My Fake Rake

I want him to always look like this. Enthralled. Happy.

When the men’s dance finished, the same barrel-chested man strode into the middle of the green with his arms upraised. The music stopped and voices quieted.

“Now comes the best part o’ the night,” he announced. “The Lass-Lifting Race!”

A cheer went up.

“Your pardon,” Sebastian said to a passing bearded man. “I’ve heard about this but I don’t know what it is—the Lass-Lifting Race.”

A grin split the man’s face. “On a field just past the church, the lustiest lads race toward their lasses, then they pick ’em up, put ’em on their shoulders, and the two of ’em turn around and race back. Plenty o’ mischief, both ways.”

More giddiness coursed through her. This was very far from a ballroom—and she adored it. “What do the winners receive?”

“Win?” The man scratched his head. “Ain’t no winners, missus. At the end, everyone gets strawberry and rhubarb pies, and the night’s over.”

“Looks like it might rain.” Grace glanced at the cloudy sky.

“Then we just get nice an’ muddy,” the man said with good humor. He peered at Sebastian. “You running, my lad and lass?”

Sebastian opened his mouth as if to immediately decline. But then he glanced at her, a mischievous light in his eyes. “Shall we?”

The idea of Sebastian carrying her on his shoulders while they ran across a field in the middle of the night was . . . delightful. She felt every inch of his skin where their hands interwove. She’d feel even more of him if he carried her.

“Oh, yes,” she answered.

Sebastian beamed at her and she beamed right back. They would have gone on grinning at each other like fools if the bearded man hadn’t said, “Best get a move on, you two. They’re taking their places on the field as we speak. Don’t want to be late starting or else they throw parsnips at you.”

The man ambled off.

Most of the revelers streamed out of the square and toward the church. Several dogs accompanied the procession, barking with excitement, while men carried torches to light the way.

“This truly is mad,” Grace felt compelled to point out to Sebastian.

“So it is,” he said jauntily.

They both hurried after the villagers. She had impressions of a few shops, and more cottages, many with tidy gardens. Fences bent with time lined the dirt road that led them past the church to a vast, dark expanse. People with torches stood to one side of the field, and about a hundred yards away, more villagers with flickering torches marked the other end of the meadow.

At the closer side of the field, men ranging in age from barely into their teens to hovering close to middle age prepared themselves for the race with deep knee bends, stretches, and arm swings. Almost all of them had shucked their coats and waistcoats, and some boasted brawny, burly frames, while others were lean and pared down. Women stood with the torchbearers at the far end, and they called out encouragement to the men.

“Better ready yourself, fine sir,” a villager cried to Sebastian.

To her dismay, Sebastian released her hand, but to her delight, he pulled off his coat, waistcoat, and neckcloth. The fine fabric of his shirt clung to him, and she wished there was a precedent for running the race bare-chested. Alas, it was not to be, yet she still enjoyed the sight of him in only his shirtsleeves.

He caught her ogling him, and instead of a look of warm amiability, he sent her a smile she could feel between her legs.

What she felt for him was far from friendship—but she didn’t want to call an end to tonight. She wanted it to last forever, the air crackling, though she couldn’t tell if it was from the incipient storm or the pull between them.

With a start, she realized he felt the attraction, too. And it all made sense now, the dance they’d shared at the ball, and the tension between them in the carriage on the way here.

He wanted her. As she wanted him. Their kiss had planted the seed, and now it flowered brightly.

Maybe it was only physical attraction, but it still ensnared her, still called to her.

“Off you go.” He nodded toward the other side of the field. “And be certain to cheer for me.”