Page 6 of The Courtship Trap
Marco refrained from commenting, watching him with a sympathetic gaze.
Sebastian stared at his plate but did not pick up his fork or commence eating.
“You overheard our argument.”
It was not a question. Marco said nothing.
Sebastian leaned back to raise his arms and comb through his mane of hair, his elbows bracketing his head as he exhaled deeply.
“I know you were not the same after that English girl died of consumption. It makes me wonder how you have found the courage—” He stopped, overcome by a rush of memories. Returning to England had been hard. Sebastian rubbed his jaw and peered out at the garden, unseeing as he sorted through the cascade of memories England had resurrected. “How do you find the courage after your heart has been so utterly crushed beyond repair?”
Marco weighed his words carefully, his face thoughtful in Sebastian’s peripheral vision.
“What choice do we have, my friend? We cannot give up on the future when it has so much more to offer than the past.”
“You believe I should stop delaying?”
“I think you have an opportunity to close the door on an old chapter. As painful as it might be, it must be done if you are to … resuscitate.”
Resuscitate. An interesting choice of words. The notion that Sebastian was being brought back to life. Or perhaps it was just his heart resuming its beating. Painful, but necessary to walk a path to the future.
Sebastian nodded, exhaling a puff of air as he finally reached a decision and announced, “Then the time has arrived to pay a call on Lady Slight.”
Harriet was showninto the study by a servant she did not recognize to find Lord Bertram Hargreaves scribbling at his desk with a single-minded focus on the page in front of him. She seized the opportunity to shore up her courage, suppressing the wave of butterflies that had set flight as the door shut behind her with a decisive click.
It was difficult to credit that she was here. That she was going to have the conversation she was about to broach. Her palms were damp, and her heart pounding against her ribs like a frightened bird beating against the bars of a cage, but she was determined to make this stand.
Moving forward with as much insolent dignity as she could muster, Harriet took a seat, perching gracefully on the edge and fixing her skirts.
“Father,” she greeted, feigning confidence she did not feel. Showing weakness would only make her mission more … more.
Lord Hargreaves raised his head, his cold ice-blue eyes skewering her with disdain, before putting aside his quill and leaning back in his swivel chair of wood and leather.
Harriet smiled benignly, feeling rather violated at how his attention had flickered briefly over her bosom as if to critique the demure modesty of her bodice. She wished to fidget, but she and her Mentor had discussed in detail how to attend this meeting, and it was imperative she not display any sign of nerves.
It was just that she felt so deeply invested in the outcome.
“Harriet.”
He was dressed in a black coat, with a black stock tied about his snowy linen. His auburn hair was still thick, his face frigidly handsome. Only the white at his temples revealed his age. She had always thought that if Lucifer had an earthly form, he would resemble her ageless father, both in form and temperament. Which made it all the more incredible that she was here to discuss … well, anything.
“I wish to inquire about Belinda Cooper.”
His jaw tightened just a fraction, barely perceptible, but Harriet always made a point of studying him closely to ensure she did not inadvertently unleash the devil within.
“That is an inappropriate subject.”
“I am an inappropriate widow.”
Harriet nearly winced. Impudence was not quite the direction her Mentor had advised her to take, but now that the words were said, she must proceed without apology. Hesitation would only make this discussion worse, so she stared back at him, two pairs of matching ice-blue eyes attempting to freeze the object of their view, until finally, her father blinked and looked away.
Harriet resumed breathing, a surge of triumph making her mildly giddy at the small victory.
“Belinda is none of your concern.”
“Nevertheless, you have caused quite the stir of gossip. It is not the done thing to cast off your mistress without honoring your agreements.”
A thin smile spread across his face as he stared out the window, and Harriet’s heart sank. She suspected that her little victory had been mere subterfuge, her father reeling her in to deliver a sharp cut. Her stomach tensed in anticipation of what cards he may hold up his sleeve.
