My Fake Rake

She shrugged helplessly. The mysteries of the human mind confounded her, but Sebastian’s mind was even more complex.

“Good God, Holloway,” the duke burst out. “Are there no mirrors in your home? Do you avoid looking in shop windows? Is your vision that bad?”

“My own reflection is uninteresting to me,” Sebastian answered.

“Tell him,” Rotherby said to Grace.

Panic skittered down her spine as Sebastian looked at her with a mixture of bafflement and expectation. She could throttle the duke for putting her in such an awkward position. But . . . Sebastian needed to know.

“You’re—” She drew in a breath. Here I go. “Extremely attractive.”

He frowned. “I am?”

“You are,” she said as her cheeks went up in flames. “Don’t you know that?”

“I don’t know why I would.”

The utter perplexity in his voice wrung her heart. A surge of anger moved through her, and she wished she could find his father to give the man a good shaking. John Holloway had implanted in his son such terrible doubt that no matter what Sebastian encountered later in life, regardless of who told him otherwise, he’d always believe he wasn’t good enough.

“You only require a bit of barbering,” the duke said. He peered closely at Sebastian. “How necessary are your spectacles?”

Sebastian brought his fingers up to rest on the wire temple of his spectacles. “Not essential. I only need them for reading, but,” he added, “I wear them all the time to save myself the trouble of finding the blasted things and putting them on whenever I open a book. Lost too many pairs of spectacles that way.”

“Take them off,” Rotherby commanded.

“‘Please take them off,’” Grace said with a pointed look at the duke. “I don’t care if you’re one of the peerage’s most influential men. Rudeness is not your given right.”

Sebastian coughed but did not quite hide his laughter. “About time someone deflated your balloon.”

“Please take off your spectacles,” Rotherby said grudgingly.

“Only because you asked so nicely.” After a moment, Sebastian plucked them from his face. Then he gazed at her with resignation. “You see? A substantially ordinary face.”

“Oh, Sebastian.” Grace shook her head. She took his hand and led him to a gilt-framed mirror that would, during a ball, reflect the light of hundreds of candles. She stood him before the mirror and he beheld himself wearily. “You really cannot see it?”

“It’s only me,” he said.

“Dolt,” Rotherby muttered.

Grace threw the duke another This is not helpful look before turning her attention back to Sebastian. She had to convince him, had to make him understand that he was so much more than he believed.

“You are handsome,” she said with sincerity. “Remarkably so. With your spectacles and without them.”

“You truly think so?” This was asked with genuine curiosity.

“I do. However,” she added, “what’s most important is your comfort. Wear the spectacles if you prefer.”

Sebastian turned from the mirror. “I have a better chance of playing the rake without them, don’t I, Rotherby?”

“Truthfully, yes,” the duke answered.

“Then I won’t wear them.” Sebastian slid the glasses into his pocket, and Rotherby nodded with approval.

Gazing at Sebastian, a strange double sensation pierced Grace. He was and was not Sebastian, the friend and colleague she’d known for years. She missed him, but he was right here, with the face and form of a Viking, and she could no longer feign ignorance of him as a man. That convenient lie was unable to stand with every hour spent in his presence.

Mentally, she shook herself. Her thoughts wanted corralling, and she had to keep her focus on the goal—Mason.

“To review,” Rotherby said, lifting one finger, “we know you’re handsome. We know,” he continued, raising another finger, “that you’re intelligent. That’s so, isn’t it, Grace?”

She nodded. At least this she could admit without delving into perilous terrain. “Exceptionally.”