"Don't apologise. I'm glad you said it."
"You are?"
"Yes. Because it helped me understand something." Harriet took a breath. "I don't want to wed Lord Davies. I don't want a convenient arrangement with a man who sees me as a transaction. I want…" She hesitated, suddenly uncertain how to continue.
"What do you want, Harriet?"
The question was soft, almost gentle. Sebastian had turned to face her fully, his grey eyes searching her face.
"I don't know exactly," she admitted. "But I know it's not Davies. And I know…" She stopped, shook her head.
“I fear I am expressing myself with a most lamentable lack of clarity…”
"Take your time."
"I don't have time. That's rather the problem." Harriet laughed, a small, helpless sound. "My family is in debt. My home is at risk. I've just refused the one proposal that could have solved everything. And all I can think about is…"
"Is what?"
"You." The word came out barely above a whisper.
"I keep thinking about you. About what you said in the library. About the way you've been helping us, and the way you look at me, and…" She broke off, cheeks burning.
“This is beyond endurance! I am becoming a spectacle of my own making.”
"You're not." Sebastian's voice was rough.
"Then what am I doing?"
"I don't know." He took a step toward her. "But I'd very much like to find out."
They stood there, barely a foot apart, the horses shifting restlessly behind them. Harriet could see Sebastian's chest rising and falling rapidly, could see the conflict in his expression, desire and restraint warring for dominance.
"Sebastian…"
"Don't." He held up a hand. "Don't say anything else. Not yet."
"Why not?"
"Because if you say what I think you're about to say, I'm going to do something that neither of us can take back."
"What if I don't want to take it back?"
Sebastian's eyes darkened. "Harriet…"
The stable door burst open, admitting a gust of cold air and Mary's flustered face.
"My lady! Everything is ready for our departure.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The carriage ride home was silent.
Sebastian had handed her in without comment, his face a careful blank. Mary had taken one look at both of them and retreated to her corner, suddenly very interested in the passing scenery. The horses ate up the miles while the three of them sat in a bubble of tension that no one seemed willing to break.
Harriet stared out the window and tried not to think.
She had done the right thing. She knew she had done the right thing. Entering into matrimony with Davies would have been a slow death, a lifetime of cold beds and colder hearts, of being a possession rather than a partner. Whatever came next, at least she had preserved her dignity.
