Page 554 of From Rakes to Riches

There was no need, for they’d topped the hill and the folly came into view. She pointed. “Is that where we’re going?”

“Aye.”

“What a splendid view,” she said, urging her mount into a canter.

“Aye,” he repeated.

Rake wasn’t referring to the land spread below them or the blue sky dotted white with lazy cotton puffs of clouds. But rather the distant figure ahead wearing trousers, red-gold hair tied at her nape, and slouch hat pulled low over her forehead.

Gemma.

From her place on the folly’s steps, Artemis gave a shout of greeting and an enthusiastic wave, which Celia returned mildly.

Gemma’s gaze, though, slid past the approaching duchess and landed square on Rake.

Time had a way of slipping out of its usual rhythm when his gaze met hers.

Within her eyes, he saw everything and nothing. He knew this woman—knewher…intimately—and yet he didn’t.

These last three days had done nothing to suppress his appetite for her. Instead, he understood, in this timeless moment, it had only whetted it.

And now he was to make civil conversation with her in front of others—including the woman who would likely become his wife.

Right.

He was making a bad decision.

A very bad decision.

It was objectively true.

And yet…

He was powerless against it.

This very bad decision held a momentum of its own.

And like any man with a sliver of remaining good sense, all he could do was hold on.

15

Through a series of events Gemma hadn’t heeded closely enough, she somehow found herself riding across the Somerton estate alongside Lady Artemis, with Cal trailing at a distance.

She suspected that was how most things went with Lady Artemis. Behind the lady’s good humor and generally sunny disposition hid a will of iron. If she wanted something, she had it.

And for some reason, she wanted to go for a ride with the taciturn stable lad Gem.

Not that Gemma minded. Hannibal was resting in his box after a morning’s hard training, and the warm sun was presently soaking through her clothes and into her skin.

It was a good day to be out.

“We should’ve brought Hannibal and Dido,” said Lady Artemis, face pointed up to the sun, eyes closed, a relaxed smile about her mouth.

“They’ve earned their afternoon rest,” said Gemma, diplomatically. But, really, aristocrats could lack sense of the common variety.

Lady Artemis slitted one eye open and directed it at Gemma. “How did you come to be so wise, Gem? What are you? Fifteen? Sixteen years of age?”

“Erm…” Gemma searched her mind for Gem’s age. “Seventeen?”

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