My Fake Rake

by Eva Leigh

  “We did, sir,” the maid said. “I like Cook’s cress sandwiches the best. Taste like summer.”

  For a terrifying moment, Seb’s mind emptied and he could think of nothing to say in reply. But as he struggled to speak, the groom said, “Sure and the sandwiches are nice, but nothing tops Cook’s plum cakes.”

  “And who can argue with a plum cake?” Seb said with a sage nod. “It’s categorically known to be the most delicious of all cakes.”

  The groom and maid chuckled, and within moments, Seb and his companions were chatting easily. In fact, only when Rotherby and Grace appeared beside him did he realize that he’d lost track of the minutes. Grace nodded her thanks to the groom and the maid before she, Seb, and Rotherby retreated to one corner of the ballroom.

  “That seemed to go rather well,” she said, and her praise sifted through him warmly.

  “The dragon I thought I’d face turned out to be only a large lizard.” He glanced at her and said quickly, “But no reptilian life was slain. We had a nice conversation, instead. Although,” he said as a grim thought struck him, “surely they thought I was a buffoon.”

  “How do you know?” Grace tilted her head as she posed this question. “Did they say to you, My goodness, you’re quite silly?”

  “Well . . . no. But perhaps you instructed them to be polite.” That had to be it. Otherwise—was it possible that all this time, he’d been misconstruing what he believed people thought of him?

  The idea was galvanizing.

  “Before you arrived,” Grace said, “Rotherby and I asked them to act as naturally and unaffectedly as possible. And I assured them that there’d be no punishment for their honesty.”

  “Truth is, Holloway,” Rotherby added, “even a man as abundant in intelligence, influence, and charm as I can’t know what’s happening in someone else’s mind. Surely, it’s the same for you. Unless . . .” Rotherby narrowed his eyes. “You were the product of an unholy union between an ironmonger and a witch. Come to think of it, you do often mumble incantations under your breath whilst poring over ancient tomes.”

  “If I was a witch’s son, don’t you think I would conjure myself a less arrogant friend?” But Seb and Rotherby shared a grin.

  Grace shook her head at them, yet she smiled as she spoke. “My mother’s advice to me before my come out, and I was nervous about trying to converse with England’s most polished diamonds, was to ask the people I talked with many questions. Wish I’d listened to her,” she added, her expression briefly darkening.

  God, what Seb wouldn’t do to take that pain away. It enraged him, that the world of the ton was so blind and stupid and hurtful.

  Before he realized what he was doing, he’d taken her hand and given it an encouraging squeeze. His breath held—other than his holding her whilst they danced, he’d never before taken the initiative to touch her. Nothing had ever felt quite as good as her returning the squeeze. It made the pleasure he’d felt at successfully talking with strangers pale into the color of ash, as the point of contact between them bloomed color throughout his body.

  Yet his stomach clenched in disappointment when, a moment later, she let go of his hand. For the best, in truth. He’d be unable to pay attention to anything Rotherby said if he and Grace touched.

  “Nothing people love so much as to talk about themselves,” Rotherby said, unaware of the tiny drama being enacted in front of him. “Keep bringing the topic back to them, they consider you the most spectacular conversationalist and a sterling example of humanity.”

  Wryly, Seb said, “We all know that I am, in truth, as diabolical and nefarious as one of Bonaparte’s spies.”

  “I’ve something for you.” Grace hurried to a small table and grabbed a folded item resting on top of it. She returned and held the item out to him. Gingerly, Seb took it, feeling soft leather against his skin. A pair of gentleman’s gloves. “In case you start to fret about what to say or what someone’s thinking, direct your attention to the sensation of these gloves in your hand.”

  As he stroked his fingers back and forth across the leather, he did, in truth, sense himself firmly anchored in the present moment rather than spin off into worry.

  Marveling, he said to Grace, “These ideas of yours, they’re ingenious.”

  Her cheeks pinkened. “I thought to myself, if I was in the grips of anxiousness, what would be the gentlest means of getting past that? Because you can’t just beat the mind into submission,” she added with a look at Rotherby. His friend spread his hands in acknowledgment of his failed strategy.

  Soft warmth spread along Seb’s limbs, spreading into his heart, which seemed to fill his chest. She worked so hard to help him overcome the obstacle of his fear.

  “Are you feeling up to trying again?” Grace asked. She glanced at the three remaining people he hadn’t yet spoken to. They’d risen from the tea table, and talked amongst themselves near the pianoforte.

  He inhaled slowly, and let out a long exhalation. “Ready to scale the dizzying heights of social success.”

  With the gloves in his hand, and his breathing steady, Seb approached the trio.

  It wasn’t perfect. He stammered at the onset, and twice used the feel of the gloves to keep him centered on the present moment. But the mind-numbing terror waned, he asked questions, listened to the answers, and his attempts at humor weren’t met with blank stares. The people themselves had fascinating stories to tell. One maid had come all the way from Northumberland to help pay for her brother’s medical education in Scotland. A footman had secret ambitions to open a dress shop that catered to the rising ranks of the bourgeoisie.

  Seb was actually disappointed when Rotherby and Grace came to collect him.

  “It was an honor to meet you,” Seb murmured to the trio, then said to the woman from Northumberland, “and be sure to have your brother write me. I know fine men at the medical university in Glasgow that he should meet.”

  “Thank you, sir!”

  “Excellently done,” Rotherby said as they ambled off.

  Over her shoulder, Grace announced to the gathered servants, “Thank you all for your assistance. That will be all for today.” She turned back to Seb, smiling widely. “You ought to feel proud of yourself.”

  “Proud,” he said truthfully, “and exhausted.” It was as though he’d run around the garden a hundred times rather than three. Clouds filled his head and he longed for some quiet corner of the world in which he could take shelter for a few moments.

  “Then we’ve done enough for today.” Grace’s words were decisive. “It’s time for some respite.”

  Chapter 11

  “I cannot imagine why Rotherby didn’t want to join us.” Grace gently pushed aside tall grasses and carefully stepped forward, testing to make certain the ground beneath her was both stable and free from any creatures who might object to being trod upon. In one arm, she carried a woolen blanket. “It’s a perfectly lovely day.”

  Sebastian followed in the path she created, moving his big body with surprising agility. “Not much for field excursions, the duke. Rotherby’s more comfortable harrumphing in Parliament or smoking a cheroot in the study.” He squinted with pleasure at the afternoon sun blazing overhead, hanging in a sky of faultless blue.

  The blue of Sebastian’s eyes.

  She nudged that thought aside, or she attempted to. But she couldn’t forget how he’d gazed at her in the ballroom, warmth in his look, and humble gratitude—as though she’d given him a gift. The gift of life with less fear in it.

  She’d been glad to do it, glad to be able to play some part in making him happier, more confident. He deserved that much.

  “Rotherby’s loss in not coming with us,” Grace said, yet she was glad that the duke had opted to stay in the city rather than come out to this meadow a mile northwest of London.

  These past days in the ballroom, with her and Rotherby and Sebastian, she’d enjoyed them—but the duke was always there, and she’d begun resenting his presence. She wan
ted Sebastian to herself again. A selfish wish, and one she shouldn’t make, but there it was. She missed their friendship . . . even as her responsiveness to him strengthened.

  It had been no hardship to watch him run. To see his athletic body put to use, and to see a healthy flush in his cheeks and the shine on his skin. Such things made a woman think things, things she’d no right to think.

  “What are we looking for?” Sebastian said, and she appreciated that he kept his voice low lest he frighten any nearby animals.

  “I thought we might be able to see some viviparous lizards engaging in their mating behavior.”

  “Lady Grace Wyatt!” Seb exclaimed in a shocked voice. “I never suspected you to be one of those deviants who like to watch.”

  She turned to wink at him. “Don’t tell my parents.”

  They reached a spot in the field where the grasses were shorter, and a number of large stones baked beneath the sun. Grace unfolded her blanket and dropped down onto it. She patted the spot beside her. “Here’s a likely spot to observe.”

  Sebastian hesitated for a moment, then lowered himself to the blanket. He stretched out his legs as he leaned on one elbow, the picture of masculinity in repose.

  Though she and Sebastian had ridden in her carriage out to the field—with the curtains drawn, of course, to subvert possible scandal—here in the meadow, with barely a few inches between them, she grew acutely sensitive to his nearness. Katie waited with her novel in the carriage, so Grace and Sebastian were truly alone for the first time.

  Grace barely heard the drone of bees or the birdsong that wafted from a stand of birch trees, too attuned to him to notice much of anything.

  Fortunately, she had enough reason to notice the mottled green-and-brown lizard sunning itself on one of the rocks. “There,” she whispered to Sebastian, pointing to the reptile. “A female. You can tell by the dark line on her back.”

  Sebastian put on his spectacles, which he’d produced from his coat’s inside pocket. “Having herself a fine afternoon.”

  “Ballrooms can be so very tedious for common lizards.”

  “For common anthropologists, too,” he said drily.

  “An uncommon anthropologist,” she corrected with a smile. “With a trove of knowledge.”

  He smiled back, but when he looked at her, his gaze was thoughtful. “My knowledge of you, Grace, is where I fall down.”

  “We’ve known each other for years,” she said in a deliberately casual tone. “Surely you know anything that’s worth knowing.”

  “How’d you become interested in herpetology?”

  “Ah.” That was a topic she could discuss without worry that things might drift into more personal territory. “I didn’t grow up in London, but on my family’s estate in Hertfordshire. Such a wondrous place, full of wild green space and creatures of every variety. I hesitate to use such hyperbolic words as paradise, but in its way, it was.”

  “Sounds enchanting.” There was a note of wistfulness in his voice, and she understood that their upbringings had been considerably different.

  “During my birth,” she continued, “there had been . . . complications. My mother lost her ability to bear children, and so Charlie became my parents’ main preoccupation, being the heir.”

  “They neglected you?” His body tensed—he was angry on her behalf.

  “More like benign inattention. Which turned into a great gift. Whenever my governess set me at liberty, I was out of the house like a rocket, tramping across our estate, exploring every part of the landscape. There was so much to see, so much to learn.”

  He nodded. “The world’s a wondrous place.”

  “And exceptionally big and surprising, especially when you’re a child.” She smoothed a hand over her skirts pooled around her. “We had a pond not very far from the house. I went there every day. It wasn’t quite beautiful, not in any way a Romantic poet might consider, but to me it was—full of so many living things. Bufo bufo and Lissotriton vulgaris and Natrix natrix helvetica, all going about their lives.”

  She felt a fond smile touch her lips. “There’s something delightfully quiet about amphibians and reptiles. They’re fragile, and shouldn’t be handled much. They need to be left alone.”

  “Sounds like someone I know,” he said with a teasing grin.

  She chuckled, liking too much when he joked with her, and the way it made her belly feel full of stars.

  “They also don’t have fur or adorable faces. They don’t show emotion the way people want them to, so they’re believed to be without feelings.” Her jaw tightened as indignation rose within her. “It’s not true. What they feel is subtler than what humans want. They feel, only it’s kept here.” She pressed a hand to the center of her chest.

  “Never thought of it that way,” he admitted. They both looked up as the shadow of a bird of prey crossed the meadow. “I must own that I’d not given much thought to the interior lives of reptiles and amphibians. They do seem emotionless and indifferent.”

  “I can’t speak for them, of course,” she said quickly. “No one can, but I know it’s wrong to condemn them for being different or defying our expectations.” She heard the heat in her voice, but felt no fear that Sebastian might belittle her for being passionate about herpetology.

  How could she feel so comfortable with him and be so aware of him at the same time? The paradox mystified her—and frightened her.

  Yet she was grateful all the same when he said gravely, “A lesson everyone could stand to learn.”

  She steadied herself with a breath. “In any event, I studied all the creatures of the pond, barely moving so they’d be comfortable around me. One day, I went out to the pond and it had been drained to make ready for landscape improvements.” Just thinking about it made her throat tight and her eyes hot. “The creatures’ home—where they ate and slept and mated and had families—was gone. It was awful. And no one cared. No other humans, anyway. My mother consoled me as I sobbed, but she didn’t understand. We’d destroyed their world, and all to make something prettier.”

  “I’m so sorry, Grace.” The genuineness in his gaze, in his words, reached deep within her.

  “Thank you. Almost twenty years have passed since that day, but sometimes the wound is still raw.” She drew in another long breath. “I never knew what happened to all the creatures that once called the pond home, but as a result of that day, I became aware of the harmful effects of humanity on the natural world. I became determined to study it so that everyone can learn its significance.”

  “Admirable,” he said sincerely.

  “It’s not much,” she murmured, “but it’s what I can do. I’m currently working on a paper that describes the deleterious effects landscape improvements have on the habitat of English reptilia and amphibia.”

  “I consider myself an utter ass to have never asked you about this before.” He chuckled ruefully.

  “You’re asking now, so that’s something.”

  He looked unconvinced. “The bare minimum of effort is hardly worth commending.”

  “And yet so many men believe that it is.” Movement caught her eye, and she whispered as she pointed, “There. Do you see it?”

  Sebastian went very still as he peered in the direction she indicated. “That lizard’s biting the other’s tail—is it an attack?”

  “Mating behavior.” She gave a soft laugh, and his laughter joined hers. They watched the two lizards as the male continued to hold on to the female’s body as he attempted to position himself to deposit his seed.

  “Perhaps we should give them some privacy,” Sebastian suggested.

  “The only species that finds sex shameful is humans.” She looked over at him and found herself ensnared by his gaze. It held a heat she’d never seen before, an intensity that riveted her and shrunk the size of the world to encapsulate only her and him.

  Everything slowed. At the same time, her heart knocked powerfully within her chest. She glanced down at his mouth, finding i
t impossibly captivating, profoundly tempting. Drugging sensuality coursed through her body as her gaze traced the contours of his lips. What would he taste like? The question burned her.

  All the hours together, the dancing, the physical contact, it all distilled into a hot need that stole her breath.

  When she managed to tear her eyes from his mouth, she discovered that he watched her from beneath lowered lids. His nostrils flared, and he swallowed thickly.

  Wordlessly, they leaned closer to each other, and closer still, until bare inches separated them. It felt inevitable, yet unexpected.

  Dimly, she was aware of him removing his spectacles. Then his hand came up to cradle her jaw. She shivered at his touch but stroked her cheek along his palm. Pure instinct moved her so that any attempts at cohesive thought scattered like dandelion seeds on the wind.

  “Grace,” he rumbled. “I want—”

  “Yes,” she gasped. She wanted, too.

  Their mouths met. The brush of their lips was soft—at first. It held an acute sweetness with a hint of shyness as they discovered each other. How could his lips be so soft?

  Incrementally, the kiss grew hotter. She opened for him, his heat seeping into her, and the tip of his tongue dipped between her lips. He tasted of tea and sunshine. With that first savoring, her body caught fire and she gripped the hard flesh of his shoulder to bring him closer.

  He growled as the kiss grew heightened. She had read many times of men making sounds of primal need, but never heard it herself, and to hear him in its throes now shot fire and potency through her.

  He adored her mouth thoroughly, boldly, as if he couldn’t take her deep enough. And, heavens above, how she loved it.

  For a man who conducted himself so quietly, Sebastian could kiss.

  Great God. I’m kissing Sebastian.

  Her friend. Her cohort. Not her suitor or her rake. That was all for show, merely a performance.

  Realization came in an icy gust. Curse her, but she’d mistaken his commitment to his role for genuine desire. And she had known that he was playacting, but her foolish body had believed. Now she felt like the veriest ninny.