by Eva Leigh
Her mother glanced at her—silently seeking Grace’s answer. Ah, bless her. Not every woman had parents who would do nothing without permission.
She gave her mother a small nod.
“By all means,” her mother said. “Only, you must take your maid with you.”
Only that morning, Grace had given Katie a new salacious novel—purchased earlier that week at McKinnon’s—which would keep her maid well occupied. “I’ll go up and get my things.”
She hurried out of the drawing room, conscious of two sets of eyes on her as she departed the chamber, and took the stairs to her bedroom as quickly as she could without thundering loudly on the steps. Still, excitement urged her to climb the stairs quickly.
In her bedchamber, she found Katie seated on the floor, beside the fire, already deep into the new book. Her maid guiltily climbed to her feet and tucked the volume behind her back when Grace entered.
“There’ll be time enough for that in just a few minutes,” Grace said, nodding at Katie’s hidden hand. “We’re going for a drive with Sebastian.”
Katie squinted at her. “My lady? Do you mean we’re heading to Hampstead Heath to look at them wriggly, scaly things?”
“I mean,” Grace said, planting her hands on her hips, “that we’re going to Rotten Row with Mr. Holloway. No reptiles or amphibians will be involved in the afternoon’s activities.” When her maid continued to stare at her in disbelief, Grace added, “My spencer and bonnet, Katie. Now.”
The maid snapped out of her astonished reverie and then dove into the clothespress. She couldn’t be faulted for being surprised. It wasn’t as though Grace made a habit of driving with gentlemen, as if she were any other marriageable young woman.
Fifteen minutes later, Grace descended the stairs, clad in a straw bonnet and pale blue spencer that her modiste had insisted on, declaring the garment wonderfully flattering for Grace’s eyes and complexion. She hoped Sebastian liked how she looked in it.
This is for Mason, of course.
Of course.
Katie waited in the foyer as Grace approached the drawing room, from which emanated the sound of her mother laughing. Looking into the chamber, she found her mother wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. Sebastian regarded her mother with a faint smile, but that smile widened when he caught sight of her.
“Lady Grace.” One of his brows lifted, displaying his approval of her choice in spencer, and God above, did she enjoy seeing his reaction.
“Ah, there you are, darling,” her mother said. “Mr. Holloway has been so very charming.”
“There’s nothing especially noteworthy in being charming to such a delightful person,” Sebastian said easily.
Grace ought to offer him a shovel, since he seemed inclined to bestow flattery with a liberal hand. But her mother actually made a sound similar to a giggle, so it was evident that she was the only one who thought Sebastian’s blandishments a trifle heavy-handed.
“Shall we?” Sebastian offered her his arm.
Of course. They would have to get moving if they wanted to reach Rotten Row in time to encounter Mason, so she took Sebastian’s arm. She ought to be used to the unexpected solidity of his muscles, and yet awareness skittered through her when she rested her hand atop his sleeve and felt the firmness of him beneath the fabric.
“Do enjoy yourselves,” her mother called after them.
They stepped outside to find what had to be the highest, shiniest two-wheeled vehicle waiting for them in the street. The pair of horses drawing the vehicle were sleek chestnut creatures who displayed all the benefits of selective breeding. Meanwhile, the groom holding the horses’ bridles preened beneath the wondering attention of passing pedestrians.
“Cor,” Katie muttered.
“Oh. My,” Grace breathed.
“You like it?” Sebastian asked her. He lowered his voice. “It’s Rotherby’s curricle, on loan for the day.”
“My knowledge of sporting vehicles is undeniably paltry,” she admitted on an exhalation, “so I can say with certainty that I’ve never seen anything like it.” She eyed the towering vehicle. “It looks rather challenging to pilot.”
“Rotherby refreshed me on how to drive this sort of thing,” Sebastian said. He glanced at Katie. “There’s a seat in the back for a groom. You can take that.”
“Yes, sir!” Katie said, already climbing onto the perch at the back.
Sebastian and the groom helped Grace up into the extremely high seat, before he took his place beside her. The seat wasn’t particularly large, leaving her little choice but to press the side of her leg to his. Heat from his body radiated into hers, making her feel feverish and doing little to soothe her roused nerves.
After Sebastian secured the reins around his left hand, the groom handed him a long whip, which he held confidently in his right hand. With a click of his tongue, he signaled the horses, and a moment later, the beautifully sprung vehicle began to move.
The next phase of their plan was underway.
Chapter 14
Much as Seb was acutely aware of Grace sitting so close beside him, he had to divide his attention with guiding the curricle through Marylebone traffic
“You never said anything to me about the fact that you could sing,” she said, and while her words verged on accusatory, her tone was not.
“Mr. Okafor would be annoyed if I broke into song in the middle of the Benezra.”
“Depends on what you sing,” she replied pertly.
“Given that most of the songs I know usually involve people rutting, he might not appreciate my musical offering.”
She laughed, and the sound caressed silkily down his spine. It had been too long since he’d heard her laugh, especially because they’d been so preoccupied with the serious task of transforming him into a rake. So to hear her give way to mirth now gratified him.
“Here I thought you were a chaste scholar,” she teased, “not someone who roars bawdy tunes.”
“Firstly, I croon more than roar,” he said, pretending to be affronted.
“And secondly?”
“I’m far from chaste.” The moment the words were out of his mouth, he regretted speaking them. Because it was impossible to ignore the fact that the kiss they’d shared had set him afire with hunger for her, just as it was impossible to ignore the fact that she didn’t share his hunger. Not for him, in any case.
Was it better or worse for her to view him as devoid of sexuality? Neither option made things comfortable between them.
A brief quiet fell, and Seb concentrated on driving. He was grateful that there was so much traffic so that he could be occupied with something besides stewing over what he should or shouldn’t say to her.
“I should have asked at the beginning,” Grace said after a moment. “If you had a . . .” She cleared her throat, and when he glanced at her, he saw hectic color in her cheeks. “A lover. I didn’t think to ask, and if I’d be stealing your company from anyone.”
“There’s no one,” he said gruffly. He didn’t want to explain his prior arrangement with the widow Mary, or how long it had been since he’d taken a woman to bed. To speak of it—with her—made him burn with a strange mortification.
“No one at present?”
“No. One,” he gritted.
“Ah.” Was it relief he heard in her voice? And why, if that was the case, did that make him feel exultant? “That was a prime display of how to charm a lady’s mother, what you did at my home.”
He fought the impulse to puff his chest, but, by God, he had done quite well with the countess. Considering how, not but a fortnight ago, he would have preferred to drag himself across a stable floor rather than talk with Grace’s mother, he could acknowledge that he’d made some progress.
“It’s not difficult,” he said, “when it’s clear that she’s a good person. Her love and care for you is unmistakable. While you were up in your room, she interrogated me about the company I keep, and if my intentions toward you were nefarious.”
“Oh, God.” Her cheeks turned bright pink. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not. Hers were all excellent, relevant questions. I assured her that Rotherby didn’t associate with anyone of suspect character, and that my interest in you was strictly proper. Then I provided some distraction by telling her an amusing anecdote about my time at Eton. Well, it wasn’t amusing at the time it happened, but years later I can find the humor in it.”
He maneuvered the horses around a tipped-over wagon, silently thanking Rotherby for what had been an exhausting day of learning to drive a curricle.
“Don’t leave me ignorant,” Grace said avidly. “You must tell me.”
“Rotherby and I were in the same house at Eton, but we’d no real interaction with each other. Not until he and I and three other boys received a special punishment for various misbehaviors.” He fought a grin, remembering that long-ago day when his life had taken an unexpected turn.
She leaned back, regarding him with a furrowed brow. “I can hardly believe that you committed any transgression.”
“Therein was the amusing anecdote I told your mother.” His lips quirked at the youthful folly of his past self. “I was punished because . . .”
“Fighting?”
“No.”
“Sneaking off to the village to meet girls?”
“I wrote angry, contradictory statements in the margins of school library books.”
“What? Oh, no!” She covered her mouth with her hand.
He gave a rueful chuckle. “It’s true. I felt that the authors of those books were being inaccurate and biased, particularly in their assessment of the difference between the sexes, so I contributed my own refuting statements. The headmaster and house captain both disagreed with my approach, and so I was disciplined for defacing school property.”
She laughed. “How exceptionally you, Sebastian.”
“Everyone’s capable of change,” he said, shaking his head, “or so I hope, but in my case, I haven’t undergone that considerable a metamorphosis.”
“What did the duke do to warrant his punishment?”
“I’ll let him tell you. However,” he went on, “we needn’t waste time discussing me, Rotherby, or our ridiculous crimes. It’s precisely the opposite of my intention.”
He clicked his tongue at the overcrowded traffic surrounding Manchester Square, but couldn’t resent it overmuch. The slower it took to reach Rotten Row, the more time he had with Grace.
They reached Park Lane, and continued southward, passing grand residences that fronted Hyde Park. Despite the congestion on the street and sheer number of vehicles, pedestrians’ heads turned to watch Seb and Grace in the elegant curricle. For the first time, he drew notice not for who he was, but for what everyone believed he owned. It wasn’t entirely pleasant.
He could have been anyone. A good man, a terrible man, but he was to be admired because he possessed an expensive vehicle.
How bloody strange.
She said pensively, “It’s hard to remember that beneath your polish, you’re still the same Sebastian—my friend.”
“I’m still me,” he agreed neutrally. He was her friend, and it wasn’t right or reasonable to want more from her. Remember that.
“Is it . . .” she asked lowly, “. . . very uncomfortable, pretending to be someone else?”
“It’s as though . . .” He struggled to put words to things he’d never fully articulated, not even to himself. “I am still me, only with a bit more . . . gloss. Like lacquer over rough wood.”
She nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”
They’d almost reached the entrance to Rotten Row, full of men and women on horseback or slowly riding in vehicles just as luxurious and expensive as the curricle, in calculated displays of wealth and standing.
“I hope,” he said to her, “you never change to please anyone.”
Her voice was almost too soft to be heard above the surrounding din. “I won’t. I am who I am, and I’m happy with that.”
A fraction of tension left his body. “That’s good.” He made the turn onto Rotten Row, joining the throng. “And now the curtain goes up on the next act of the performance.”
The sights and sounds—and scents—of Rotten Row were all new to Grace. Not once in the course of her few, unimpressive Seasons had she ever ventured onto the famed path, given that there was little chance of spotting any reptiles or amphibians on the gravel and tan track. There were, however, horses in abundance. And many, many people.
Vehicles and people atop horses traveled along the path at a sedate pace, ensuring not just safety, but also the greater opportunities to see and be observed. There were expensive vehicles of every variety, including spindly phaetons driven by dashing gentlemen, and open-topped carriages holding groups of people. Men and women in smart riding clothes sat atop sleek horses, hacking up and down the track.
As a mating display, it certainly was far more extravagant than anything she’d observed within the amphibious and reptile world. But fascinating, nonetheless.
The pageantry was slightly undercut by the earthy smell of horse manure. Which seemed rather apt.
“I don’t see Mason,” she said under her breath as she scanned the path. “Perhaps we’ve missed him.” While she felt a prickle of disappointment, she couldn’t help but be glad for more time alone with Sebastian.
When she’d asked him to fill the role of rake and faux suitor, she’d done so with specific intentions. Mason was precisely the sort of man that she could envision as her husband. Intelligent, scientifically minded, witty. She’d been certain he was the man she wanted to marry. Yet these past weeks with Sebastian clouded her judgment and left her deeply confused.
She’d asked him to help her, because he was her friend. He’d undertaken this task for his own gain, yes, but also for the sake of their friendship. Were she to suddenly turn to him and announce, Sorry but I’m developing feelings for you, which violates the terms of our agreement and likely isn’t what you want at all—well, she’d ruin what she and Sebastian shared. How could he trust her, especially because she didn’t know her own heart?
She had to stay silent, and stay fast to her plan of attracting Mason.
“If we provide the onlookers with an overt display of flirtation,” Sebastian suggested in a low voice, “it’s certain that word will reach Fredericks via the usual conduits of information.”
He nodded toward a trio of women in a carriage, their gazes all fastened on him and Grace. Two gentlemen on horseback also craned their necks to get a better look at both the curricle and the people riding in it.
“So odd,” Grace murmured. “Being the object of people’s positive attention.”
He looked at her, his expression pensive and a little sad. “Was it very terrible for you, your debut?”
Rather than give in to the corrosive memory, she made herself chuckle. “Humans are far more vicious than animals.”
“Goddamn them,” Sebastian muttered, his anger on her behalf shamefully satisfying. “Let’s make them all choke on their narrow-mindedness.”
“I’d like nothing better,” she said appreciatively.
He cleared his throat softly before saying in a voice loud enough to be heard by adjacent onlookers, “My thanks, Lady Grace, for favoring me by accepting my suggestion to go for a drive.”
“Of course, Mr. Holloway.” It felt highly artificial to speak with the intent of being overheard, but it had to be done.
Already, the women in the carriage were leaning in their direction, trying to catch every word.
“I realize,” he continued, “that your time is prized, but I’m especially grateful that you chose to spend your rare leisure hours with me.”
“Good afternoon, Lady Grace,” a passing female rider called. “Mr. Holloway.”
Grace gave the woman a nod, recognizing her as a baroness who had only curtly acknowledged her at various galas.
More greetings were lobbed at Grace and Sebastian,
and she smiled and nodded at them—though that sense of unreality continued, as if she was watching everything from above. These people, who’d scorned her, suddenly found her worthwhile. Because she was with Sebastian.
How . . . unsettling. And infuriating. Why should her merit be determined by how a man viewed her?
Sebastian spoke in an undertone. “Excellent. You’re the belle of Rotten Row.”
“Today,” she grumbled.
“We’ll beat them at their own game,” he said, and she appreciated that he understood her conflicting feelings. “There’s a book I have about the mentality of societies, and I remember reading that in order to make something valuable, it needed to be scarce in number.”
“Stands to reason that a person and their time operate in a similar capacity.” When she spoke, it was loud enough to be heard by people passing near their curricle. “As it happens, I do have to be somewhere in an hour.”
He gave her a small nod, understanding what it was she attempted to do. “You’ve my word that I’ll have you home before then,” he said gallantly. “But in the interim, let us enjoy our time together. There are so few people of substance in London. You, however, are the exception.”
He sent her a look of toe-curling intensity, fraught with heat and awareness. Her body went liquid.
He’s just playing a part.
But it felt real—especially after the talk they’d had on the way here. She’d divulged things about herself that no one before had ever desired to know. But Sebastian had. He wanted to know her better.
He saw her. And it felt so wondrous, as if she’d emerged from hibernation to warm herself in the sun.
“Good afternoon, Lady Grace.”
She turned to give the newcomer a polite but distant greeting, yet the words fluttered away like autumn leaves when Mason approached. In his crisp riding clothes, sitting atop a glossy gray horse, she’d never seen him so dashing.
Beside her, Sebastian tensed.
“Mr. Fredericks,” she said, and was pleased she sounded effortlessly polite.