Page 18 of The Courtship Trap
“Do you recall whom you gave it to?”
Her scattered thoughts coalesced into a single, bright, resolute purpose. A decision. There would be hell to pay when her Mentor learned of her manipulations, but she could not allow this opportunity to slip through her fingers.
“I do.”
Sebastian leaned forward, his movement drawing the navy wool of his coat taut over his broad shoulders. The motion caught Harriet’s gaze, as she drank in the masculine form that made all other men seem pale by comparison.
“Who is it, then?”
Harriet’s mind raced, calculating how best to present her proposal. Bluntness, she decided. It would have to be bluntness.
He waitedfor her to speak, watching as her expression shifted, her face settling into soft, resolute lines.
A premonition stirred within him, as though destiny itself was striking, poised to alter the course of both their lives.
“I will tell you where the painting is—if you court me for the holidays.”
Sebastian jerked back in surprise, the back of his skull knocking against the padded chair.
For a moment, he was painfully aware that his jaw hung open, yet he could not recall how to close it.
“Wh … I … you …”
He drew a deep breath, gathering his scattered wits. “I cannot wed you for a painting.”
Harriet broke into a giggle, the sound so light and unexpected that it left him more unmoored than her proposal.
“A wedding? For a painting?” she echoed, her lips curling in amusement. “No. I only wish for a courtship. Just a couple of weeks.”
She paused, her tongue flicking out to wet her lips, a gesture that drew his gaze before he dragged it back to her face. As though she needed a moment to gather her thoughts, she finally continued. “I am staying in Town for the holidays, and it is all rather depressing, would you not know it? I thought … perhaps I would like to recapture the magic of our youth.” Her voice softened, tinged with vulnerability. “Before you return to Italy. You are returning to Italy, are you not?”
Sebastian nodded. “I am.” He wondered if he should pinch himself to confirm whether he was truly awake or trapped in some impossible dream.
“Right.” Harriet’s voice was steady now, her posture poised, and there was a determined tilt to her chin that made him sit up a little straighter. “So, court me until Christmas Day, and I will inform you who currently possesses the painting.”
He sat back, stunned by the request. Court her? The thought echoed in his mind, refusing to settle.
Harriet—Harry—had drawn herself up, shoulders back, her expression fixed with a familiar stubbornness that he remembered all too well. She was prepared to be obstinate, and when Harriet made up her mind, she was a force no man could easily redirect. Still … she wished him to court her?
This was an unexpected revelation. He supposed he should feel vindicated, learning that she regretted the past as much as he did. That she, too, had wondered, as often and as painfully, what might have been if things had turned out differently.
But why now?
Pondering, he searched for any ulterior motive behind such a request. Could it be that she was simply bored? Or perhaps despondent during the holidays and wished for a bit of diversion? Perhaps she had no current paramour to liven up the season? The mere notion of her with a lover troubled him more than he cared to admit.
“I am not willing to conduct an affair, Harry.”
Her face fell slightly, her light dimming to be replaced by an emotion he could not quite place.
“Have you not heard?” A faint smile touched her lips, though it lacked warmth. “Lady Slight no longer has affairs, darling. She has become quite a bore in recent months.”
Sebastian lifted a hand, rubbing it across his face as he tried to make sense of it all.
No longer has affairs?
He remembered her mention of recent changes, but he had not grasped what she meant. Had she truly dismissed her paramours?
By choice? Or necessity?
