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“Guide her, Holloway,” the duke said without taking his gaze from Grace. “Move with her. Create a miniature world that consists only of you two.”
“I see,” Sebastian said, writing in his notebook.
“He doesn’t need to seduce me.” Alarm at the prospect shot through her. Not that she found the notion unpleasant. Far from it—and that was worrisome. “This is for show only.”
“Have you never been to the theater?” Rotherby asked. “The greatest performances come from actors and actresses who fully invest themselves in the role they’re playing. They must believe they are who they pretend to be.”
“Or else no one else accepts them as the ingénue or brooding hero,” Sebastian said as the music and dance continued.
The duke nodded. “Holloway has to be convincing. Everyone who looks at you dancing together will see a man at the height of his masculine powers, and will inevitably turn their attention to the woman who has captivated him.”
“And I’m that woman?” Grace couldn’t quite keep the skepticism out of her voice.
“This is as much about your performance as it is Holloway’s.” Rotherby’s gaze bored into her. “I want you to believe yourself to be a woman capable of ensnaring Britain’s greatest rake.”
Her feet slowed, and the dance stuttered to a stop. The music went silent. Her whole body tensed as her hands fell away from the duke.
“I can’t make myself into the sort of woman men flock to.” She blinked hard from the burn of her shame, and though it hurt to confess such a thing to Rotherby and Sebastian, they both needed to know the immensity of the task that lay before them. “I once saw a gentleman throw back his drink to shore himself up for the task of dancing with me.”
The duke’s jaw tightened, and Sebastian cursed softly.
“That man was an ass,” Sebastian growled, taking a step toward her. “Give me his name. I’ve studied cultures that flay their enemies, so I’m certain I can make him suffer.”
“Sounds messy,” she said, absurdly touched by his bloodthirstiness on her behalf.
“I’ll wear a butcher’s apron to minimize the mess.” Sebastian said firmly, “You don’t need to alter yourself for anyone. Especially not Fredericks.”
No one had ever said such a thing to her. Something stung her eyes, and she realized it was the heat of unshed tears of appreciation. “But Rotherby said—”
Sebastian drew closer. “Trust in me, Grace. Trust that when the time comes, Fredericks will be utterly captivated by you. And if he still can’t get his head out of his arse, then he’s not worth the effort.”
“You seem to keep swearing in my presence,” she said, because it was either make a jest or gratefully kiss him.
Kiss him.
Wait—what?
Rotherby stepped back, and put his hands on his hips. “Pair up, you two. I want to see you dance together.”
Chapter 9
She was still reeling from her mind’s insistent demand that she kiss Sebastian when he set his notebook down. In and of itself, putting his notebook aside was not especially remarkable. But then he shucked off his coat and draped it over a nearby chair, and Grace felt the ground beneath her shift.
God above. In his shirtsleeves, Sebastian was a vision of robust masculinity. As he moved, the lawn of his shirt pulled snug across tight, sculpted muscles. The backing of his waistcoat drew taut across his wide shoulders. When he bent down to tug at the top of his boot, she was treated to the sight of woolen trouser fabric draping his firm buttocks.
Her mouth actually watered, as if she’d lifted a silver dome covering a plate, and discovered not a drab meal of boiled carrots, but a luscious roast dripping with juices.
She clapped a hand over her mouth to stop her frenetic giggle. She couldn’t compare a fellow human being to meat. That was beyond disrespectful.
But, Lord help her, he was gorgeous.
And she was about to waltz with him.
Confusion turned her thoughts hazy. Something was happening to her, something she couldn’t understand. The pleasant affection she’d always felt in Sebastian’s presence was growing hotter, making her skin tight and her head spin. It frightened her a little even as she moved toward it.
