Page 21 of The Courtship Trap
DECEMBER 11, 1821
The cold air bit at Sebastian’s face as he stepped down, the sleek black carriage bearing the Scott family’s crest gleaming in the pale winter sun as he came to a stop in front of Harriet’s door. Her townhouse stood dignified and immaculate, though he wondered if its façade masked deeper unrest. Her cryptic remarks about changes she had wrought remained unexplained, but he did not know how toask her about them. He adjusted his gloves, pausing to steel his expression, uncertain what the day would bring.
A couple of weeks in her company.
Then the painting.
Then closure.
The door swung open before he could knock. Mrs. Finch, the housekeeper, barely spared him a glance.
“Lord Sebastian.”
“Mrs. Finch.” He inclined his head.
The painted room remained as he remembered—elegant, curated, designed to highlight Harriet’s beauty. His fingers brushed the back of a gilt chair that made him think of a similar one at Avonmead she had liked to pose on—laughing, confident, always the center of attention. Yet when she entered the room at last, Sebastian’s breath caught.
Harriet entered with regal poise, draped in a deep blue pelisse trimmed with white fur, a matching bonnet framing her silky auburn hair. Her gloved hand rested lightly on the doorframe as she beamed with restrained joy. Harriet was a woman in her prime, possessing the confidence of a viscountess who had ascended the ranks of the noble classes to carve out her niche as a well-admired beauty, and Sebastian had never seen her more ravishing than this.
“Good morning,” she greeted.
“You look well.”
The words escaped before he could stop them, and his cheeks spread in a grin wider than was proper, but he was not of the stilted upper classes any longer. He was struck by how fetching she was in the colors that accentuated her curvaceous form. Even in her youth, she had an impressive bosom that had caused many a sweat-soaked dream for Sebastian in his youth.
But Sebastian fixed on her face, quelling any urge to caress her with his passionate gaze. The throbbing wounds of the pastreceded in the presence of such feminine perfection to leave him wondering … if he had not been a spare all those years ago—but a man in his own right as he was now, a man who had made his own fortune—how different would their circumstances be? Would she have had the courage to walk away from society’s expectations? From her father’s expectations?
“Do I?” Her brow arched. Playful, but cautious.
Before the tension could thicken further, Lady Evaline Wood appeared, swathed in dove-gray wool. “I believe we are ready?”
Sebastian escorted them to the vehicle, handing Harriet into the carriage with practiced ease, with Lady Wood following close behind. Taking his place across from Harriet, he found his gaze resting on her as she peered out the window at the world passing by. As the wheels rolled toward the museum, he could not help but wonder—was this truly just a courtship of convenience, or had fate offered them a final chance at something far more dangerous?
He could feel the risk even now, the urge to forget everything that had happened and discover if they were still as compatible as they had been back then.
Be careful, Sebastian. You have been misled before.
It was a much-needed reminder as the carriage wheels rumbled over stone-paved streets.
Harriet’s gaze remained on the window. “It feels an age since I last visited the British Museum.”
Sebastian observed her profile. “You enjoyed it once. I recollect an enthusiastic dissertation when you regaled me about your visit.”
A faint smile. “I enjoyed many things once.”
A pause. The atmosphere thickened with unspoken memories—walks at Avonmead, shared dreams of travel, whispers in candlelit libraries.
“Perhaps you will enjoy it again,” he said softly.
Her gaze met his, sharp and searching. “Perhaps.”
Soon the British Museum loomed, a temple of knowledge, its imposing facade softened by the low winter sun. Sebastian experienced a stirring of his first visit, how exciting it had been to enter its doors.
Inside, the air smelled of old parchment, polished wood, and the faint chill of stone floors. The soft murmur of scholars and curious visitors echoed through the halls, and Harriet’s face brightened with genuine interest, Sebastian noticed, when they came to a stop within its hallowed halls.
“Shall we begin with the Egyptian Room?” he suggested.
“Naturally,” Harriet replied. “Mysteries awaiting discovery … how appropriate.”
