Page 570 of From Rakes to Riches

“But it’s a fact well established,” said Lady Beatrix in her matter-of-fact manner, “that the Marquess of Ormonde is one of the most virtuous lords in the land. A single glance at his angelic looks will tell you as much. He possesses not one single, solitary filthy habit.”

The duchess took a sip of her champagne and canted her head. “I’m afraid I’ll have to disagree with you there, Lady Beatrix.”

Artemis gasped. “Is there something you know about Julian that the rest of us don’t?”

“Not particularly,” said the duchess. “But in the general sense, yes. I’ve become convinced over the years that there isn’t a man on this Earth who isn’t possessed of at least one filthy habit.” She shrugged, helpless against the rules of the universe. “My apologies, Lord Ormonde if I’ve put you under pressure,” she finished on a laugh and another gulp of champagne.

“Not at all,” said Julian, an amused smile about his mouth that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Only Rake would notice that last bit about his friend.

As for the Duchess of—Celia, Rake had rather come to like her. She was intelligent, beautiful, serious about her stables, and possessed of a sense of levity. He could appreciate such a woman.

In fact, such a woman was exactly the sort he should take to wife.

While the conversation flowed around him, his gaze slid over to the empty place to his right. One supper guest hadn’t yet arrived.

Gemma.

Tomorrow, they all would begin walking their colts and fillies to Newmarket, which would take a few days as the process was slow so as not to wear out the horses. As tonight was their last night at Somerton, Rake had decided to hold a small supper and invite his jockey. Such things were done. No matter that she wasn’t an aristocrat; he was a duke, and if he wanted to invite his jockey to supper, that was entirely his prerogative.

Now, he could only hope his jockey would grace the gathering with her presence.

He’d only seen her on the practice course or in passing these last three days. Each time, however fleeting, he experienced a jolt in his body—and a pull.

But he’d resisted it and had satisfied himself with daily reports from Wilson, as most owners did.

If that could be called satisfaction.

It wasn’t.

He shouldn’t have invited her tonight for two simple reasons.

First, he should be staying away from her. After their last encounter, he’d realized he’d gone too far.

In more ways than one.

He needed to rein himself in. It wasn’t as much about the physical act as it was about the words voiced—and the ones left unvoiced.

The marriage to the Duchess of Acaster won’t make you happy.

That wasn’t the worst of it. He’d followed her words with some of his own—more of a challenge, really.

And have you any ideas about the sort of marriage that would make me happy?

He could hardly warrant it.

Nay.

It wasn’t his words he couldn’t warrant. It was momentary impulse—one barely contained—to follow those words to a different conclusion.

One that would have him either rejected outright or…

Engaged to wed his jockey.

An idea that defied belief.

But does it, came the small voice that wouldn’t leave him be.

He’d made a laughingstock of himself a decade ago with Felicity. Three days ago, he’d found himself on the verge of making a fool of himself, again—with his jockey.

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