Chapter 8 #3
They entered the park, the gravel path crunching beneath their boots.
The air was crisp, and though the trees had long since shed their autumn foliage, Hyde Park was still lively.
Children bundled in coats and scarves ran ahead of their governesses, laughing as they kicked up the last remnants of frost-covered leaves.
A young couple strolled arm in arm, their heads bent together in quiet conversation.
A gentleman on horseback cantered past on a fine black gelding, his breath visible in the cold air.
Evaline, ever the sociable one, soon spotted an acquaintance, a matronly woman in a fur-trimmed pelisse, accompanied by a daughter of marriageable age. She paused to greet them, offering Harriet and Sebastian a polite smile before turning away to engage in conversation.
And then, quite suddenly, Sebastian took her hand. Harriet barely had time to register the sensation of his fingers closing around hers before he was leading her away, stepping behind the thick trunk of an ancient oak.
“Sebastian—”
He turned to face her, and the intention in his gray eyes stole whatever else she might have said. Then he closed the distance between them, and his lips found hers.
The world tilted.
She reached for the lapels of his coat, and the cold was forgotten entirely.
This kiss was different from the one at Hatchards.
Where that one had been tentative, wondering, this one was deliberate and certain.
He drew her closer, one gloved hand gentle at her cheek, as though he wished to be sure she was truly there, not another memory he had mistaken for something real.
It was madness.
But Harriet had never felt so known.
She let herself lean into him, into the warmth and the quiet steadiness of him. The years between them, the regrets, the lies … none of it existed in that moment. There was only this, only him.
When they finally drew apart, she was breathless.
Sebastian’s forehead rested against hers, his breath warm against her chilled skin.
“This is a mistake,” she whispered.
He exhaled, his hand falling gently from her cheek, his eyes still holding hers. “Then why does it feel so right?”
Harriet closed her eyes, her heart pounding like a wild stallion bucking against its master.
If she were another woman, if she had made different choices, she would go with him to Italy. She would leave all of this behind, abandon the burden of her mistakes, and become his.
But she was not that woman.
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!