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She would have to confess all her secrets to Sebastian. Her affair last year with his cousin Perry. Her affair with the duke’s brother-in-law Brendan, earlier this year, followed by her betrayal when he was arrested. The awful facts of her attempt to seduce him as a married man, and how Lily had caught her in the act.

But was she brave enough to do it?

The admiring glances he had given her this past week would turn to condemnation, and she would lose all possibility of ever claiming her place at his side. But if she did not tell him all the secrets, she stood no chance of winning him back. She would lose if she did and lose if she did not. The cold crept through her cloak as she stood motionless on the path, the weight of it no less punishing than the reckoning she could no longer avoid. It was a jail of her own making that she could have eased by not telling the lie about the painting he wished to acquire for his friend. Sebastian had always been loyal. And in her case, his desire to be loyal to her had been his only mistake.

* * *

Sebastian saw red as he watched from nearby. The couple was too absorbed to notice him a mere thirty feet away, and the winter landscape seemed to mirror the creeping cold in his chest.

A biting wind swept through the park, rattling the bare branches, tugging at the few withered leaves that clung desperately to the trees, just as he had once clung to the illusion of Harriet’s honesty. The distant surface of the Serpentine reflected the bleak sky, its edges lined with a thin crust of ice that had begun to spread overnight, a silent testament to the deepening cold.

Sebastian forced himself to breathe deeply, his gloved hands flexing at his sides. He should not feel betrayed, not after all her deceptions, but the storm inside him raged nonetheless. The cold had never bothered him before; he had spent years in Florence, under the warm Mediterranean sun, but now, standing in the heart of a London winter, he had never felt more frozen. Or hot.

His fury had simmered beneath the surface all morning, ever since he had stormed out of Harriet’s house. He had told himself he was done with her, that he would not let himself be lured back into her tangled web.

Yet here she was again, slinking about London in her discreet dark blue walking dress, just as she had the last time he had followed her. And this time, she was meeting his own cousin.

He still could not credit it. Richard Balfour, the Earl of Saunton. The man who had so diligently played peacemaker at the duke’s dinner the night before. The man who had shielded Harriet with careful words when she had been under scrutiny among the men’s gathering after dinner. And now, the man who had the audacity to meet her alone in a secluded part of the park.

Richard was betraying his graceful wife … and Sebastian. Did Philip know about this? Was this the source of his brother’s disapproval?

Sebastian launched toward them, the sheer force of his rage propelling him forward. Richard had just placed his hand on Harriet’s arm in a steadying manner, and Sebastian did not stop to consider that it might have been an innocent gesture. All he saw was betrayal.

The betrayal of a woman he had loved, and the betrayal of his own blood.

With long, punishing strides, he closed the distance between them. Harriet gasped as she caught sight of him, but before she could say a word, Sebastian grabbed Richard by the lapels of his greatcoat and yanked him forward, bringing them nearly nose-to-nose.

Sebastian towered over his cousin by a solid five inches, his broad chest and thick arms making Richard seem almost boyish in comparison. The usually unshakable earl looked genuinely alarmed, his emerald eyes going wide.

“Sebastian,” Richard choked out, his hands coming up in startled protest. “This is not what it looks like.”

“Not what it looks like?” Sebastian snarled. “Then do tell me, cousin, what exactly does it look like?”

Harriet surged forward, grasping Sebastian’s arm, which made him want to turn and pull her close, to let her tell him that his heart was not breaking for the second time.

“Have you been following me?” she demanded, her voice sharp with disbelief.

Sebastian barely spared her a glance, his fingers tightening in the fabric of Richard’s coat. “And if I have?” he snapped. “It seems I had good reason.”

Harriet’s cheeks flushed darkly. “You had no right⁠—”

“I had every right,” he growled, jerking his chin toward Richard. “It appears I am the only one in this situation who does not know what in the blazes is going on.”

Richard grimaced, attempting to pry himself free. “I swear to you, this is not an assignation.”

Sebastian gave him a hard shake. “Then what is it?”

“I—I cannot say,” Richard stammered, looking to Harriet with something close to desperation.

“How convenient.” Sebastian’s lip curled in a sneer. “The great scoundrel of London, sworn off his wicked ways, but still unable to keep his hands off my woman.”

Harriet stiffened beside him. “Your woman?” she repeated, her voice quiet but vibrating with undefined emotion.

Sebastian turned on her, his fingers finally unclenching from Richard’s coat. “You demand trust,” he bit out. “And yet all I ever seem to find are secrets. Lies. Clandestine meetings.”

Harriet’s mouth tightened. “Perhaps,” she shot back, “if you had a little more trust, I would not have to keep so many secrets.”

Sebastian recoiled as if struck. Something sharp and cold slid through his gut at her words. Had he prevented her from telling him the truth? Had he failed her in some way, both now and then?