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And she had lied.

The thought cut through her like a blade, sharp and merciless.

She stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself as if to hold in the ache that threatened to spill over.

“I cannot continue,” she said, voice unsteady. “Knowing it is a pretense is breaking my heart.”

Sebastian stared down at her for the longest time. Then he said the one thing she had not dared to allow herself to hope for. “What if it is not a pretense?”

Harriet’s head snapped up.

He was watching her with an intensity that sent her pulse into a wild, desperate rhythm.

For one glorious, reckless moment, hope unfurled in her chest.

But then, reality returned like a bitter wind.

She had lied about the painting. Then there was the matter of her reprehensible behavior these past years for which she was attempting to make amends. If Sebastian knew the half of it, he would be repulsed by her conduct and desert her.

He was a foolish dream, a glimpse of the life she could have led if she had been a better person. And after all she had done to him in the past, he could never be so forgiving as to overlook another deception. Whatever spark had rekindled between them would be extinguished the moment he discovered the truth. She forced a smile, though it felt brittle on her lips.

“I think,” she said carefully, “we should return to Lady Wood before she notices we have gone.”

Sebastian studied her, his expression unreadable. “And I think we should make this courtship a genuine exploration of a shared future.”

Harriet stared up at him, searching for any sign he was funning her, but his gray eyes were sincere. Her breath caught, and she moistened her lips, nerves fluttering. She wanted so badly to say⁠—

“Yes.”

She blinked, uncertain if she had actually just consented. Then, in affirmation that she had indeed spoken aloud, Sebastian gave a slow nod and offered his arm. She hesitated for only a moment before taking it.

As they stepped back onto the path, Harriet forced herself to do what she had done for years. She buried the ache, smothered the longing, and vowed to enjoy the courtship as long as it lasted. Because once Sebastian learned the truth about the painting, the truth about her disgraceful behavior with his cousin Perry last year, not to mention her faithless conduct toward the duke’s brother-in-law Brendan earlier this very year, there would be no more kisses beneath the trees, no more glances filled with unspoken promises.

And she had no one to blame but herself.

But for now, every impossible dream had come true, at least until brooding reality inevitably returned. The only man she had ever loved was courting her!

CHAPTER 9

In silence, I adore your grace,

Afraid to speak or show my face;

Yet through this verse, my heart's revealed,

A love that's deep and long concealed.

The New Ladies’ Valentine Writer (1821)

* * *

December 18, 1821

“This is a terrible idea.”

Harriet sat rigid before the dressing table, watching her reflection as Belinda arranged her hair into an elegant coil. The candlelight flickered against the mirror’s surface, but no amount of flattering glow could soften the worry etched between her brows. The last few days in Sebastian’s company had been wonderful. Their courtship had progressed to the natural next stage … dinner with his family!

“Nonsense,” Lady Wood said from the nearby settee, where she reclined with a cup of chocolate in hand. “It is an inevitable idea.”