My Fake Rake

He could have been anyone. A good man, a terrible man, but he was to be admired because he possessed an expensive vehicle.

How bloody strange.

She said pensively, “It’s hard to remember that beneath your polish, you’re still the same Sebastian—my friend.”

“I’m still me,” he agreed neutrally. He was her friend, and it wasn’t right or reasonable to want more from her. Remember that.

“Is it . . .” she asked lowly, “. . . very uncomfortable, pretending to be someone else?”

“It’s as though . . .” He struggled to put words to things he’d never fully articulated, not even to himself. “I am still me, only with a bit more . . . gloss. Like lacquer over rough wood.”

She nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”

They’d almost reached the entrance to Rotten Row, full of men and women on horseback or slowly riding in vehicles just as luxurious and expensive as the curricle, in calculated displays of wealth and standing.

“I hope,” he said to her, “you never change to please anyone.”

Her voice was almost too soft to be heard above the surrounding din. “I won’t. I am who I am, and I’m happy with that.”

A fraction of tension left his body. “That’s good.” He made the turn onto Rotten Row, joining the throng. “And now the curtain goes up on the next act of the performance.”

The sights and sounds—and scents—of Rotten Row were all new to Grace. Not once in the course of her few, unimpressive Seasons had she ever ventured onto the famed path, given that there was little chance of spotting any reptiles or amphibians on the gravel and tan track. There were, however, horses in abundance. And many, many people.

Vehicles and people atop horses traveled along the path at a sedate pace, ensuring not just safety, but also the greater opportunities to see and be observed. There were expensive vehicles of every variety, including spindly phaetons driven by dashing gentlemen, and open-topped carriages holding groups of people. Men and women in smart riding clothes sat atop sleek horses, hacking up and down the track.

As a mating display, it certainly was far more extravagant than anything she’d observed within the amphibious and reptile world. But fascinating, nonetheless.

The pageantry was slightly undercut by the earthy smell of horse manure. Which seemed rather apt.

“I don’t see Mason,” she said under her breath as she scanned the path. “Perhaps we’ve missed him.” While she felt a prickle of disappointment, she couldn’t help but be glad for more time alone with Sebastian.

When she’d asked him to fill the role of rake and faux suitor, she’d done so with specific intentions. Mason was precisely the sort of man that she could envision as her husband. Intelligent, scientifically minded, witty. She’d been certain he was the man she wanted to marry. Yet these past weeks with Sebastian clouded her judgment and left her deeply confused.

She’d asked him to help her, because he was her friend. He’d undertaken this task for his own gain, yes, but also for the sake of their friendship. Were she to suddenly turn to him and announce, Sorry but I’m developing feelings for you, which violates the terms of our agreement and likely isn’t what you want at all—well, she’d ruin what she and Sebastian shared. How could he trust her, especially because she didn’t know her own heart?

She had to stay silent, and stay fast to her plan of attracting Mason.

“If we provide the onlookers with an overt display of flirtation,” Sebastian suggested in a low voice, “it’s certain that word will reach Fredericks via the usual conduits of information.”

He nodded toward a trio of women in a carriage, their gazes all fastened on him and Grace. Two gentlemen on horseback also craned their necks to get a better look at both the curricle and the people riding in it.

“So odd,” Grace murmured. “Being the object of people’s positive attention.”

He looked at her, his expression pensive and a little sad. “Was it very terrible for you, your debut?”

Rather than give in to the corrosive memory, she made herself chuckle. “Humans are far more vicious than animals.”