Page 6

On the other hand, his conscience remonstrated that he had made a commitment to Lorenzo to assist him with the painting, and despite his troubles, he acknowledged that he had been dragging his feet.

“You are right. My apologies, Lorenzo.”

Lorenzo shoved his chair back abruptly so that it teetered on its back legs, wordless but frustrated. Sebastian hastily reached out to grab it as his friend stormed out, his footsteps echoing loudly as he retreated down the hall.

With regret, Sebastian rose to his feet and made for the breakfast room, conscious of the potential scene that had unfolded to those within earshot. To his disappointment, he found Marco sipping on a cup of coffee. Stalking over to the sideboard and rummaging around, Sebastian turned to take a seat at the table with a laden plate.

Marco refrained from commenting, watching him with a sympathetic gaze.

Sebastian stared at his plate but did not pick up his fork or commence eating.

“You overheard our argument.”

It was not a question, so Marco said nothing.

Sebastian leaned back to raise his arms and rake through his mane of hair, his elbows bracketing his head as he exhaled deeply.

“I know you were not the same after that English girl died of consumption. It makes me wonder how you have found the courage …” He stopped, swept under by a rush of memories. Returning to England had been hard. Sebastian rubbed his jaw to peer out at the garden with unseeing eyes. “How do you find the courage after your heart has been so utterly crushed beyond repair?”

Marco weighed his words carefully, his face pensive in Sebastian’s peripheral vision.

“What choice do we have, my friend? We cannot give up on the future when it has so much more to offer than the past.”

“You believe I should stop delaying?”

“I think you have an opportunity to close the door on an old chapter. As painful as it might be, it must be done if you are to … resuscitate.”

Resuscitate. An interesting choice of words. The notion that Sebastian was being brought back to life. Or perhaps it was just his heart resuming its beating. Painful, but necessary to walk a path to the future.

Sebastian nodded, exhaling a slow breath as he finally reached a decision and announced, “Then the time has arrived to pay a call on Lady Slight.”

* * *

Harriet was shown into the study by a servant she did not recognize and found Lord Bertram Hargreaves scribbling at his desk with a single-minded focus on the page in front of him. She took the opportunity to shore up her courage, quelling the wave of butterflies that had taken flight as the door shut behind her with a decisive click. It was difficult to credit that she was here. That she was going to have the conversation she was about to broach. Her palms were damp, and her heart raced in her chest like a frightened bird beating against the bars of a cage, but she was determined to make this stand.

Moving forward with as much insolent dignity as she could muster, Harriet took a seat, perching gracefully on the edge and fixing her skirts.

“Father,” she greeted, feigning confidence she did not feel. Showing weakness would only make her mission more … doomed.

Lord Hargreaves raised his head, his ice-blue eyes flickering over her with disdain, before putting aside his quill and leaning back in his swivel chair of wood and leather.

Harriet smiled benignly, discomfited by the dismissive sweep of his gaze, which passed over her with the cool calculation of a man taking inventory of what he found wanting rather than worthy. She wished to fidget, but she and her Mentor had discussed in detail how to attend this meeting, and it was imperative she not display any sign of nerves.

It was just that she felt so invested in the outcome.

“Harriet.”

He was dressed in a black coat, with a black stock tied about his snowy linen. His auburn hair was still thick, his face frigidly handsome. Only the white at his temples betrayed his age. She had always thought that if Lucifer had an earthly form, he would resemble her ageless father, both in form and temperament. Which made it all the more incredible that she was here to discuss … well, anything.

“I wish to inquire about Belinda Cooper.”

His jaw tightened just a fraction, barely perceptible, but Harriet always made a point of studying him closely to ensure she did not inadvertently rouse the devil within. “That is an inappropriate subject.”

“I am an inappropriate widow.” Harriet nearly winced. Impudence was not quite the direction her Mentor had advised her to take, but now that the words were said, she must proceed without apology. Hesitation would only make this discussion worse, so she stared back at him, two pairs of matching ice-blue eyes attempting to freeze the object of their view, until finally, her father blinked and looked away.

Harriet resumed breathing, a surge of triumph making her mildly lightheaded at the small victory.

“Belinda is none of your concern.”