by Eva Leigh
But once the words had silently sounded in his head, he couldn’t unthink them. Because she was lovely, and simply looking at her when she talked of the creatures she loved to study made his chest tight and his pulse kick.
Oh, hell.
This was what came of spending so much time with her. His captivation with her grew from minute to minute.
“Reptiles and amphibians are wonderful animals,” she continued, her face lighting up as she spoke. “Just because they don’t have fur or adorable faces, people hate them. And Linnaeus didn’t help anything, either.” She scowled. “He called them ‘abhorrent,’ said they were filthy and fierce and offensive.”
“Clearly,” Seb said on a growl, “Linnaeus’s biases shaped what ought to be perfectly objective science.”
“What’s perfectly objective?” Grace asked. She took a sip of her drink. “Humans are flawed devices. Everything we see, think, and do is colored by individual preferences, dislikes, and fractured logic.” She leaned forward, the firelight shining brilliantly in her eyes. “Anyone who claims there is such a thing as objective truth is wrong.”
“My gut churns when I read Westerners’ accounts of other societies.” His jaw firmed with distaste. “Many of them drip with a sense of cultural and racial superiority—and they twist science to defend abhorrent ideas and practices.”
“Beg pardon,” Rotherby drawled, “but are we going to turn Holloway into a rake, or are we going to hold a symposium?”
Damn—Seb had almost forgotten their objective. As always, their conversation enthralled him. He didn’t want it to end.
Clearly, his disappointment showed in his face because she chuckled as she looked at him fondly.
“That’s all right, Sebastian,” Grace said. “We’ll talk at length later.”
“Looking forward to it.” His friends were fine men, and good men, but even fellow intellectual Rowe could never quite follow him down the winding paths of his theoretical musings. It was the same with the other scholars at the Benezra Library. Where his mind wandered, they couldn’t follow.
The only person he knew who kept pace with him was . . . Grace. There was no one like her.
“If we’re done with the academic portion of the afternoon,” Rotherby announced, “it’s time for Holloway to attempt what we saw on Bond Street. And,” he added, looking pointedly at Seb, “you’re going to practice on Lady Grace.”
Grace didn’t miss the way color fled Sebastian’s cheeks. He swallowed audibly.
“Here?” he asked, his voice tight. “Now?”
“Yes to both,” Rotherby said. “You’ve less than a week to become a rake. Time is critical.”
When Sebastian opened his mouth, then shut it again without speaking, looking utterly horrified, she stood and cleared the knot of chagrin from her throat. Both Sebastian and Rotherby launched to their feet.
“It’s merely flirtation with me, Sebastian. Rotherby isn’t asking us to copulate on the ballroom floor.”
She heard the sharpness in her voice, but, sod it, he seemed appalled by merely the notion of pretending to find her attractive.
“It’s only . . .” He dragged his hand through his hair. “Performing for an audience isn’t my ideal situation. Easier for me to be overlooked.”
Her heart softened. She’d witnessed what happened to him when he was around people he didn’t know, and while it was painful to watch, it surely felt worse for him. On top of that, she understood from experience that when she feared something, merely thinking about it was almost worse than the thing itself.
“We’ll take it step by step,” she said. “Just a bit at a time, so you can become accustomed to having people’s attention.”
“And you’ll need to be comfortable having everyone’s eyes on you,” Rotherby said, setting his hands on his hips. “We want everything you do to be seen by Society—especially Mason Fredericks.”
Grace threw the duke a sharp look that said clearly, You aren’t helping. Sebastian needed patience, not pressure.
Sebastian rubbed at his chin, appearing to mull over what both she and Rotherby had said.
“You might not believe in yourself,” she said with an encouraging smile, “but I believe in you.”
He drew in a long, ragged breath before straightening to his full height—as if drawing confidence from her words. “Let’s launch this ship.”
Thank you, Grace mouthed silently. A slight flush stained his cheeks, and his smile was adorably boyish. And though she’d always liked to see him smile, now she anticipated his grins as if awaiting a much-desired gift. Perhaps she could make him smile more if she told him jokes. There was also tickling . . . but she’d never heard anyone say, “Thank you for tickling me.”
She’d have to find other ways of enticing smiles from Sebastian. Her belly fluttered at the prospect.
“Do I walk?” he asked Rotherby.
“The less you think about walking the better.” The duke chopped his hand through the air. “Put it out of your mind. What I want from you is to practice attitude.”
“How does one do that?” she asked.
“The hell if I know,” Sebastian exclaimed.
Rotherby strode to Sebastian and placed his hands on Sebastian’s shoulders. “Come into the room as if you’re about to walk into that library where you go. Do only that. Nothing more.”
“All right.” Sebastian exhaled, then stepped out of the ballroom. A moment later, he returned to the chamber, walking easily, his chin up, limbs neither too loose nor too stiff.
“You didn’t duck your head or shuffle your feet,” she said approvingly. “It was a perfectly fine entrance.”
Sebastian’s expression brightened. She added to her mental tally of his smiles, which she’d happily review later. It wasn’t so much that his grins made him more handsome—he was already attractive—but she palpably felt his joy, his pleasure with existence.
“Perfectly fine is not acceptable,” the duke said, and Sebastian’s face clouded. She wanted to kick Rotherby.
Little knowing she wanted to do him bodily harm, Rotherby said, “Observe me enter the room.” He tugged on his beautifully fitted coat and waistcoat before striding past Sebastian into the hallway.
Sebastian stood beside Grace as they both awaited Rotherby. “I don’t know what I’m watching for,” he whispered to her.
“A display of dominance, perhaps?” she whispered back. “Puffed chest? His skin changing color?”
“That would be rather incredible. Rotherby inflating and turning bright purple.”
“He could set a new fashion.”
“Quiet, both of you,” the duke barked from the hallway.
Grace clamped her lips together, but she and Sebastian couldn’t quite suppress their snickers.
Their laughter died when Rotherby strolled into the ballroom. It wasn’t a walk so much as a sensuous prowl, his shoulders rolling with each step, his legs striding with leisurely purpose. Even the rake from Bond Street seemed clumsy by comparison.
No wonder the scandal rags were full of tales of Rotherby’s amorous conquests. Grace wasn’t attracted to him in the slightest, and merely watching the duke walk made her fuss with her hair and tug on the neckline of her dress.
“Ah,” Sebastian said.
“That’s . . . quite different.” Because she hadn’t been able to look away from the duke. He’d captured every ounce of her focus. “I felt your assurance in yourself. That’s the difference, isn’t it? Confidence in oneself.”
“Naturally, he feels confident,” Sebastian exclaimed. “He’s got pots of money and the face of a Renaissance painting.”
“Money doesn’t signify,” Rotherby said with a wave.
“But one’s attractiveness does.” Sebastian walked to the duke and poked his finger into the other man’s chest. “That’s indisputable. You are handsome. I am not.”
Rotherby looked with disbelief between Sebastian and Grace, his expression silently communicating, Are you h
earing this, too?
She shrugged helplessly. The mysteries of the human mind confounded her, but Sebastian’s mind was even more complex.
“Good God, Holloway,” the duke burst out. “Are there no mirrors in your home? Do you avoid looking in shop windows? Is your vision that bad?”
“My own reflection is uninteresting to me,” Sebastian answered.
“Tell him,” Rotherby said to Grace.
Panic skittered down her spine as Sebastian looked at her with a mixture of bafflement and expectation. She could throttle the duke for putting her in such an awkward position. But . . . Sebastian needed to know.
“You’re—” She drew in a breath. Here I go. “Extremely attractive.”
He frowned. “I am?”
“You are,” she said as her cheeks went up in flames. “Don’t you know that?”
“I don’t know why I would.”
The utter perplexity in his voice wrung her heart. A surge of anger moved through her, and she wished she could find his father to give the man a good shaking. John Holloway had implanted in his son such terrible doubt that no matter what Sebastian encountered later in life, regardless of who told him otherwise, he’d always believe he wasn’t good enough.
“You only require a bit of barbering,” the duke said. He peered closely at Sebastian. “How necessary are your spectacles?”
Sebastian brought his fingers up to rest on the wire temple of his spectacles. “Not essential. I only need them for reading, but,” he added, “I wear them all the time to save myself the trouble of finding the blasted things and putting them on whenever I open a book. Lost too many pairs of spectacles that way.”
“Take them off,” Rotherby commanded.
“‘Please take them off,’” Grace said with a pointed look at the duke. “I don’t care if you’re one of the peerage’s most influential men. Rudeness is not your given right.”
Sebastian coughed but did not quite hide his laughter. “About time someone deflated your balloon.”
“Please take off your spectacles,” Rotherby said grudgingly.
“Only because you asked so nicely.” After a moment, Sebastian plucked them from his face. Then he gazed at her with resignation. “You see? A substantially ordinary face.”
“Oh, Sebastian.” Grace shook her head. She took his hand and led him to a gilt-framed mirror that would, during a ball, reflect the light of hundreds of candles. She stood him before the mirror and he beheld himself wearily. “You really cannot see it?”
“It’s only me,” he said.
“Dolt,” Rotherby muttered.
Grace threw the duke another This is not helpful look before turning her attention back to Sebastian. She had to convince him, had to make him understand that he was so much more than he believed.
“You are handsome,” she said with sincerity. “Remarkably so. With your spectacles and without them.”
“You truly think so?” This was asked with genuine curiosity.
“I do. However,” she added, “what’s most important is your comfort. Wear the spectacles if you prefer.”
Sebastian turned from the mirror. “I have a better chance of playing the rake without them, don’t I, Rotherby?”
“Truthfully, yes,” the duke answered.
“Then I won’t wear them.” Sebastian slid the glasses into his pocket, and Rotherby nodded with approval.
Gazing at Sebastian, a strange double sensation pierced Grace. He was and was not Sebastian, the friend and colleague she’d known for years. She missed him, but he was right here, with the face and form of a Viking, and she could no longer feign ignorance of him as a man. That convenient lie was unable to stand with every hour spent in his presence.
Mentally, she shook herself. Her thoughts wanted corralling, and she had to keep her focus on the goal—Mason.
“To review,” Rotherby said, lifting one finger, “we know you’re handsome. We know,” he continued, raising another finger, “that you’re intelligent. That’s so, isn’t it, Grace?”
She nodded. At least this she could admit without delving into perilous terrain. “Exceptionally.”
Fortunately, Sebastian did not try to refute this. In the minimum, he could recognize his value when it came to his mind.
“Intelligence is considered quite attractive,” the duke said.
“In men,” she added wryly.
“Er, well, yes,” Rotherby said. “We can discuss that problematic notion another time. At present, we are focusing on Holloway. He has all the attributes that are an irresistible lure to women, and to people en masse. He only has to believe that about himself.” The duke turned to Sebastian and pointed at the door to the ballroom. “Come back into the chamber with the same confidence you’d present a paper to colleagues you’ve known for years.”
Sebastian furrowed his brow. “What’s the topic of the paper?”
“Does it matter?” Rotherby shot back. “Pick something.”
“How about the kinship structures of the Basques people located in the Guipúzcoa province?”
“That’s fine,” the duke bit out.
“Or perhaps I could focus on the Vizcaya province instead—”
“Sebastian,” Grace said gently. “Please. Just do it.”
“Yes. Right. Fine.” He flexed his hands before leaving the ballroom.
A moment later, he strode back in. His posture was upright but not stiff, his gait steady with a very slight roll. In fact, if Grace had to pick a word to describe Sebastian’s walk, she’d have to say swagger. He swaggered into the ballroom, his expression full of self-assurance, and his long body beautifully displayed.
Heat rushed through her, followed immediately by cold worry.
Oh, dear.
She could not allow herself to develop an attraction to Sebastian. Not when he’d agreed to help her ensnare the man who perfectly matched her ideal husband.
Rotherby clapped his hands together. “Much better.”
“Helps that without my spectacles,” Sebastian said with a nod, “everything is a little hazy around the edges.”
Good—hopefully he couldn’t see the way she’d salivated at the sight of him.
“Excellent progress,” the duke said. “That’s how we want you entering a space from now on.”
Sebastian pulled a small notebook and pencil from his coat. “Need to write all this down.” His pencil moved across the page, and a crease of concentration appeared between his eyebrows.
If only she also had something to occupy her attention, something to distract her from all his handsome scholarly glory. Perhaps she could practice her pianoforte. But marching to the instrument and banging out Bach in the middle of Sebastian’s rake lesson might be a trifle distracting.
“We haven’t much time,” Rotherby went on once Sebastian put the notebook away, “so we’ll move on to the next task. I want you to look at Grace.”
Fresh panic shot through her. “Look at me?” Her voice came out in a squeak. No, no. She did not want him to observe her while she attempted to disguise her awareness of him. “How?”
“Permit me to demonstrate.” The duke walked to her and came to a stop a close, but respectable, distance away.
He gazed at her. As though she was utterly fascinating. Nothing else but her mattered, his eyes told her silently.
She ought to feel dazzled . . . Ought to.
“Your thoughts, madam?” he asked.
“It was . . .” She considered it. “. . . moderately intriguing.”
“Moderately?” Rotherby grumbled.
“Pleasant enough. I didn’t feel faint, or forget that it’s three more hours until supper.” It was a relief, knowing that she could feel so little by way of attraction. Whatever it was she struggled with in relation to Sebastian, surely it could be mastered. It was merely a bump in the long road of their friendship. She could look at him and feel the same platonic camaraderie she’d always permitted herself.
The duke scowled, causing S
ebastian to snort. “Fine. You try it, Holloway.”
Despite the assurances she’d given herself, dread jolted her. She didn’t want more proof that Sebastian could affect her. “Is that necessary?”
“It is,” Rotherby said. “He must practice. That’s the only way for him to overcome his fear, and to gain confidence.”
Blast.
She forced herself to smile encouragingly as Sebastian came forward, edging Rotherby aside.
Sebastian stood less than two feet from her. And then the world went still as he looked at her. He was motionless as he dipped his chin slightly so that he regarded her with thrilling intensity. It was as though the speed of her pulse was somehow tied to the steadiness in his gaze. The longer he looked at her, the faster her heartbeat raced.
She couldn’t break from his gaze, held in place by the warmth and depth of his crystal blue eyes.
Be here with me now, he said wordlessly. You and I exist alone together. I want to be with you and you only.
Her fear shifted into pleasure. She fell into that pleasure without cessation, without caring if she stopped. She wanted this sensation to last forever, to be, at last, the center of someone’s universe.
“How is that, madam?” the duke said with a hint of irritation.
“It’s . . .” Terrifying. Wonderful. Mystifying. “. . . Nice.”
Rotherby clapped his hand on Sebastian’s shoulder, who seemed to surface from the depth of his focus. “Nice is better than nothing. Felicitations, old man. You’re well on your way to becoming a rake.”
“Thank you,” Sebastian said, but his voice sounded far away. As though he was still in that secret, special place with Grace, occupied by him and her.
She had to walk away. Had to go to the window and look out at empty space to collect herself, because all that she knew or understood was changing.
Sebastian was her friend. But their friendship had slipped its bonds and now ran free in the open field of possibility. Yet she had no idea where it would go, and her own heart offered no guidance or restraint.
This might be a problem.
Chapter 8