Page 40 of The Courtship Trap
“Good day, Harriet.”
She sipped her tea. “Good day, Father.”
The viscount left without another word.
Sebastian leaned back, studying Harriet over the rim of his cup. “You handled that well.”
She lifted a shoulder in an elegant shrug, but did not meet his gaze. “I have had months of practice.”
His brow tightened. Again the mention of these past few months. And Lady Wood had mentioned she had been staying with Harriet for the same time period. What did it all mean?
Harriet was hiding something.
But what?
CHAPTER 8
Beneath the ancient oak’s embrace,
We wander’d slow, in gentle pace;
Your hand in mine, a perfect fit,
As evening’s glow in silence lit.
The New Ladies’ Valentine Writer (1821)
DECEMBER 13, 1821
Sebastian woke with a start, the cold light of dawn spilling through the curtains of his guest bedroom. He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face as if to wipe away the remnants of his restless sleep. The sheets were tangled around his legs, the warmth of slumber long gone, replaced by a familiar, gnawing disquiet.
It had been years since he had allowed himself to dwell on that last day with Harriet—years since he had permitted the memory to rise from where he had buried it. And yet, ever since seeing her again, the past clawed its way to the surface, dragging him back to a time when he had been young and foolish enough to believe in forever.
He swung his long legs over the side of the bed, bracing his elbows on his knees. The embers of a fire from the night before still smoldered in the grate, casting flickering shadows against the paneled walls.
That St. Valentine’s Day. It had been the day before they were supposed to flee.
The fevered whispers in the half-light, the weight of her body pressed against his, the unshakable conviction that she was his and he was hers. He had touched her with reverence, with the certainty of a man who believed he would spend his life by her side. She had whispered promises against his skin, her voice hushed but fierce with belief.
Then morning had come, and she had not.
Sebastian sucked in a breath, his hands clenching into fists. The betrayal had carved into him deeper than he had ever admitted. Even now, with years between them, he could not entirely banish the sting of it.
He pushed himself to his feet, crossing the room to splash cold water onto his face. It did little to clear his thoughts.
She had changed. That was what unsettled him most.
The Harriet he had known had been flirtatious, beguiling, always laughing, always seeking the admiration of those around her. The woman he had met again was different. Still sharp, still beautiful, but there was something guarded in her now, something almost wary.
And she was keeping something from him.
Dressing quickly, he donned a dark waistcoat and coat, shrugging into them with an impatient tug. He had no desire to pick at old wounds, but neither could he ignore the strange puzzle she had become. By the time he descended to breakfast, Lorenzo was already seated at the table, a cup of coffee in hand, his sharp black eyes assessing Sebastian the moment he stepped into the room.
“Another late morning,amico?” Lorenzo smirked, his Italian accent giving the words an easy lilt.
Sebastian grunted, pouring himself coffee. “I did not realize I had a nursemaid now.”
Lorenzo chuckled, setting down his cup. “A nursemaid? No. A friend who happens to be deeply invested in retrieving a certain painting? Absolutely.” He leaned forward. “Tell me, how does your charming courtship progress?”
