My Fake Rake

He did and he did not want to go back.

“Is there more?” he asked.

“Perhaps we should practice how to take snuff. That’s what the book says gentlemen do.”

“Sorry, but no.” He glanced past her, seeing the garden through the windows—and not seeing them. A hundred images coursed into his brain, and none of them were pleasant. “Tobacco serves a ceremonial and spiritual purpose for many tribes in the Americas. If I used it, it would be like stealing from them.”

To his relief, she didn’t look upset or irritated by his refusal. “Of course.” She added with a pained expression, “Most commercial tobacco crops are tended and harvested by slaves. It’s . . . repugnant.”

Thank God she understood. “We’ll get by without snuff.”

“We will.” She knotted her fingers together, and her expression turned sheepish. “I ought to mention that, in a week from today, Lord and Lady Creasy are hosting their annual garden party. It’s one of the highlights of the Season. Mason will be there. And . . .” She swallowed. “You will make your debut.”

It was as though someone had thrown him into a freezing lake. He couldn’t catch his breath. “A week? That’s not much time.”

“He leaves for Greenland in less than two months, so we must work quickly.” She strode to him, and when she once more placed her hand on his forearm, he felt reasonably confident that he’d never breathe again. He couldn’t understand it—unlike common wisdom that said he’d grow inured to something the more he was exposed to it, he was growing more sensitized to her touch.

“You can do it, Sebastian.” She looked up into his face, her eyes lovely and serious.

“Glad one of us believes that,” he muttered.

“Our next step is a crucial one.” She smiled, and his gut unclenched. “Fieldwork.”

Chapter 5

With Katie in tow for the sake of propriety, Grace and Sebastian left her home and walked north to Park Square. Grace kept her hand lightly resting on Sebastian’s arm as they strolled together. He felt delightfully firm beneath her gloved hand—but perhaps that could be attributed to the tension silently emanating from him.

“It’s just a practice run,” she assured her friend. “The stakes are very low.”

“But they aren’t.” His voice was taut. “Even a trial of my abilities will determine the course of the next week, and whether or not this project has any chance of succeeding.”

“You will,” she said firmly. “Besides, hardly any hypothesis requires only one test to see whether or not it can be proven. There aren’t failures in scientific methodology. Only opportunities to learn.”

He made a soft exhalation through his nose. “I’ve quite a lot to learn.”

Was it his apprehension she felt or hers? This scheme had to work, and yet she was taut with concern on his behalf. She hadn’t known until now how much Sebastian was eager to please—at the library, he would assist others with tasks such as fetching books from high shelves or carrying someone’s stacks of tomes, but he didn’t seem to extend himself overmuch.

Yet here, with this plan to become a rake, he was trying so very hard, and she ached with sympathy.

Was he fighting so fiercely to succeed for the sake of his future book—or was it for her?

It had to be for the book. If he worked this much because of her . . .

She banished the thought. Or she tried. A tiny voice whispered that perhaps, just perhaps, she was his motivation. And if that was the case, then he felt a good deal more than friendliness toward her.

He could. Did he? And did she want him to?

Lord knew, she’d revealed things about herself to him that she’d never told anyone before, not even Jane. She had not permitted herself to think about such thoughts. Yet he’d drawn confessions from her, and it had felt so natural to speak to him of the most secret chambers of her heart.

She’d had enough sense to keep from blurting of her hope for love. That much truth was too much. Yet perhaps he was exactly the person with whom she could be entirely vulnerable, no barriers, no protective wit. Just her and him.