Page 506 of From Rakes to Riches

No longer was Gem a lad of few words, but a lad who chose his words—carefully.

A lad who was hiding something.

And there was something else about Gem that Rake hadn’t been able to lay a finger on, that now struck him.

The lad’s grammar.

The words that he did choose were of a social class that, in the general course of events, stable lads didn’t rise to.

He didn’t saymeMam, but rathermyMam.

A subtle but important distinction.

Rake cut a glance toward the lad’s profile—cheeks streaked with dirt, gaze set firmly ahead, mouth pressed into a straight line. Rake would be getting no further admissions from Gem, his demeanor all but said. Fair enough. He had a day to get on with, anyway. “Gem,” he said in farewell and peeled away at the next gate.

Rake could feel the lad’s relieved gaze on his back as he exited the course and made for the house, ready to sit down with his secretary and talk new roofs for the local village. Yet…

Now he had a puzzle to solve.

And he knew his mind wouldn’t let up until he had all the pieces in place.

One and one didn’t make two with Gem.

It was both an obvious fact and a feeling deep in his gut.

He should leave it.

The lad was his jockey, and the best one he’d ever come across, at that.

Leave it.

But even as he knew he should leave it, he knew he wouldn’t.

7

It was the end of the day, the evening meal finished, and Rake found himself with a rare night at loose ends. Artemis had accepted an invitation to attend a local assembly—one he’d sent his apologies to.

In truth, when he was away from Town and residing at his Suffolk estate, he rather liked the quiet evenings. The days started early here, and the nights tended to end early too. Quite unlike the life he led in London.

Even if one might mistake him sitting in his study beside the evening fire for a man in his dotage.

The day had been long and productive in the specific way of a duke’s day. After Hannibal’s successful morning ride, he’d met with his secretary and gone over the needs of Somerton and several other estates besides. The new roofs were to start construction within the fortnight so as to be completed before first frost. Then there had been Mother to consider and her monthly allowance, which could meet the needs of the king himself—but never hers. Of course, Rake had approved the two hundred additional pounds she’d asked for—some might saydemanded—and let the matter go.

To argue with Mother was as fruitless as arguing with a thunderstorm. One quickly located the nearest shelter and took cover. What one didn’t do was quarrel with it—or one was likely to be struck by lightning.

Mother’s bolts were not to be trifled with.

He snorted and settled back into his comfortable chair and considered the letter he’d been putting off reading. Nothing notable stood out about his name and address emblazoned on the front. Rather, it was the pink wax seal on the back that sparked his interest.

This letter was from the Duchess of Acaster.

He’d begun to accept that he’d been mistaken about her. Perhaps she was the sort of widow who had no interest in shackling herself to another husband. And he wouldn’t blame her one bit. From what he’d observed over the years, wives got the mucky end of the stick when it came to marriage.

He took his penknife and sliced the missive open, giving its contents a cursory scan before going over them again, more thoroughly. A satisfied smile curved the corners of his mouth. She was giving due consideration to selling him Silky Sadie, but she wasn’t ready to make a commitment as she hadn’t yet decided on the price.

That last bit provoked the smile. Perhaps her price might not be in coin.

The Duchess of Acaster was flirting with him.

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