My Fake Rake

Grace threw the duke a sharp look that said clearly, You aren’t helping. Sebastian needed patience, not pressure.

Sebastian rubbed at his chin, appearing to mull over what both she and Rotherby had said.

“You might not believe in yourself,” she said with an encouraging smile, “but I believe in you.”

He drew in a long, ragged breath before straightening to his full height—as if drawing confidence from her words. “Let’s launch this ship.”

Thank you, Grace mouthed silently. A slight flush stained his cheeks, and his smile was adorably boyish. And though she’d always liked to see him smile, now she anticipated his grins as if awaiting a much-desired gift. Perhaps she could make him smile more if she told him jokes. There was also tickling . . . but she’d never heard anyone say, “Thank you for tickling me.”

She’d have to find other ways of enticing smiles from Sebastian. Her belly fluttered at the prospect.

“Do I walk?” he asked Rotherby.

“The less you think about walking the better.” The duke chopped his hand through the air. “Put it out of your mind. What I want from you is to practice attitude.”

“How does one do that?” she asked.

“The hell if I know,” Sebastian exclaimed.

Rotherby strode to Sebastian and placed his hands on Sebastian’s shoulders. “Come into the room as if you’re about to walk into that library where you go. Do only that. Nothing more.”

“All right.” Sebastian exhaled, then stepped out of the ballroom. A moment later, he returned to the chamber, walking easily, his chin up, limbs neither too loose nor too stiff.

“You didn’t duck your head or shuffle your feet,” she said approvingly. “It was a perfectly fine entrance.”

Sebastian’s expression brightened. She added to her mental tally of his smiles, which she’d happily review later. It wasn’t so much that his grins made him more handsome—he was already attractive—but she palpably felt his joy, his pleasure with existence.

“Perfectly fine is not acceptable,” the duke said, and Sebastian’s face clouded. She wanted to kick Rotherby.

Little knowing she wanted to do him bodily harm, Rotherby said, “Observe me enter the room.” He tugged on his beautifully fitted coat and waistcoat before striding past Sebastian into the hallway.

Sebastian stood beside Grace as they both awaited Rotherby. “I don’t know what I’m watching for,” he whispered to her.

“A display of dominance, perhaps?” she whispered back. “Puffed chest? His skin changing color?”

“That would be rather incredible. Rotherby inflating and turning bright purple.”

“He could set a new fashion.”

“Quiet, both of you,” the duke barked from the hallway.

Grace clamped her lips together, but she and Sebastian couldn’t quite suppress their snickers.

Their laughter died when Rotherby strolled into the ballroom. It wasn’t a walk so much as a sensuous prowl, his shoulders rolling with each step, his legs striding with leisurely purpose. Even the rake from Bond Street seemed clumsy by comparison.

No wonder the scandal rags were full of tales of Rotherby’s amorous conquests. Grace wasn’t attracted to him in the slightest, and merely watching the duke walk made her fuss with her hair and tug on the neckline of her dress.

“Ah,” Sebastian said.

“That’s . . . quite different.” Because she hadn’t been able to look away from the duke. He’d captured every ounce of her focus. “I felt your assurance in yourself. That’s the difference, isn’t it? Confidence in oneself.”

“Naturally, he feels confident,” Sebastian exclaimed. “He’s got pots of money and the face of a Renaissance painting.”

“Money doesn’t signify,” Rotherby said with a wave.

“But one’s attractiveness does.” Sebastian walked to the duke and poked his finger into the other man’s chest. “That’s indisputable. You are handsome. I am not.”

Rotherby looked with disbelief between Sebastian and Grace, his expression silently communicating, Are you hearing this, too?