My Fake Rake

“I’ll shout loudest of all.”

Still shaking from her revelation, she walked as briskly as she could across the field. Tall, wet grass clung to the hem of her skirts. Without Sebastian close by, the night was cooler, the dark night sky farther away. Should she have said something to Sebastian? That she shared his desire? There seemed no right answer. She was caught in a cyclone and had no bearings.

She neared the line of women waiting with the torchbearers.

“A fancy miss come to join us,” a woman in a blue dress said, but her voice was light with humor.

“Got her a fancy fellow, too,” a redhead teased. “He won’t beat my Charlie.”

“I thought there were no winners,” Grace said.

“No winners,” the woman in the blue dress agreed, “but who don’t love a good gloat?”

Grace took her place between the woman in blue and the redhead. “Then prepare yourself to listen to my man gloat.”

Heat rushed into her cheeks. Had she just referred to Sebastian as my man? It had slipped from her without thought. But he wasn’t her man.

She cupped her hands around her mouth. “You can do it, Sebastian! Trounce them all!”

Her heart leapt when he waved at her. Likely ladies of older times had the same jittery anticipation when waiting for their knights to take to the field.

“Look lively,” the redhead said. “I see Sam Dawkins with his blunderbuss.”

At the other end of the field, a gray-haired man hefted an ancient firearm and aimed it up and away from the field. He shouted something, then pulled the trigger. There was a flash, and a boom.

The men surged forward.

After a night of maneuvering through the treacherous waters of a society ball, he eagerly awaited the chance to use his body. Talking was difficult, physicality was easy.

“You can do it, Sebastian! Trounce them all!”

Energy surged through his body at Grace’s yelled encouragement.

“Oi,” a man with wide muttonchop whiskers said beside him. “Them long legs o’ yours are goin’ to carry you home in shame when I thrash you.” He nudged Seb with his elbow.

For a moment, his anxiousness returned, clutching him tight enough to steal his breath. But he made himself attentive to physical sensations: the air, saturated with advancing rain, the smell of the meadow, the voices of the racers as they good-naturedly provoked each other.

He drawled, “How delightful that they let children run in the race.”

The man with the muttonchops scowled for a bare moment before he grinned at Seb. “That’s the way of it, lad. But,” he added, “it’s a good thing your lass got soft silk skirts to wipe away your tears when you lose.”

Any rejoinder Seb might have offered scattered when a middle-aged man appeared with a large, exceptionally old firearm. The weapon discharged with a thunderous clap. Then there was no time for thinking or analysis or anything at all except running.

He shot forward into the night. Behind him, the crowd cheered. Ahead of him, women shouted encouragement. He couldn’t quite make out Grace’s voice in the midst of the clamor, but knowing she was there, waiting for him, cheering for him, his body pulsed with strength and speed.

Something heavy knocked into him. He fought to keep upright as Muttonchops rammed a shoulder into his side. All the racers jostled with each other, giving shoves and sticking out legs in an attempt to trip their competition.

Seb pushed back. Gratification roared when Muttonchops sprawled in the grass, but it was short-lived as his rival shot back onto his feet and sped forward.

The gleam of the torches grew as Seb neared the other end of the field. Grace jumped up and down as she yelled, “Trounce their sorry arses, Sebastian!”

Closer, closer.

A moment later, he and the other runners reached the line of women. There wasn’t time for grace or manners.

“Mount me.” Seb spun around and dropped to his knees.

Grace climbed onto his shoulders, and only when he got to his feet did he realize that her crotch pressed against the back of his head and his hands held tight to her thighs. Her soft flesh pressed against his face, soaking him in her heat. Primal awareness thrummed in him.

Fuck yes.

“Let’s go!” Grace cried.