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She should have trusted him. She should have given him the truth. Instead, she had clung to her fear, her selfishness, and now it had cost her everything.

Her hands trembled as she dropped them into her lap. What would happen now? Would Lord Saunton keep her secret? Or would he break trust and tell Sebastian everything?

And even if the earl did not speak, what did it matter? Would Sebastian leave England thinking the worst of her? That she had been carrying on an affair with his own cousin?

A bitter laugh bubbled up from her throat. And why should that even surprise her? After all, had she not already been with his other cousin?

Perry.

It had been more than a year, and yet that mistake still clung to her. She had not sought out Perry, had not meant to fall into that particular ruin, but she had been weak and reckless. In her despair, she had let herself believe that anything was better than facing her loneliness.

And now, what right did she have to a second chance? What right did she have to love, to forgiveness? She deserved to be alone.

The carriage slowed, and she realized with a start that they had arrived at home. Her new footman opened the door, and Harriet barely managed to step out before her composure cracked. The familiar face of the townhouse offered no comfort, its pale stonework as blank and unforgiving as the judgment she had earned. Keeping her chin lifted, she strode inside, her boots clicking against the marble floor.

Mrs. Finch opened her mouth to speak, but Harriet did not stop. She could not. She moved swiftly down the corridor, past the grand staircase, past the portraits of long-dead ancestors from her mother’s side of the family who had likely been better people than she was.

She barely made it to the painted room before her knees gave out.

With a muffled sob, she collapsed onto the settee, pressing her face into her hands as the force of her failure crashed over her. She could not hold it back any longer. The dam broke, and she wept.

The fire crackled in the hearth, filling the room with warmth, but Harriet felt only the hollow chill of loss. The flames threw familiar shadows across the gilded panels. The painted figures were serene and unmoved, as they had always been, indifferent to the particular misery unfolding beneath them. She had fought so hard to change, to become someone worthy of Sebastian’s love. And yet, when it had mattered most, she had done what she always did and ruined everything.

A quiet movement stirred across the room, and she realized she was not alone. Evaline sat in her usual chair by the fireplace, sipping her tea. She had not spoken a word since Harriet had entered, but now, as Harriet lifted her head, she found her friend regarding her with calm, perceptive eyes.

“Well,” Evaline murmured, setting down her cup, “your meeting went poorly, I assume.”

* * *

Sebastian strode up the steps, his boots striking the stone with hard, deliberate purpose. Campbell, the head footman who had recently been promoted to butler, inclined his head as he passed, but Sebastian did not slow.

“Milord—”

He did not stop.

Through the hall. Past Lorenzo, who had just emerged from the library. Up the stairs.

“Sebastian?” Lorenzo’s voice carried after him, laced with confusion. “Goodness, what now?”

Sebastian ignored him, reaching his bedchamber and throwing the door open so violently it slammed into the wall. He had to move. Had to pack. Had to put as much distance between himself and this place, between himself and Harriet, as possible before he did something truly foolish.

He yanked open a trunk, thankful he had insisted the servants not stow it away, and shoved folded shirts inside with far more force than necessary. The repetitive motions soothed nothing. His mind still reeled, caught between the sting of betrayal and the infuriating truth that he still loved her.

Even now. Even knowing what he knew.

A curse ripped from his throat as he tossed a waistcoat into the trunk. The door opened behind him.

“I assume you are fleeing the country,” Lorenzo said dryly.

Sebastian ground his teeth, not looking up as he moved to his wardrobe. “Not fleeing. Leaving.”

Lorenzo stepped further inside, shutting the door with an ominous click. “I see. And what, pray, has prompted this dramatic departure?”

Sebastian grasped a stack of cravats, his hands trembling. “I have had enough of this wretched country.”

Lorenzo hummed. “Fascinating. And does this sudden loathing for England have anything to do with Lady Slight?”

Sebastian stiffened. The cravats crumpled in his grip.