Chapter 6 #3
Harriet tensed, her mind racing for escape.
She could not let Evaline or Sebastian see.
The vulnerability of the moment had been too raw, too revealing, and she would not for the world let either of them glimpse the depths of her turmoil.
With a proud 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 into something approaching composure.
Above, the leather-bound volume sat waiting, the object of her supposed pursuit.
A moment to gather 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 sudden 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 moved through the years since as a woman who had learned to keep her own counsel, to hold others at a careful distance.
Yet none of it had ever reached her as this had.
None had made her feel as if she stood at the precipice of something vast and unknowable, something terrifying and precious 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 hands that were not entirely steady, her composure still precarious from the nearness of him. 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, his expression unreadable. But his eyes, his 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 should not distract a lady mid-climb,” she teased, lending her tone as much levity as she could muster. “I might have tumbled.”
He exhaled sharply, something between 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 steady 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 reflected. “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, keeping her voice steady. “It will catch the candlelight beautifully in my library.”
Sebastian said nothing, but something moved 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, the bookseller noting her choice of binding, which would be embossed with her initials and delivered within the week.
Harriet focused on the details, on the business of purchasing books, on the tangible reality of ink and paper and leather.
Anything to keep from thinking about Sebastian.
Once the transaction was complete, they stepped out into the cool winter air.
Harriet inhaled sharply, the world outside suddenly pressing.
The streets hummed with life. Carriages rolled past, street vendors called out their wares, gentlemen tipped 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 weight of those 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, steering 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.