Page 56 of The Courtship Trap
But what did that change?
“She had a hundred opportunities to tell me the truth,” Sebastian said finally. “And she chose not to.”
He rubbed his jaw as he stared into the flames of the library’s fireplace. His anger had cooled, but the sting of betrayal remained. He had been prepared to walk away, to leave Harriet to whatever schemes she had spun, but Lorenzo’s words lingered in his mind.
Lorenzo nodded slowly. “Perhaps the question you must ask yourself is not whether she lied, but why.”
Why, indeed.
Lorenzo sat forward, fixing him with a steady look. “Return to her. Borrow the painting.”
Sebastian scoffed, shaking his head. “You think she will simply hand it over?”
“I think,” Lorenzo said carefully, “that she has her reasons for keeping it, and if you ask the right way, she may just let it go.”
Sebastian clenched his jaw. “And if she refuses?”
Lorenzo ran a finger through his thick black hair and huffed. “Then at least you will know where you stand.”
Sebastian knew it was sound advice, but the idea of returning to her house, to the very place where the morning had unraveled so spectacularly, made his insides twist. He should walk away. He should let it go.
But the need for answers gnawed at him.
With a resigned sigh, he got back to his feet. “If I return with the painting, you owe me a bottle of brandy.”
Lorenzo grinned. “Deal.”
By the timeSebastian reached Harriet’s street, the unease in his stomach had deepened. The morning’s confrontation was still too raw, but as his carriage approached her townhouse, he caught sight of something that made his breath hitch.
Her carriage was already at the door. The same one from before. The one she had used the night he followed her through the streets of St. James’s. His hands curled into fists at his sides.
Moments later, she emerged from the house, swathed in a discreet dark cloak, her bonnet tilted forward to obscure her features. Just as before.
A bolt of anger shot through him, tangled with feelings far more dangerous. She had said she spent her nights at home. He had caught her in that lie once before. And now, after this morning—after what they had shared—here she was again, dressed for secrecy, preparing to disappear into the city without a word.
His pulse thundered in his ears.
Had it all been a performance? Had the heartbreak in her voice, the regret in her eyes, been nothing but well-placed deception? Sebastian had not been prepared to follow her again. He had wanted to claim the painting and leave with whateverdignity he had left. But now he needed to know. Needed to see for himself whether she was slipping away to another man.
Leaning out, he gave his driver a terse command. “Follow her.”
The wheels rumbled over the cobbled streets as they trailed her discreetly. The Scotts’ coachman must think that he was a terrible guest, following a noblewoman like this, but he could not summon the will to care. Sebastian sat back, his fingers drumming against his knee, every nerve strung tight. And when her carriage veered toward Rotten Row, his unease deepened.
Why the devil was she going there?
The main thoroughfare of Rotten Row was bustling despite the chill of December, filled with riders in their fine riding jackets and top hats, ladies wrapped in rich velvets and furs as they guided their mounts in graceful circuits. The crisp air carried the scent of damp earth and the faintest trace of frost, while the occasional jingle of harness bells punctuated the steady rhythm of hooves on the well-maintained path.
Yet Harriet had directed her carriage away from the spectacle, toward one of the more secluded trails that wound beneath bare-branched trees, their skeletal limbs etched stark against the gray winter sky. Patches of frost still lingered where the sun had yet to touch, and the Serpentine shimmered in the distance, thin tendrils of mist curling above its surface.
Here, away from the fashionable crowd, the park was quieter, broken only by the distant sound of children’s laughter as a group of governesses shepherded their charges through the crisp morning air.
Sebastian’s breath left him in a harsh exhale as he watched a rider approach Harriet’s carriage. Not just any rider.
Richard Balfour, Earl of Saunton. His cousin.
Sebastian stiffened, his fingers digging into the worn leather of the seat. What the devil was Richard doing here?
The answer came swiftly, and it made his stomach churn.
