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She watched in growing panic as he ran a hand through his golden hair, his fingers raking through the strands in that familiar way he always did when he was thinking, when he was troubled.

Her stomach plummeted.

Then he exhaled slowly, lowering his hand. He met her gaze, his expression unreadable, but then, he nodded.

Harriet stared at him, stunned.

And then he spoke, his voice low but steady. “All right.”

She blinked. “All right?”

Sebastian gave a small, weary nod. “It is not what I would have wished to hear, but … I cannot say I am surprised. You were lonely. He can be charming.” His mouth quirked in something that might have been amusement in a different circumstance. “And he was utterly without honor, although I am told he is a very different man now.”

Harriet released a shuddering breath, barely able to process his words.

He was not leaving. He had not raged. Had not recoiled.

And the part of her that had been bracing for his rejection, that had been certain of it, felt like a tightly coiled spring snapping loose.

“You are not angry?” she asked, hesitant.

Sebastian ran a hand down his face, then sighed. “Oh, I am angry.” His voice was rough now, his gaze sharp as steel. “But not at you. Not anymore.” He shook his head, as though working through his thoughts. “I have spent years resenting the past. Resenting you. But the truth is, I left you to face England alone while I ran off to Italy. I should have fought harder for you. I should have made it impossible for you to doubt me.”

Tears burned at the backs of her eyes.

“I did doubt you,” she whispered. “I doubted that you could stand against your brother. I doubted that I was worth fighting for.”

Sebastian took a step toward her, his voice fierce now. “You were worth it, Harry. You are worth it.”

Her pulse stumbled in shock, and then … she was in his arms.

Sebastian caught her, then held her at arm’s length, his strong hands firm but gentle as they rested on her upper arms. She could see the longing in his eyes, the way his gaze traced the lines of her face, the curve of her lips, but he would not allow her to press against him.

His voice was quiet but unyielding. “We should finish this, Harry. Tell me about Brendan.”

Harriet blinked, stunned. A cold wave of dread swept through her, and she instinctively tugged out of his grip, crossing the room to wrap her arms around herself.

“Someone told you?” she asked eventually, her voice hesitant.

Sebastian shook his head. “It was a guess.” He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Brendan did not say a single word during dinner last night. And he attempted to interrupt the duke when he thought his secrets were going to be revealed.”

Harriet let out a short, bitter laugh, rubbing at her hair again, heedless of how she was mussing the already-loose strands. “Yes,” she said hoarsely. “I had an affair with him.” She hesitated before forcing herself to continue. “But that was not the worst of it.”

She turned to face him fully now, her heart pounding.

“The problem was that he was here. In this house. When his father was murdered.” Her voice grew thready. “And I—I would not provide him an alibi. I was dismissive and selfish, and I refused to involve myself.” She swallowed, shame thick in her throat. “Lily stepped forward in my place. She gave the alibi I should have given. And so they had to marry.”

She braced herself, expecting Sebastian’s anger, expecting his condemnation.

Instead, he nodded. Accepting the truth.

But she was not done.

“It gets worse,” she whispered.

Sebastian’s brows rose. “How?”

Harriet squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to be brave. She could not stop now. She had to see this through, no matter the consequences.