Page 54 of The Courtship Trap
His mouth twisted. “Time for what?”
“For us,” she whispered.
Silence hung between them, heavy with things unspoken. The dying embers in the grate crackled, as if to punctuate their conversation.
Sebastian exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair, his movements tight with frustration. “Damn it, Harriet,” he ground out. “You speak of time as if it were something we could steal back. But time was stolen from us long ago—byyou. And now, once again, you have chosen secrets over trust.”
She flinched at the accusation, her pulse hammering against her ribs. “I was going to tell you,” she insisted. “I never meant to deceive you, not like this.”
Sebastian’s laugh was low and humorless. “Not like this? Then how, exactly?” He gestured toward the painting. “You let me believe it was gone. You lied to my face. How am I supposed to believe anything you say now?”
Harriet’s fingers curled into the sheets, nails pressing into her palms. “I never wanted to hurt you.”
“And yet, you have.”
His voice was quiet, but there was an emotion far worse than anger in his tone now. Disillusionment. Disappointment.
Her chest ached as she sat up straighter, pulling the sheet tighter around herself. “You think I do not regret it? That I do not hate myself for not telling you the truth sooner? You cannot imagine what it has been like—to feel as though every choice I make only drives you further away.”
Sebastian shook his head. “No, Harriet. That was your own doing.” His voice was hoarse with emotion, and his hands flexed at his sides. “All I ever wanted from you was honesty.”
A lump formed in her throat.
“I thought if I gave you the painting too soon,” she confessed, “you would leave. I thought once you had it, there would be nothing left to hold you here.”
Sebastian’s breath caught, old hurts flittering behind his gaze. “You truly believed that?”
She nodded, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. “Yes.”
His jaw tightened, and for a long moment, he simply looked at her. The fury was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but something else lurked beneath it now—something more vulnerable.
“Do you think so little of me?” he asked finally.
Harriet’s heart clenched. “No,” she said fiercely. “Never.”
I think so little of myself, was the errant thought she had been fighting all these months as she walked the path of sobrietyand tried to find a return to the happiness she had shared with Sebastian so many years ago.
Sebastian exhaled heavily, rubbing his temples as though trying to will away his frustration. “You could have told me,” he said, his voice quieter now, the edge of anger dulling. “I would have understood. But instead, you chose to deceive me—again.”
Harriet’s throat tightened. “I did not mean?—”
“But you did,” he cut her off. “You always mean to, whether you admit it or not.”
She shook her head. “I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Of losing you,” she admitted, voice breaking.
Sebastian let out a ragged breath, and for a moment, he looked as though he might soften. Then his expression hardened once more. “You never had me to lose, Harriet.”
The words were a death knell. She sucked in a sharp breath, the pain of them cutting deeper than she could have anticipated. Sebastian turned back toward the door, his hand clenching into a fist before he let it fall open again. He hesitated for only a moment, then grasped the door handle.
“You asked for more time,” he said without looking at her. “But time is the one thing I can no longer afford to give you.”
With quiet finality, he strode through her private drawing room and then stepped out into the hall beyond it, closing the door behind him. Harriet sat frozen in place, the sound of his retreating footsteps echoing in her ears. She supposed she should be concerned that the other women in the house would be alarmed by his presence. About their own security if Harriet ruined her reputation. But in that moment, she could not find the will to care.
The room felt impossibly empty without him.
