My Fake Rake

“Mr. Holloway,” her mother said loftily, as if she hadn’t reversed years of her usual custom to see him.

“Lady Pembroke,” Sebastian murmured. He turned to Grace—a jolt of awareness shot through her when their gazes met—and bowed again. “Lady Grace.”

She nodded in response, but said nothing. Her wildly beating heart seemed to have lodged itself in her windpipe, making it impossible to speak.

“My thanks for welcoming me, Lady Pembroke. I realize it’s somewhat unusual for a man of my standing to be given the honor of being received in your home.”

“You are an intimate of His Grace, the Duke of Rotherby,” her mother said indulgently.

“In truth,” Sebastian replied, striking a pose that appeared entirely effortless but also displayed his long body beautifully, “I left his company not but a quarter of an hour ago.”

Her mother smiled, and Grace felt as though she was watching a play where she recognized the actors but had absolutely no idea how the plot would unfold. Was she the audience, another member of the cast? She had no idea.

“Much as I enjoyed our discussion at the Creasys’ gathering,” her mother said, “I’m not certain that my voice is ready for singing today.” Her hand fluttered at her throat.

“I’ve a collection of early songs and ballads,” Sebastian replied, smiling. “We could perform duets another time. Your clear soprano will be a delight to hear.”

Her mother preened. “I observe that you are wearing gloves suitable for driving. Did you just come from a jaunt?”

“If Lady Grace would favor me with her company,” he said breezily, “it would be my honor to have her accompany me on a drive down Rotten Row.”

Even though Grace knew perfectly well that the invitation was coming, it still sent a pulse of exhilaration through her body.

Her mother glanced at her—silently seeking Grace’s answer. Ah, bless her. Not every woman had parents who would do nothing without permission.

She gave her mother a small nod.

“By all means,” her mother said. “Only, you must take your maid with you.”

Only that morning, Grace had given Katie a new salacious novel—purchased earlier that week at McKinnon’s—which would keep her maid well occupied. “I’ll go up and get my things.”

She hurried out of the drawing room, conscious of two sets of eyes on her as she departed the chamber, and took the stairs to her bedroom as quickly as she could without thundering loudly on the steps. Still, excitement urged her to climb the stairs quickly.

In her bedchamber, she found Katie seated on the floor, beside the fire, already deep into the new book. Her maid guiltily climbed to her feet and tucked the volume behind her back when Grace entered.

“There’ll be time enough for that in just a few minutes,” Grace said, nodding at Katie’s hidden hand. “We’re going for a drive with Sebastian.”

Katie squinted at her. “My lady? Do you mean we’re heading to Hampstead Heath to look at them wriggly, scaly things?”

“I mean,” Grace said, planting her hands on her hips, “that we’re going to Rotten Row with Mr. Holloway. No reptiles or amphibians will be involved in the afternoon’s activities.” When her maid continued to stare at her in disbelief, Grace added, “My spencer and bonnet, Katie. Now.”

The maid snapped out of her astonished reverie and then dove into the clothespress. She couldn’t be faulted for being surprised. It wasn’t as though Grace made a habit of driving with gentlemen, as if she were any other marriageable young woman.

Fifteen minutes later, Grace descended the stairs, clad in a straw bonnet and pale blue spencer that her modiste had insisted on, declaring the garment wonderfully flattering for Grace’s eyes and complexion. She hoped Sebastian liked how she looked in it.

This is for Mason, of course.

Of course.

Katie waited in the foyer as Grace approached the drawing room, from which emanated the sound of her mother laughing. Looking into the chamber, she found her mother wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. Sebastian regarded her mother with a faint smile, but that smile widened when he caught sight of her.