Page 17

But then the carriage slowed, and the spell was broken.

“We have arrived,” Lady Wood murmured, tucking away her book.

Sebastian reached for the door and stepped out first, turning to offer his arm to Harriet.

Her gloved fingers, soft and warm, slipped around his elbow, and for the briefest moment, he felt something old and familiar stir in his chest. Then she was stepping down, and he let go an instant too quickly.

Inside Hatchards, the air smelled of leather, paper, and burning oil. Harriet lit up at once, surveying the towering bookshelves like a conqueror surveying her new domain.

Sebastian peered down at her, dismayed at how familiar this felt. “Shall we make a list first or dive in blindly?”

Harriet tilted her head. “Where is the adventure in making lists?”

He chuckled. “Where is the sense in wandering aimlessly?”

Harriet sighed. “Very well. A brief list, then.”

She led them toward a quiet corner, where she and Lady Wood scribbled down titles and subjects while Sebastian leaned against a nearby shelf, watching her.

Harriet had changed. She was more guarded. More careful. But then she would smile—truly smile—and she was the girl he had once known again. Which one was real? And which one would break his heart if he let himself believe in her again?

“Sebastian?”

He blinked. Harriet was watching him, her head tilted in curiosity. “You looked lost in thought,” she murmured.

He straightened. “Just wondering how long I shall be made to carry your selections.”

She laughed and turned away, moving toward a tall shelf. Sebastian followed at a leisurely pace, watching as she scanned the spines, her fingers trailing over the leather bindings. Then she spotted something.

Without hesitation, she grasped the ladder and began to climb. Sebastian felt his pulse kick up unexpectedly.

She moved with ease, the hem of her skirts lifting slightly as she reached for a book. And then he saw it. A flash of stocking. Not wool for the chilly weather, but silk. A glimpse of delicate slipper. A small, utterly indecent peek of trim ankle.

Sebastian swallowed hard, tearing his gaze away. But it was too late. The damage was done. Then?—

A gasp.

A slip.

Harriet’s foot missed the rung.

Sebastian lunged forward without thinking. She spun around as she fell against him, her momentum knocking them both back slightly before he caught them both steady. And then, silence.

Harriet froze in his arms. Sebastian’s heart pounded violently as he realized how close she was. Her face was mere inches from his, her breath warm against his cheek. His hands were firm around her waist, holding her close. Slowly, she tilted her head up, her lips parted ever so slightly.

Sebastian’s grip tightened. And then he realized—they were alone. No one in sight. He dampened his lips.

Harriet’s eyes dropped to his mouth. And Sebastian—God help him—he closed the distance.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if testing a memory.

But then it deepened, intensified, an ache twisting through his chest as something wild and long-buried roared to life when their lips fused together.

It was as though no time had passed at all.

As though they were still young, still foolish, still tangled in each other’s arms beneath the stars at Avonmead.

Sebastian’s tongue slipped into her mouth to find hers, silky and hot, melting together as if both starved for human contact, and they surrendered to their fervor.

Footsteps in the next aisle brought him back to his senses. Time had passed. They were no longer a couple. And Sebastian was no longer the boy who had loved her so recklessly.

He pulled back, breathing hard, his hands still curled around her waist. Harriet stared at him, her lips still slightly parted, her eyes dark with an emotion he could not yet name. He tasted honey on his tongue.

And Sebastian knew, with absolute certainty?—

I am in danger. So much danger.

Harriet’s breath caught in her throat, her heart slamming against her ribs like a wild bird desperate for escape.

Sebastian’s lips had been warm against hers, firm yet searching, as if he, too, had not anticipated this moment but was helpless to stop it.

The scent of him—sandalwood, winter air, and something undeniably male—invaded her senses, leaving her drowning in memories of what could have been, what should have been.

For a single, heart-stopping moment, she had let herself feel it.

The tenderness of his mouth, the way his hands settled so surely at her waist, the tingling awareness crackling between them.

It was unlike any kiss she had ever experienced—searing, consuming, a whisper of all they had lost and all they might still find if only she had the courage to reach for it.

Italy. The thought had snuck in, unbidden. What if she went with him?

What if, just this once, she leapt without hesitation, without calculation, without the endless weighing of risk and ruin?

What would it be like to walk the narrow streets of Florence with her hand tucked in his, to drink coffee beneath a painted ceiling, to wake each morning knowing she had chosen passion over status?

But then a footstep creaked nearby, and the moment had fractured.

She pulled away abruptly, pulse thudding, barely managing to stifle a gasp. Sebastian’s hands fell from her waist as they both turned sharply toward the sound.

Evaline.

Dear, observant Evaline, moving through the next aisle with unhurried grace, utterly unaware of the tempest raging between them.

Harriet’s body tensed, her mind racing for escape.

She could not let Evaline see. Could not let Sebastian see.

The vulnerability of the moment had been too raw, too revealing, and she would be damned before she let either of them glimpse the depths of her turmoil.

With a practiced tilt of her chin, she turned back toward the ladder, climbing the rungs with knees that trembled only slightly.

“Blast it,” she murmured, feigning distraction. “I nearly forgot my book.”

She climbed, hand over hand, forcing her breath back into normalcy.

Above, the leather-bound volume sat waiting, the object of her supposed pursuit.

A moment to compose herself. That was all she needed.

Her grip tightened on the shelf as she stared blindly at the spines before her, blinking hard against the prickling sensation in her eyes.

Harriet had not felt anything like this since the morning she had chosen to stay at home, knowing Sebastian would leave without her.

She had taken lovers over the years, and she had not been untouched by passion.

Yet none of them had ever unraveled her like this.

None had made her feel as if she stood at the precipice of something vast and unknowable, something terrifying and intoxicating all at once.

And none had ever made her want to weep for what she had lost. And for how she had betrayed him. For everything she had thrown away.

She swallowed hard, reaching for the book with fingers that still tingled from the sensation of pressing them to Sebastian’s solid frame. When she climbed down, Evaline was already at the counter, speaking with the bookseller.

Harriet turned, glancing once at Sebastian. He had not moved. He stood precisely where she had left him, his hands curled into fists at his sides, and his eyes—those storm-gray eyes—were locked on her, as if trying to decipher what had just happened between them.

She forced herself to smile. Lightly. Carelessly.

“You ought not distract a lady when she is mid-climb,” she teased, infusing her tone with as much levity as she could muster. “I might have tumbled.”

He exhaled sharply, a combination of a chuckle and a scoff, but he did not respond. Instead, he offered his arm, leading her to the counter where Evaline was inspecting a selection of bindings.

Harriet focused on the books, grateful for something—anything—to anchor her thoughts. She ran her fingers along the spines, considering.

“Morocco leather,” she said at last, tracing the smooth crimson cover of a volume. “Durable, elegant, and soft to the touch. Yes, this will do.”

“Calfskin has a finer grain,” Evaline pointed out, turning one of the books over in her hands. “And ages beautifully.”

“True,” Harriet mused. “But I want these to be read, not simply displayed.”

Sebastian, standing at her side, reached past her to lift a navy-bound edition of Ovid’s Metamorphoses . “Gilded edges,” he noted. “Very fine.”

Harriet glanced up at him, forcing her voice to remain steady. “It will catch the candlelight beautifully in my library.”

Sebastian said nothing, but something was evident in his gaze—something knowing, something that told her he was still thinking of the kiss. She turned away quickly, reaching for another volume.

“I am excited to order some excellent books. It has been an age since I read.”

Evaline gave her a soft smile. “Then let us do so.”

Together, they completed their selections, noting her choice of binding, which would be embossed with her initials and could be delivered within the week.

Harriet focused on the details, on the business of purchasing books, on the texture of paper and leather.

Anything to keep her thoughts from wandering back to Sebastian.

Once the transaction was complete, they stepped out into the cool winter air.

Harriet inhaled sharply, the world outside suddenly overwhelming.

The streets bustled with life—carriages rolling past, street vendors calling out their wares, gentlemen tipping their hats to passing ladies.

It was familiar, all of it, but in this moment, she felt unmoored.

As if she had stepped out of time itself.

She had been a girl again just moments ago, her heart light with possibility, the future sprawling before her like an open road. Now, she was a woman grown, a woman who had made mistakes, who had burned bridges, who had lied.

The scope of her mistakes pressed against her chest.

She had lied. Again. What a terrible decision that had been.

She had told Sebastian she did not have the painting.

And because of her past betrayal, only compounded by her recent lie, this—whatever this was—could go no further.

Because no matter how much he might still feel for her, no matter how much she might still long for him, the moment he learned the truth, it would be over.

She had done this to herself, ensuring her own heartbreak by breaking trust with him a second time.

Swallowing hard, she let Evaline take her arm, guiding her toward the waiting carriage. She would enjoy this charade while it lasted. Pretend, for a little while longer, that she had not already ruined everything.