Page 35 of The Courtship Trap
I am in danger. So much danger.
Harriet’s breathcaught in her throat, her heart slamming against her ribs like a wild bird desperate for escape.
Sebastian’s lips had been warm against hers, firm yet searching, as if he, too, had not anticipated this moment but was helpless to stop it. The scent of him—sandalwood, winter air, and something undeniably male—invaded her senses, leaving her drowning in memories of what could have been, what should have been.
For a single, heart-stopping moment, she had let herself feel it. The tenderness of his mouth, the way his hands settled so surely at her waist, the tingling awareness crackling between them. It was unlike any kiss she had ever experienced—searing, consuming, a whisper of all they had lost and all they might still find if only she had the courage to reach for it.
Italy. The thought had snuck in, unbidden. What if she went with him?
What if, just this once, she leapt without hesitation, without calculation, without the endless weighing of risk and ruin? What would it be like to walk the narrow streets of Florence with her hand tucked in his, to drink coffee beneath a painted ceiling, to wake each morning knowing she had chosen passion over status?
But then a footstep creaked nearby, and the moment had fractured.
She pulled away abruptly, pulse thudding, barely managing to stifle a gasp. Sebastian’s hands fell from her waist as they both turned sharply toward the sound.
Evaline.
Dear, observant Evaline, moving through the next aisle with unhurried grace, utterly unaware of the tempest raging between them.
Harriet’s body tensed, her mind racing for escape. She could not let Evaline see. Could not let Sebastian see. The vulnerability of the moment had been too raw, too revealing, and she would be damned before she let either of them glimpse the depths of her turmoil. With a practiced tilt of her chin, she turned back toward the ladder, climbing the rungs with knees that trembled only slightly.
“Blast it,” she murmured, feigning distraction. “I nearly forgot my book.”
She climbed, hand over hand, forcing her breath back into normalcy. Above, the leather-bound volume sat waiting, the object of her supposed pursuit. A moment to compose herself. That was all she needed. Her grip tightened on the shelf as she stared blindly at the spines before her, blinking hard against the prickling sensation in her eyes.
Harriet had not felt anything like this since the morning she had chosen to stay at home, knowing Sebastian would leave without her. She had taken lovers over the years, and she had not been untouched by passion. Yet none of them had ever unraveled her like this. None had made her feel as if she stood at the precipice of something vast and unknowable, something terrifying and intoxicating all at once. And none had ever made her want to weep for what she had lost. And for how she had betrayed him. For everything she had thrown away.
She swallowed hard, reaching for the book with fingers that still tingled from the sensation of pressing them to Sebastian’s solid frame. When she climbed down, Evaline was already at the counter, speaking with the bookseller.
Harriet turned, glancing once at Sebastian. He had not moved. He stood precisely where she had left him, his handscurled into fists at his sides, and his eyes—those storm-gray eyes—were locked on her, as if trying to decipher what had just happened between them.
She forced herself to smile. Lightly. Carelessly.
“You ought not distract a lady when she is mid-climb,” she teased, infusing her tone with as much levity as she could muster. “I might have tumbled.”
He exhaled sharply, a combination of a chuckle and a scoff, but he did not respond. Instead, he offered his arm, leading her to the counter where Evaline was inspecting a selection of bindings.
Harriet focused on the books, grateful for something—anything—to anchor her thoughts. She ran her fingers along the spines, considering.
“Morocco leather,” she said at last, tracing the smooth crimson cover of a volume. “Durable, elegant, and soft to the touch. Yes, this will do.”
“Calfskin has a finer grain,” Evaline pointed out, turning one of the books over in her hands. “And ages beautifully.”
“True,” Harriet mused. “But I want these to be read, not simply displayed.”
Sebastian, standing at her side, reached past her to lift a navy-bound edition of Ovid’sMetamorphoses. “Gilded edges,” he noted. “Very fine.”
Harriet glanced up at him, forcing her voice to remain steady. “It will catch the candlelight beautifully in my library.”
Sebastian said nothing, but something was evident in his gaze—something knowing, something that told her he was still thinking of the kiss. She turned away quickly, reaching for another volume.
“I am excited to order some excellent books. It has been an age since I read.”
Evaline gave her a soft smile. “Then let us do so.”
Together, they completed their selections, noting her choice of binding, which would be embossed with her initials and could be delivered within the week. Harriet focused on the details, on the business of purchasing books, on the texture of paper and leather. Anything to keep her thoughts from wandering back to Sebastian.
Once the transaction was complete, they stepped out into the cool winter air.
