My Fake Rake

Sebastian shook his head. “Should be used to it by now.”

A sympathetic ache resounded in her chest. “There’s no should when it comes to what we feel. There aren’t scientific laws when it comes to the human heart.”

After a moment, he said, “My father made the charming threat that if I didn’t take a place in the business I wouldn’t see a farthing more than my crumb of an allowance. Pure joy it is to have such a man as my father.”

“Did you tell him that you can’t do any true fieldwork without financial support? That you’re stuck doing research by reading alone? Wouldn’t that move him at all?”

Sebastian gazed at her. “John Holloway, founder and owner of Holloway Ironworks, is . . . I believe the technical term is a closed-fisted bastard.” He coughed. “Beg pardon about the language.”

“By all means, call a bastard a bastard.” She almost reached through the open bookshelf to lay her hand across his.

Almost.

Sebastian might be a fellow natural philosopher, and her friend for several years, but he was still a young man in his prime and she was a woman of marriageable age. She couldn’t just go around touching eligible bachelors, not without consequences.

And . . . whenever she looked at Sebastian’s hands, her belly fluttered with awareness. They were large hands, with long, blunt fingers, and more than once she’d caught herself daydreaming about what it would feel like to have his hand stroke along her arm, or down her back, or tenderly cup the back of her head . . .

Mentally, she shook herself. She wouldn’t throw away four years of friendship on a few uninvited sensual thoughts. Oh, maybe when she’d first met Sebastian, she’d hoped their camaraderie might evolve into something more intimate. But he’d always been scrupulously polite and treated her strictly as a colleague and confidant.

She’d already faced rejection from the belles and beaux of Society—she didn’t need to experience it again with Sebastian. So she’d carefully weeded out the seedlings of attraction, and the garden of their friendship remained tidily maintained.

“We’ve discussed my bastard father enough.” He tilted his head. “I might be a trifle nearsighted, but I’m fairly certain I saw you talking with Mason Fredericks a few minutes ago.”

Heat flooded her face. “He’s back from his latest expedition.”

“So I gathered.” Sebastian peered through the bookshelf. “Your conversation with him looked pleasant enough to an outside observer. But then . . .” His gaze turned sympathetic. “. . . I’m not the one nursing a tendre for him.”

“For the love of everything holy, lower your voice.” She glanced around, hoping no one heard Sebastian.

“Apologies.”

“Oh, Sebastian.” She groaned, tipping her head forward so that it rested against the shelf. “What am I going to do?”

From somewhere in the library, a voice hissed, “Shh! People are trying to work.”

Further mortification worked its way into her bones. God above, but she was a disaster.

But rather than gazing at her with understanding, Sebastian’s expression turned opaque. She’d no idea what he was thinking or felt. Perhaps it was wrong to talk about another man with him, though it was far from the first time the topic of Mason had come up.

To Grace, he said, “Follow me.” Then he strode away.

Had she pushed her friend too far?

Chapter 2

Uncertain where he led her, she followed Sebastian, but since his legs were much longer than hers, she had to hurry to keep up.

She passed Mr. Okafor. The librarian held a substantial book.

“Mr. Fredericks left you the first volume of the Cuvier,” Mr. Okafor murmured.

So, Mason had gone. She was almost relieved so that she didn’t have to wallow in her one-sided attraction anymore today. “If you’d be so kind, please hold on to it for me.”

Sebastian stopped and said over his shoulder, “Lady Grace and I must discuss something in the study room—unless someone is currently using it.”

After glancing with curiosity toward Grace, the librarian shook his head. “It’s unoccupied until four, when Mrs. Graves has reserved it. By all means, make use of the room.” It wasn’t uncommon for patrons to confer with each other about sundry topics, regardless of their specific discipline.