My Fake Rake

So. That’s where Sebastian had gone rather than be with her.

And why shouldn’t he have a night out? He had every right to enjoy the fruits of his labors. To be a true rake.

Perhaps the fears that had held him back for so long no longer shackled him. Perhaps he could break free of them, even for a little while. A blossom of delight opened in her chest that, if he wasn’t entirely liberated from his anxiety, he knew better how to navigate life with it. That was truly something to be celebrated.

Happiness in his achievement made her eyes misty. She was so glad for him, so proud that he’d made that happen for himself.

“Are you all right, Lady Grace?” Mason asked with concern.

“It’s rather warm in here,” she said. “It’s making my eyes water a little.” She quickly used her knuckle to wipe away any incipient tears before they could fall.

Just then, Sebastian’s gaze found hers.

She froze, torn between pleasure and apprehension. Did her face betray the cyclone of emotions within her from merely looking at him?

“How delightful,” Mason said cheerfully beside her—though his voice sounded miles away to her. “He’s heading in our direction.”

Trepidation and hesitancy fell away the second Seb saw her. Until that very moment, he’d been uncertain about coming to the ball. Now, all the anxiety, all the doubt—they meant nothing to him to see Grace shine like a beacon of spring beneath the massive crystal chandeliers.

The low scooped neck of her pale green dress highlighted the elegance of her collarbones and the hollow of her throat. Between the bottom of her short, puffed sleeves and the top of her long white gloves, he could see delicious bands of bare skin, which had until this night been hidden by pelisses or spencers. She’d done something to her hair, too, so that it piled atop her head in the kind of fascinating curls that jumbled masculine thought. All he wanted to do was wrap those curls around his fingers and, with the lightest urging, pull her head back so he might bring his mouth to hers as he’d done before . . .

Objections rose up like flecks of foam upon the waves. He shouldn’t, couldn’t, think of her this way.

And yet. He did.

Rotherby said something to him but Seb couldn’t hear a word, his ears full of the sound of his thudding pulse.

His body moved without thought. All he knew was that he needed to shorten the distance between them. He had to inhale her fragrance and watch the air vibrate around her from the force of her unbreakable will.

He cleaved a path through the room, barely remembering to skirt around the dancers. A few more yards, and he’d be near her.

Too late, he realized that Fredericks stood beside her. And that the other man looked warmly at Grace.

The best thing to do was stay away. After all, she’d gotten what she wanted. Fredericks seemed enchanted. Seb’s presence wasn’t necessary—might actually impede the progress of Grace and Fredericks’s burgeoning attachment.

The hell with it.

He didn’t stop or divert his path. Not being near her was an impossibility. All he could do was heed the wordless demands of his body.

“Lady Grace.” He bowed, and his chest swelled to see a stain of pink rise in her cheeks. “Fredericks,” he added, because he wasn’t entirely a churl.

“Holloway, a pleasure to see you again,” Fredericks said with hearty bonhomie.

“Yes,” Grace added, her voice breathy. “A pleasure.”

The opening bars of a waltz curled through the ballroom. Couples positioned themselves on the floor, readying for the music to truly begin.

“This dance is promised to me,” Seb said. He held out his arm.

For a moment, Grace merely looked at his proffered arm, her expression alarmingly blank. God, had he put her in an uncomfortable position? Making her do anything against her will or wishes was intolerable.

“Unless,” he continued, trying to give her an exit, “you are feeling fatigued or—”

“We can dance if we want to.” She rested her hand on his sleeve, and though she’d done the same thing countless times before, seeing her gloved fingers atop the dark fabric of his coat sent a hot bolt of desire through him.

He guided her onto the dance floor, hardly sparing a thought or glance for Fredericks. All that mattered was Grace, shining and vivid beside him. Her gaze clung to his. They took their positions for the waltz—his right hand upon her waist, hers upon his shoulder, and their left hands clasped—and when the music began and they moved in the dance, everything melted away.