Page 27

He had spent the evening at his brother’s house, facing the cold disapproval of Philip and the barely concealed unease of the others.

He had defended her against them all, against every muttered doubt, every veiled warning.

He had sat there, knowing full well that his family did not approve of his courtship, did not trust Harriet, and still, he had been determined.

Because he had believed in her. Because he had wanted a future with her.

And all the while, what had she been doing? Lying to his face. Smiling at him, allowing him to believe in a shared future that had never been real.

A deep sense of betrayal twisted in his gut. He had been a fool.

As he entered the library, he found Lorenzo lounging in one of the armchairs, a book resting open on his lap. At the sight of Sebastian’s thunderous expression, Lorenzo’s dark brows lifted in mild concern.

“I take it the dinner did not go well?”

Sebastian let out a harsh laugh, running a hand through his disheveled hair before crossing to the drinks cabinet. He poured himself a brandy with more force than necessary, the liquid sloshing against the sides of the glass.

“The dinner went precisely as expected,” he bit out. “It was the events after that ruined everything.”

Lorenzo closed his book, watching him closely. “Do I want to know?”

Sebastian downed half the glass in one swallow, the burn of the alcohol doing little to soothe the fire in his chest.

“She lied to me,” he said flatly.

Lorenzo did not react, merely tilting his head in question.

Sebastian exhaled sharply. “She told me she no longer had the painting.”

Lorenzo’s eyes widened with understanding. “But she did.”

“She did,” Sebastian confirmed. His grip tightened around the glass. “It was hanging above her bed the entire time. And I—” He cut himself off, jaw clenching.

Lorenzo’s lips twitched. “You were in her bed?”

Sebastian shot him a dark look, but Lorenzo only leaned back, utterly undaunted. “Well, that does complicate matters, does it not?”

Sebastian slammed his glass down on the table, pacing the room. “I defended her. I was prepared to stand against my entire family if need be. I …” He hesitated, exhaling sharply. “I wanted her, Lorenzo. Not just for now. I was ready to build something real with her.”

His friend watched him carefully. “And now?”

Sebastian let out a bitter laugh. “Now I do not know what to think. Every time I begin to believe in her, she reminds me why I should not.”

Lorenzo considered this for a moment before speaking. “Do you believe she meant to betray you?”

Sebastian hesitated, the question catching him off guard. Did he?

He thought of the way she had looked at him when he confronted her—the shock, the regret, the raw emotion in her eyes. She had not looked triumphant. She had not gloated in her deception.

She had looked … heartbroken.

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 time Sebastian 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 whatever dignity 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.

Richard had defended Harriet last night at dinner, trying to smooth the tensions.

He had done his best to lighten the mood, carrying conversations when the duke refused to speak, when Lily was too nervous to do anything but prattle.

At the time, Sebastian had thought it was just Richard’s usual charm at play.

That, despite his past as a notorious rake, he had softened after his marriage to Sophia.

But now, watching him ride up to Harriet’s carriage in a quiet corner of Hyde Park, a sickening thought took root.

Had Richard been defending her not out of familial courtesy, but because he was involved with her? Was he one of her many secrets?

Sebastian’s jaw clenched so hard it ached.

It would explain too much. Why Harriet had lied about her outings.

Why Richard had acted the peacemaker. And most of all, why the duke had been so cold.

Was that why Philip had been trying to warn him away?

Because he knew their own cousin had been carrying on with Harriet behind closed doors?

The possibility sent a fresh wave of fury surging through Sebastian. He had spent the morning tormented by what had happened between him and Harriet. He had been prepared to fight for her. To make sense of the tangled mess between them.

And yet, here she was. Meeting another man in secret. His cousin, no less.

Sebastian’s vision narrowed, his blood hammering as he shoved open the carriage door.

“Wait here,” he snapped at his driver, already striding toward the pair across the discreet distance where his carriage had stopped, his boots crunching against the frozen ground.

His fury propelled him forward, each step matching the pound of his heart in his chest. Whatever lies Harriet had woven, whatever deception Richard had entangled himself in, Sebastian would have his answers. And he would have them now.