Page 519 of From Rakes to Riches

Everything.

About her.

But…

Why?

Why would Gem, the filth-encrusted stable-lad-turned-jockey, elicit even a speck of curiosity within the vaunted Duke of Rakesley?

Yet something else had sparked in his eyes.

A spark that sent a current of sensation tracing through her.

A spark that had made her want to sway into his capable, masculine hand and know its feel on other parts of her.

Then, like that, his hand dropped, and he broke the contact—the moment gone.

Except the moment wasn’t gone.

It had stayed with her all day.

Now that she was alone, safely inside the refuge of her private room, she could release the breath she’d been holding for hours. The room was spare, but clean, with a small fireplace on one wall and a bed on the other. A table and chair. A stand topped by washbasin and water jug.Serviceable, that was this room.

She’d just unlaced and kicked off her boots when a single light knock sounded at the door. That was her evening meal tray delivered.

When he’d appointed the room for her, Wilson had also given her the option of taking her meals here—and she’d accepted the offer. Jockeys were in a class of their own and preferred their own company to that of the lads and grooms. She’d seen the type strutting about London stables.

Gemma waited until the soft tap of the maid’s footsteps faded entirely before she opened the door and picked up her meal tray. She set the salver onto the table and got on with the part of her day she’d come to look forward to the most—the removal of the clothing that turned her into Gem.

A few shrugs of the shoulders and the coat five sizes too large was sliding down her arms. Trousers were quick to follow. Then her shirt was over her head and one last article of clothing remained. “Clothing”—a rather generous interpretation of the long swath of linen tightly wrapped around her chest. She untucked the end and shimmied her shoulders, encouraging the cloth to loosen and fall to the floor.

The next breath she drew was always her favorite of the day, her body—and particularly her breasts—finally free from restriction. She wasn’t possessed of a particularly generousbosom, but what she did have was decidedly grateful for a few hours of respite every night.

Though Gem appeared to have never bathed in his life, the same couldn’t be said for Gemma. Clad in naught but a pair of woolen socks, she stepped to the washbasin and gave herself an invigorating scrub. It was enough that Gem appeared filthy. She didn’t actually have tobefilthy.

Finally clean, she threw on a fresh shirt she’d borrowed from Liam, then gave the shirt she’d worn today a quick wash and hung it before the fire to dry.

Evening routine complete, she lifted her meal tray and then settled onto the middle of the bed with it. It was a strange little luxury she’d discovered—eating in bed. This must be how nobs felt every morning when their servants appeared at their bedsides with trays bearing tea and toast.

If it weren’t for the stress of being Gem all day, every day, she could see herself rather taking to the indulged life of a jockey.

But that wasn’t to be—not for any longer than a few weeks…and only if her luck held.

She bit into a chunk of stewed mutton and couldn’t help idly wondering if Rakesley took meals in his bed.

The blasted man’s eyes rose in her mind.

This morning, in his bathing room, there had been a moment…a moment where she would’ve sworn he’d known she wasn’t who she said she was. But…

If that had been the case, wouldn’t he have cast her out of Somerton and sent for the local magistrate for good measure?

But he hadn’t.

Instead, he’d taken himself off to London to procure a new saddle for Hannibal and visit his clubs and whatever else dukes did with their time. A visit to Tattersall’s. A visit to a mistress.

Yet she was still here for one very simple reason:

He didn’t know.

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