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Sebastian scoffed, shaking his head. “You think she will simply hand it over?”

“I think,” Lorenzo said carefully, “that she has had 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 dragged a hand 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, 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 grabbed his coat. The wool was still cold from his earlier journey, and he pulled it on with more force than was strictly necessary. “If I return with the painting, you owe me a bottle of brandy.”

Lorenzo grinned. “Deal.”

By the time Sebastian reached Harriet’s townhouse, the unease in his stomach had deepened. The morning’s confrontation was still too raw, but as he stepped from his carriage, 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 something 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 the fragile honesty of the night before, 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 calculated 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 him 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 stretched taut. And when her carriage veered toward Rotten Row, his unease deepened.

What business had she 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 veered away from the spectacle, directing her carriage 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 was Richard doing here?

A possibility 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 Ridley 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? Had he been 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 everything that had happened. He had been prepared to fight for her and 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.