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“Delightful.” His gaze transfixed her, and she forgot her awkwardness. She forgot almost everything except how wonderful it felt to be the center of his awareness.
“Your Grace, Mr. Holloway,” Lord Creasy announced, and she briefly surfaced from the spell of his regard. “If you’ll come with me, there are many more of my guests who are eager to greet you.” He gestured for the two men to move on.
Rotherby inclined his head at Grace’s family and turned to leave. Sebastian, however, remained—to give her one final, lingering look.
Grace felt his look from the crown of her head to the very tips of her fingers and on to her toes. It was thrilling, and terrifying, and wonderful, and bewildering.
It’s a performance, she reminded herself sternly.
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.
