People will talk.” With that, he marched Lord Gresham from the clearing, leaving Julia and Captain Blunt alone in the moonlight.

Entirely alone.

Nothing but the crackling torchlight and the tinkle of the fountain to break the silence between them.

Julia sank down on the marble bench. She breathed deeply of the cool night air, willing her wild pulse to return to something like normal.

Captain Blunt remained where he was, standing at the edge of the clearing. A great menacing beast glowering at her as surely as he had at Lord Gresham.

But no.

There was something else in his gaze now. Something equally unsettling.

“You didn’t answer me,” he said.

She pressed a hand to her corseted midriff. “I beg your pardon?”

“Are you all right?” he asked again.

“I . . . Yes, but . . . I can’t catch my breath.”

He came closer. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No. I’m fine,” she said. “Just . . . give me a minute.”

He paced the grass in front of her as she marshaled her senses. His large frame was wrought with tension.

She studied him covertly, feeling that same unsettling pull of attraction she’d felt on every other occasion they’d met. Strange, that. He wasn’t a classically handsome man. His countenance was too saturnine. His features too harshly hewn. Indeed, there was no softness or gentleness in his face at all.

Nowhere except, perhaps, in the shape of his mouth.

His lips curved with a vague sensuality. The faintest suggestion of tenderness, marred forever by the trajectory of his scar.

Once, she’d been afraid of him. But now . . .

Now, she wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

A scandalous notion. She blamed Lord Gresham for putting it into her head. If he hadn’t attempted to kiss her, she wouldn’t be thinking about kisses at all.

“I’m grateful you and Mr. Hartford arrived when you did,” she said when she’d regained some of her composure.

Captain Blunt flashed her a dark glance. Apparently, it had been the wrong thing to say. “Would that I had arrived sooner.”