by Eva Leigh
But it was a remarkable performance, and her body didn’t seem to care if he wasn’t sincere.
“Mr. Holloway?” Lord Creasy pressed.
“Yes. Of course.” Sebastian bowed before moving on.
Come back! her body cried.
Not real, she reminded her body.
I. Don’t. Care, it answered.
The moment he’d gone a safe distance, her family crowded around her. Their whispering voices all joined together. Grace hardly heard them, still mired in the confusing and delightful mess of emotion and sensation Sebastian had left behind.
“Did you see that?” Anne asked.
“It really happened!” Grace’s mother exclaimed.
Charles appeared perplexed. “The way he looked at our Gracie . . .”
She barely heard them, until her mother asked, “You have uttered not a single syllable that your Mr. Holloway was . . . was . . .” Her mother waved her hand in Sebastian’s direction. “Like that.”
“Like what?” Grace asked, and she was grateful she was able to select two words from her vocabulary and affix them together to make a scrap of sense.
Her mother narrowed her eyes. “You know what I mean. He’s not some scholar with his nose stuck in a book.”
“He’s a rake,” Anne said excitedly, then quelled her excitement when Charles scowled.
“It hardly seemed necessary to discuss his sartorial choices,” Grace said, fighting for steadiness in her voice.
“And when you insisted he was only a friend,” her mother continued, “we took you at your word.”
“We are only friends.” That, at least, wasn’t untrue.
Her mother lifted an eyebrow.
“That wasn’t the way one chum looks at another,” her brother said.
Grace glanced over at Mason, still positioned near the refreshments table. He looked back and forth between her and Sebastian as if trying to work out a particularly intriguing theory.
When Mason’s gaze caught with hers, there was a dawning comprehension in his eyes. He finally saw her. Not as only a fellow natural scientist, but a woman.
Her heart, already stimulated beyond reason, leapt within her.
Maybe, just maybe, this whole outlandish scheme would work.
Chapter 13
All the best bookshops had secrets, and McKinnon’s was no exception. In addition to the sizable stock of “French” novels for anyone requesting stimulating reading material, the bookshop had a small room tucked away in the back that could be used for reading—or clandestine meetings.
“Your reserved books are in the storeroom,” McKinnon said to Seb and Rotherby by way of greeting.
Seb nodded, and Rotherby gave his thanks before they moved through the labyrinth of shelves, past the patrons scattered throughout the shop.
“Slow down, Atalanta,” Rotherby huffed behind him. “No need for a race.”
Only then did Seb realize he practically ran between the bookshelves. He tried to reduce his pace, but it was ruddy difficult when his body buzzed with energy. The ride over in Rotherby’s carriage had felt like a stint in a golden cage, confining him. Glancing down at his hand, he was surprised to see that he didn’t actually glow with excited triumph. He remained steadfastly mortal. But he didn’t feel mortal. After today’s wildly efficacious debut of his rake persona, he’d become a towering titan. Oh, there had been some stumbles, but he’d managed to recover, and he’d walked hand in hand with his anxiousness so it hadn’t overtaken him.
Once Rotherby caught up with Seb, he walked at a more moderate speed until he reached a corridor at the back of the shop. He turned a corner, then knocked twice on the narrow door at the end of the hallway.
“Bufonidae,” he said through the door.
Rotherby rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what that word means, but I’ve an idea, and you both need to expand your social circles.”
“It’s the name for the toad family,” Seb said.
Before he could add that he’d expanded his social circle considerably only an hour before—and with astonishing success—Grace said through the door, “Enter.”
After making certain that no one was observing them, he and Rotherby went into the room, then shut the door securely behind them.
The chamber was a small one, with room for one table, three wobbly, mismatched chairs, and one battered wingback chair currently occupied by Grace. Her maid sat in one of the rickety chairs, nose stuck in a book, but Seb barely gave the servant a glance as he took in Grace’s radiant face.
“You were marvelous.” She shot to her feet and wrapped her arms around him.
For a moment, he couldn’t move, frozen in place by the sensation of her soft body pressed to his. It was all he could do to keep himself from burying his nose in her hair and inhaling her fragrance.
He took a more moderate breath before embracing her. Loosely. Which went against his every instinct demanding he hold her close.
“Nothing for me?” Rotherby asked wryly.
Grace peered over Seb’s shoulder, but she didn’t move to hug Rotherby. “A fine performance from you, as well.”
To Seb’s disappointment, she stepped back, releasing her hold on him. She took her seat, and Rotherby did the same. Seb’s energized limbs protested the thought of sitting, so he remained on his feet. What he wanted, what he truly desired, was to kiss Grace. To feel his mouth against hers.
But that had been an experience he’d never have again. The thought tempered his ebullient mood.
“That was,” she said, eyes bright, “the most superb display of territoriality that I have ever witnessed, and I’ve observed the Coronella austriaca. The smooth snake,” she added for his and Rotherby’s benefit.
At her words, Seb fought to resist expanding his chest and puffing. He wasn’t used to feeling pleased with himself, and he instinctively reared back from that feeling. “It did go rather well,” he permitted.
“‘Rather well’?” Rotherby snorted in disbelief. “Old man, you could hear the pantalets dropping like autumn leaves.”
“An exaggeration.” Seb threw a glance at Grace before fiddling with the buttons on his waistcoat. Part of him wanted her to recognize that there were some women who found him attractive, but, even so, he wasn’t entirely comfortable mentioning pantalets in her presence.
“Not a bit,” Grace replied vehemently. “Every woman fluttered their eyes at you and giggled as if they were just out of the schoolroom. Surely you noticed.”
He coughed, unwilling to admit that he’d secretly been pleased by the female attention he’d received. “Not precisely.”
Which was something of an untruth. He had noticed, watching himself and the party guests from a distance as if observing a particularly fascinating social behavior. He had been both the performer and the audience, inhabiting the character of Sebastian Holloway, rake, while simultaneously watching the whole thing unfold as scholar Seb Holloway. He couldn’t wait to write about it.
“The response of the female guests was considerable,” Grace said sunnily. “It was as though they were eager to peel away your clothing.”
Seb lifted his chin, and reluctantly admitted to himself that it felt as though the top of his head brushed the ceiling. The women had looked at him with barely veiled sexual interest. Never before had he been the recipient of so much primal validation. It made him want to dig valleys out of solid stone with his bare hands. As though he could do anything.
“I just gave them a bit of eye contact and a husky chuckle or two,” he demurred.
“Whatever techniques you employed,” she said enthusiastically, “they worked. I wouldn’t be surprised if you wound up with a new paramour. Or paramours.”
He shifted as unease tightened his body. Discussing with Grace the possibility of taking other women to his bed was not something he relished. She seemed all too eager to hand him off to another woman. Damn it, hadn’t they kissed not but a few days ago?
She might have forgotten, bu
t he hadn’t. And it rankled. Whatever validation he’d felt moments before drained away.
Smarting, he sought to change the subject. “Noticed something today. The male guests didn’t dismiss me. They took my measure and seemed to determine I was more than viable. No one challenged me for dominance. It was as though they thought their best bet was to become my ally, increase their own status. One viscount actually invited me to join him at Tattersall’s, and three other gentlemen invited me to someplace called the Orchid Club.”
“Never heard of it,” Grace said with a frown. “Perhaps it’s some kind of botanical society.”
“Perhaps,” Seb said thoughtfully. “Don’t have much use for botany in my work.”
“Well,” she continued with a considering look, “I’m always on the lookout for new organizations to join.”
Rotherby coughed into his fist. “The Orchid Club’s area of focus includes a different variety of wildlife than would interest you, Grace.”
“In truth,” she said airily, “my schedule is honestly too full to accommodate joining any new societies.”
“Other things vie for your attention at present,” Seb said.
“Let us not forget the object of this whole endeavor,” Rotherby interjected. When Seb and Grace both sent him mystified looks, he said with a touch of exasperation, “Fredericks.”
“Of course!” Grace’s expression brightened. “He seemed quite intrigued by you, Sebastian.”
“More than that,” Rotherby said before Seb could reply, “he looked at you, Grace. Seemed to consider you in a new light.”
Seb’s ebullient mood pitched down, as if it had willingly jumped off a cliff to drown in icy waters. Damn, his emotions kept veering wildly, and it exhausted him. Truth was, he reminded himself, he ought to feel jubilant that Fredericks had taken note of Grace. That was what he ought to feel. What he did feel was a surge of anger that the naturalist had noticed Grace because another man had done so. Couldn’t the fool see how wondrous she was?
Grace, however, seemed delighted by the news.
“Did he?” Her fingers dug into the chair’s arms as she leaned forward.
The energy that had hummed through Seb’s body leached out, leaving him frayed and weary. He slumped into the remaining chair.
“Quite,” Rotherby said decisively. “Fredericks took passing interest in Holloway at first, but when our man here lingered with you, that made Fredericks’s ears prick up. Especially because Holloway seemed smitten.”
“Thank you for that, Sebastian,” she said warmly. “It was a most convincing performance.”
“Happy to oblige,” Seb answered with a small bow. He was glad his words didn’t sound as hollow as he felt.
Something deep within him made a silent, frustrated growl. Because while he’d played the part of the rake when moving from guest to guest, speaking lines he thought a rake should speak, when he’d been with her, he hadn’t needed to calculate the right thing to say for maximum effect. Words had sprung to his lips, words that had come from a place of authenticity.
Nothing he’d said to her had been a lie. The realization hit him hard, stealing his breath.
She thought he had been performing—but he hadn’t been. Everything he’d said was real.
She does not need to know that.
“We’ve got Fredericks primed,” Rotherby said, scattering Seb’s thoughts. “But we’ll need to do more to get him to see what a jewel Grace truly is.”
“Oh, well, now,” she said, seemingly discomforted by Rotherby’s praise, which set off sparks of frustration in Seb, that she didn’t value herself enough.
“What do you suggest?” Seb asked.
“My valet, Beale, did his own research and learned that every Friday afternoon, Fredericks goes for a ride in Rotten Row. Today is Tuesday, which gives us three days to prepare.” Rotherby studied Seb. “How are you with the ribbons?”
Seb frowned. “I don’t know anything about women’s coiffures or bonnet trimmings. Is it relevant? Unless,” he added, “you want me to dress Grace’s hair. Which also seems immaterial to our objectives.”
“I mean reins,” Rotherby said, looking on the verge of kicking his chair apart. “I’ll put it plainly—can you drive a phaeton or any other sporting vehicle?”
The final droplets of Seb’s exultation leaked away, and he found himself longing for the comfortable, safe world of books. “I can’t afford anything like that. Been some time since I’ve driven, so I’m a bit rusty.”
“Let’s pray you’ll pick it up again quickly.” Rotherby jabbed a finger at him. “Come to my home tomorrow. We’ll make you a dab hand before Friday.”
Grace blinked. “I’m sorry—what happens on Friday?”
It was a relief to know that Seb wasn’t alone in his confusion, but, then, Rotherby always did things according to his own satisfaction and without discussion, leaving everyone else to catch up.
“Wear a pretty new frock and bonnet,” Rotherby said, rising to his feet, “because Holloway here is taking you for a drive.”
“Oh, this is unusual,” Grace’s mother said as she took a seat in the drawing room.
“What is?” Grace looked up from the volume on the reproductive habits of reptilia from Asia. It was a decent enough book, and a subject worthy of study, but she’d barely read any of the printed words.
It was Friday. The day she and Sebastian were to go out driving. Though it was thoroughly planned and discussed, her anticipation and nervousness had built all week.
They’d parted company at McKinnon’s as friends, yet today he’d be his other self. The self she didn’t quite know how to navigate.
“Whenever it’s time for morning callers,” her mother said, “you are conspicuously absent.”
“As are you,” Grace said.
“I felt like spending the afternoon in my drawing room,” was the airy reply.
“Ab absurdo.” Grace pretended to return to her reading, yet inside, she was aflutter. There had been little opportunity to communicate with Sebastian since they’d parted company at McKinnon’s, and there was something about seeing him now that made her restless and apprehensive, as if he wasn’t the Sebastian she’d known for so long.
But he wasn’t the Sebastian she’d known, he was someone else. The same, and yet very, very different.
For one thing, she knew what it felt like to kiss him.
Don’t think about that. It didn’t happen.
Yet it had happened, and no amount of stern lectures to herself seemed to cure her of her fixation with his mouth.
Just read. It was what she did best. As she tried to make sense of the printed words in front of her, a footman came in with a tray bearing a card, which he brought to Grace’s mother.
A small smile of triumph lit her mother’s face. “He’s here.”
Grace’s stomach clenched. She was nearly as nervous as she’d been at the Creasys’ garden party.
“Show him in,” her mother told the footman.
The servant bowed before retreating. The moment he left the room, Grace’s mother fluttered her hands at Grace. “Go stand by the window. The light there is exceedingly complimentary.”
Grace almost snapped that she would do no such thing. But she needed to give people the impression that Sebastian’s attention was welcome. Which it was, although not in the way that everyone believed.
She got to her feet and moved to the window, conscious of how the light filtered through the curtains to touch her hair and the curve of her neck. Yet her thoughts blurred—was she preparing for Sebastian’s arrival for the benefit of her mother, or was she displaying herself to truly garner Sebastian’s admiration?
She couldn’t tell. And that uncertainty disconcerted her.
“Mr. Sebastian Holloway,” the footman said from the doorway.
The servant stood alone for a moment, and Grace thought she saw Sebastian standing off to one side in the corridor, as though preparing himself to enter the room. And then a
thrum of excitement pulsed within her as he strolled into the drawing room, wearing the same smile he’d worn at the garden party—as if he was in his favorite spot, with his favorite people. Today, he wore a burgundy coat and cream-colored waistcoat, and his boots were polished as glass. Under his arm, he carried a tall-crowned hat. He held it perfectly as he swept into a bow.
“Mr. Holloway,” her mother said loftily, as if she hadn’t reversed years of her usual custom to see him.
“Lady Pembroke,” Sebastian murmured. He turned to Grace—a jolt of awareness shot through her when their gazes met—and bowed again. “Lady Grace.”
She nodded in response, but said nothing. Her wildly beating heart seemed to have lodged itself in her windpipe, making it impossible to speak.
“My thanks for welcoming me, Lady Pembroke. I realize it’s somewhat unusual for a man of my standing to be given the honor of being received in your home.”
“You are an intimate of His Grace, the Duke of Rotherby,” her mother said indulgently.
“In truth,” Sebastian replied, striking a pose that appeared entirely effortless but also displayed his long body beautifully, “I left his company not but a quarter of an hour ago.”
Her mother smiled, and Grace felt as though she was watching a play where she recognized the actors but had absolutely no idea how the plot would unfold. Was she the audience, another member of the cast? She had no idea.
“Much as I enjoyed our discussion at the Creasys’ gathering,” her mother said, “I’m not certain that my voice is ready for singing today.” Her hand fluttered at her throat.
“I’ve a collection of early songs and ballads,” Sebastian replied, smiling. “We could perform duets another time. Your clear soprano will be a delight to hear.”
Her mother preened. “I observe that you are wearing gloves suitable for driving. Did you just come from a jaunt?”
“If Lady Grace would favor me with her company,” he said breezily, “it would be my honor to have her accompany me on a drive down Rotten Row.”
Even though Grace knew perfectly well that the invitation was coming, it still sent a pulse of exhilaration through her body.