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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, but 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?”
