Page 529 of From Rakes to Riches

Rakesley’s brow furrowed. “Are you injured?” The question held the timbre of a demand.

She shook her head. “Merely sore.”

“You didn’t take a fall from Hannibal?” He looked slightly…thunderous.

Again, she shook her head. “Nay.” But Rakesley’s unappeased gaze told her she would have to explain. “Hannibal’s new training regimen has entered a,erm, vigorous phase.”

Rakesley’s gaze searched hers until, at last, he nodded, mollified.

Strange, that.

That he’d needed to be mollified.

And that she’d known it.

She shuffled to a spot at the large table on the end the farthest away from Rakesley. Splayed across its vast surface were four large rectangles of paper, each containing meticulous racecourse drawings—the Rowley and Ditch Miles at Newmarket and the courses at Epsom Downs and Doncaster. These were the racecourses where the five main races of the season took place. Scribbled in the margins were notes—dips and divots on the turf, wet-to-dry conditions, the angle of the sun at every hour of the day… No detail was too minute to be marked down.

“Blimey!” Gemma exclaimed, her reaction eliciting chuckles from the gathered. Even Rakesley smiled.

“You only thought Rake was serious about his racing,” said Lord Ormonde. “Now you know.”

“No half measures for my brother,” said Lady Artemis.

Rakesley accepted the ribbing with good humor, which spoke well of the man and his relationship with his sister and friend.

Gemma saw him—necessarily—as someone to be avoided at best, and an adversary, at worst. After all, she was spying on his racing operation. They weren’t friends, no matter the connection that pulled between them when their gazes met.

Her body’s reaction to that connection suggested it had naught to do with friendship.

But rather that other word…

Desire.

She wasn’t a virgin. She knew this feeling.

Except…

She’d never felt it like this.

Like the merest meeting of their gazes sparked a blaze inside her capable of turning her into a pool of molten lava.

She gave her head a little shake, hoping to clear it of ideas that could only get her into a parcel of trouble. “You summoned me to show me the courses?” she asked, reaching for a topic.

“I summoned you here to ask for your assessment of the turf at Somerton,” said the duke. “How is Hannibal handling it?”

“It’s the best turf I’ve ever encountered,” said Gemma, truthfully.

“Would my brother have any other sort of turf?” inserted Lady Artemis.

“But,” continued Gemma, a not-insignificant fact occurring to her.

“But…what?” prodded Rakesley. There seemed to be something he wished her to speak aloud.

“The Two Thousand Guineas is run on the Rowley Mile, which is dry and hard.” In fact, it was the most severely testing of all the racecourses in England.

“See?” said Rakesley, now looking at his sister as if he’d just won a bet. “I keep telling you to enter Dido in the One Thousand Guineas. The Ditch Mile would suit her better.”

“You know what I think, brother?” asked Lady Artemis.

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