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Sebastian let out a harsh laugh, running a hand through his disheveled hair before crossing to the sideboard. He poured himself brandy with more force than necessary, the liquid sloshing against the sides of the glass. The amber spirit caught the firelight as he lifted it, though he took little notice.

“The dinner went precisely as expected,” he bit out. “It was the events that followed which were the problem.”

Lorenzo closed his book, watching him closely. “Do I want to know?”

Sebastian downed half the glass in one swallow, the burn of the alcohol doing little to soothe the fire in his chest.

“She lied to me,” he said flatly.

Lorenzo did not react, merely tilting his head in question.

Sebastian exhaled sharply. “She told me she no longer had the painting.”

Lorenzo’s eyes widened with understanding. “But she did.”

“She did,” Sebastian confirmed. His grip tightened around the glass. “It was hanging in her chambers the entire time. And I—” He cut himself off, jaw clenching.

Lorenzo’s lips twitched. “You were in her private rooms?”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened. “I woke in her painted room and went in search of her.”

Lorenzo leaned back, utterly undaunted. “Why were you there long enough to fall asleep in the first place?”

Sebastian looked down into his glass. “She asked me about Florence and what it would have been like if she had come with me.” His mouth tightened. “I told her. More than I intended. The crossing. The apartment above the baker’s shop. The first morning I saw the city in sunlight. You.”

Lorenzo grew still.

Sebastian released a humorless breath. “I suppose I allowed myself to hope she was not merely curious. That she regretted it. That some part of her had wondered, all these years, about the life we might have had.”

“And then you found the painting.”

The reminder made his vision darken.

Sebastian slammed his glass down on the table, pacing the room. The fire in the grate popped and shifted, indifferent to his distress. “I defended her. I was prepared to stand against my entire family if need be. I …” He hesitated, exhaling sharply. “I wanted her, Lorenzo. Not just for now. I was ready to build something real with her.”

His friend watched him carefully. “And now?”

Sebastian let out a bitter laugh. “Now I do not know what to think. Every time I begin to believe in her, she reminds me why I should not.”

Lorenzo considered this for a moment before speaking. “Do you believe she meant to betray you?”

Sebastian hesitated, the question catching him off guard. Did he?

He thought of the way she had looked at him when he confronted her. The shock, the regret, the raw emotion in her eyes. She had not looked triumphant. She had not gloated in her deception.

She had looked … heartbroken.

But what did that change?

“She had a hundred opportunities to tell me the truth,” Sebastian said finally. “And she chose not to.”

Lorenzo nodded slowly. Sebastian rubbed his jaw as he stared into the flames of the study’s fireplace. His anger had cooled, but the sting of betrayal remained. He had been prepared to walk away, to leave Harriet to whatever schemes she had spun, but Lorenzo’s words lingered in his mind.

“Perhaps the question you must ask yourself is not whether she lied, but why.”

Why indeed.

Lorenzo sat forward, fixing him with a steady look. “Return to her. Borrow the painting.”