My Fake Rake

Despite their kiss, she had never thought that about Seb. And she never would, now that Fredericks had come to his senses and recognized her magnificence.

“Coming, Holloway?” Rotherby stood at the entrance to one of the boxes, eyeing Fredericks. He sent Seb a silent look. Need help? That look promised to beat Fredericks into an afterthought, if Seb gave the word.

That was friendship. The willingness to thrash another man at a moment’s notice.

But gratitude over Rotherby’s preparedness to commit violence couldn’t dispel the crackling, furious haze encircling Seb. The narrow corridor between the private boxes stifled him, and sitting through theatrical performances was absolutely impossible, not when Seb finally recognized how well and truly fucked he was.

He made himself smile, though it likely cracked at the edges.

“Another night, perhaps,” he said to Rotherby. He tipped his head at Fredericks. “Enjoy your evening, and best of luck with . . . with everything.”

Before Rotherby or Fredericks could respond, Seb turned on his heel and sped away. He didn’t stop, plowing down the stairs and through the lobby. He emerged from the theater and waved away offers of a cab. Instead, he paced so quickly down the street he practically ran. A film of sweat coated his back, making his fine shirt cling to his skin. But he didn’t care. He prayed the gymnasium he frequented was open at this late hour. It would be a fine night to perfect his pugilism skills, and, since he couldn’t very well punch himself, he had a blazing need to pound his fists into something.

The night of Viscount and Viscountess Marwood’s ball arrived, and despite Grace’s full knowledge of its approach, she couldn’t quell her nervousness.

As the family carriage rolled toward the hosts’ home, the vehicle was too well-sprung to rock excessively, yet Grace’s stomach churned all the same.

“Shall we turn back, dearest?” her mother asked gently. “You don’t need to put yourself through anything unpleasant.” She reached across the carriage to pat Grace’s hands twisted together.

Grace worked carefully to untangle her fingers. “Why would I think the viscount’s ball unpleasant? He and the viscountess are celebrated for their hospitality. I’m looking forward to tonight.”

“It’s been some time, though, hasn’t it?” Her mother regarded her with sympathy. “Since you’ve been to a ball. It’s reasonable to be uneasy about it.”

“My last few balls were . . . not especially pleasant.” It wasn’t entirely untrue. She’d vowed to herself after enduring one too many unwilling dance partners that she wouldn’t return unless she had a very good reason.

Tonight, she did have a reason, and that alone would engender worry in anybody. But her apprehension had another reason for being. Namely, whether or not Sebastian would attend tonight’s gala. The note he’d sent her confirmed that he would, in fact, be there. Yet after last night . . . she wasn’t certain.

Her hands wove back together in a snarl. Perhaps he had outgrown her. Perhaps he’d become so successful within Society that he’d moved on to better things, more exciting and advantageous people.

In truth, she could no longer hold him to their bargain. He’d accomplished the goal they’d set out for themselves. The handful of public appearances they had made together achieved her desired aim—she’d secured Mason Fredericks’s attention. Mason had even asked her to save him a dance at tonight’s ball. The thought sent a shiver of anticipation through her, even as she battled with her complicated emotions where Sebastian was concerned.

“I’ve something that will cheer you,” her mother said with a smile. “I believe Mr. Fredericks will be at Viscount Marwood’s tonight.”

“Will he?” Grace kept her words light, since she hadn’t discussed with her mother her encounter with Mason on Rotten Row. Better to remain silent on her promise of dancing with him.

“Go on, now, sweetheart.” Her mother pursed her lips in a playful smile. “Pretending to your own flesh and blood that you aren’t mad for that chap.”

Was she? She honestly didn’t know anymore. Something had changed—ever since she and Sebastian had kissed. She could no longer pretend that she wasn’t aware of him as a man. Yet if she was bold enough to tell him that perhaps they might be more than friends, he might tell her that he didn’t reciprocate her feelings, and everything would be ruined. She had to direct her attention to Mason.