Page 559 of From Rakes to Riches

“Aye,” said Gemma, glancing up toward a darkening sky. In the course of a few minutes, the clouds had gone from harmless white to threatening gray. “We should probably be getting back. I think it’s about to?—”

Then she felt it—the first drop of rain on her nose, quickly followed by another and another.

“Follow me,” Rakesley shouted over his shoulder as he disappeared inside the folly, around one corner, then another, the sudden summer shower breaking upon their heads. Though surprisingly labyrinthine, unsurprisingly, the folly lacked a roof.

Around yet another corner they went, and then Gemma had a roof over her head. To call the surrounding four walls a room would’ve been overstatement. It was closer to the size of a closet. But it held a glorious defining feature—a rectangular window so large she could’ve easily stood on its stone casement with inches to spare above her head.

And the view it offered of the mist-shrouded countryside below…

“Stunning,” fell from her mouth.

Rakesley took a seat at one corner of the window, his back propped against stone, one leg stretched before him, the other propped in his hands. She sat at the opposite corner and tried to keep her attention on the valley. But it was the view before her that her gaze wanted to feast upon—Rakesley, wet and tousled.

Oh, but he was a stunning view.

In a strange way she felt nervous of him. She didn’t know how to be around this man in this context.

Where she was herself—Gemma—and he was Rakesley…

Rake.

His gaze slid over to meet hers. “This was my favorite place as a child.”

“Oh?” she asked, slightly breathless.

The openness in his gaze…

It was new.

“Besides the stables, of course.”

She couldn’t help smiling. “Of course.” It went without saying—for both of them.

“I would escape out here whenever I wanted a few hours to myself.”

“I can see why,” said Gemma, appreciatively.

“Then my father died, and I became a duke and stopped coming as often.”

“Surely, you were allowed to come here as the duke. Aren’t dukes allowed to do anything? Isn’t that rather the point of being a duke?”

“Yes and no,” he said, his smile patient.

It occurred to Gemma that she very much wanted to kiss his lips again.

“Certain expectations are placed on a duke,” he continued. “As a result, his movements are ever known.”

“Expectations?”

“His education, duties, and responsibilities. I was shipped off to Eton, then to Cambridge. Even before I attained my majority, I’d taken the lands and tenancies under control.”

“And marriage?” Gemma found herself asking.

Not that she had any right.

Wariness entered his eyes. “I’ve always been aware of my duties on that front as well.”

A weighty beat of time passed. “And the Duchess of Acaster?”

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