My Fake Rake

Guests bowed and curtsied deeply when they greeted Rotherby, yet the men shook Seb’s hand vigorously and the women curtsied low enough to present views down the front of their gowns. Well.

He recalled Rotherby’s lessons on confidence, and how it originated from within. The rake on Bond Street had inhabited himself so effortlessly, as though he had nothing to prove.

Removing his own stakes wasn’t an easy task, but he tried to pretend that he was slightly amused by, nigh, indifferent to, the statuses of the people he met.

Seb tried to greet them all with his half smile. He’d murmur, “My pleasure,” or “My honor to meet you,” and then immediately ask a question about something—anything. If they were enjoying their Season, or what part of the Creasys’ gardens they liked best, or even the name of the ladies’ mantua maker so he might tell his mother where to have her gowns made. Perhaps he was mistaken, but it appeared that the ladies batted their eyelashes while giving him sidelong, lingering glances.

Did they . . . was it possible . . . they found him desirable? He smothered any sense of exultation—he couldn’t be confident. Not yet.

His unease at being with strangers simmered beneath his calm, but rather than shove it aside, he mentally nodded in acknowledgment. Yes, I see you, anxiousness. That simple act of accepting his fear’s presence somehow lessened it, and he breathed easier and easier.

He felt peaceful enough to quietly snicker as Rotherby looked bemused and then mildly annoyed that he was no longer the focus of everyone’s attention.

Seb could not quite keep track of everyone he met, but the guests included an archbishop, several powerful MPs, and Prinny’s closest confidants. The company was indeed rarified, and yet no one mattered to him quite so much as one person in particular. Grace was here, somewhere, but he couldn’t try to look for her, lest he tip his hand too soon that they were acquainted with each other.

This would be the first time she would see him in his new clothing, wearing the persona of the rake. And his anxiousness rose up again in an edgy surge, because of everyone’s opinions, hers mattered the most.

Grace couldn’t stop looking at Sebastian, watching his progress as he moved through the party. Even if her fate wasn’t inexorably tied with his, not looking at him wasn’t possible. In his new clothing, he was magnificent, yet she also sensed from him self-assurance that increased from minute to minute.

Apprehensive and curious, she glanced at Mason, standing beside a table of refreshments. Mason’s brow was furrowed with curiosity as he watched Sebastian’s progress through the party.

Grace’s belly fluttered. This was precisely the reaction they wanted to engender in Mason.

The trembling in her belly doubled when Lord and Lady Creasy guided Rotherby and Sebastian toward her family. Was this what actresses felt moments before they stepped in front of the stage lights? As if they might combust with nervousness and excitement and fear and hope?

“Your Grace,” Lord Creasy said to Rotherby, “I believe you know Lady Pembroke; her son, Lord Wale, and his wife, Lady Wale; and her daughter, Lady Grace.”

The duke bowed, and one couldn’t tell from his impassive civility that he and Grace and Sebastian had spent the last week in seclusion together. He was clearly an expert in navigating social waters.

“A pleasure to see you all again,” he drawled. He tipped his head toward Sebastian. “This is my good friend, Mr. Sebastian Holloway.”

“Honored to make your acquaintance,” Sebastian said. After bowing, he effortlessly bent over Grace’s mother’s hand, and did the same for Anne.

His attention turned to Grace, and the world slid to a stop.

She knew in her mind, she knew, that the look of deep, sensuous interest in his gaze was strictly for show. Her body, however, had not received the missive. Every nerve came alive. She felt the spring breeze across her face and upper chest, and sensed the sun’s warmth on her flesh—or the heat came from within her and she confused Sebastian with the sun. Easy enough to do, when staring at him dazzled her.

He narrowed the distance between them and took her hand in his. Energy sparked at his touch. She couldn’t blink or breathe or move as he kissed the air above her knuckles, his gaze never leaving hers.