Page 571 of From Rakes to Riches

And there was the second reason he shouldn’t have invited her to dine with them tonight.

He’d given her the power of refusal.

Truly, he couldn’t be trusted around women.

Horses were an altogether safer bet.

As were duchesses who flashed sparkling eyes full of invitation his way.

Celia held up her champagne coupe in a silent toast intended for only the two of them. Rake raised his coupe and drank, thankful he’d had her seated opposite him and not beside him in the guest of honor’s chair. That chair was reserved for his jockey—Gemma—and remained stubbornly empty.

“Brother, what’s your opinion?” asked Artemis. The mischievous look in her eyes told him she’d seen him notheeding the conversation and had purposely caught him out. It had been a favorite game of hers since childhood.

“About…?” He asked, unbothered.

“The ladies have been discussing the Earl of Bridgewater,” supplied Julian.

Rake gave an indifferent shrug. “I don’t have much of an opinion on Bridgewater beyond what everyone knows. He runs his horses into the ground and does the same with his women.”

“He’s just married,” supplied Lady Beatrix. It was little wonder she and Artemis were bosom friends. Both ladies were inquisitive to a fault and unafraid to voice it. “And his new bride is thirty years younger.”

That was quite a disparity in age, even bytonstandards.

“Thirty years?” scoffed Celia. “Why, that’s nothing. Try fifty-six.”

An uncomfortable silence stretched. Rake had known the years between Acaster and his duchess had been great, but fifty-six… It was unconscionable, really.

Needless to say, Celia had surely more than earned the freedom afforded her by widowhood. And yet…here she was, presumably anxious to shackle herself to Rake a year after the duke’s death.

Curious, that.

He cleared his throat and held up his refreshed champagne coupe. “I wish Bridgewater’s countess the very best of luck.” A beat. “She’s going to need it.”

“Why is that?” asked Celia. “Beyond the usual reasons, of course,” she added, the lightness of her words belied by the seriousness in her eyes.

Marriage certainly hadn’t been kind to the Duchess of Acaster.

“Bridgewater is more known for his stable of mistresses than horses.”

“Ah, but you’re making quite the assumption.”

“Which is?”

“That his countess made a love match on her side.”

That got a few amused waggles of eyebrows around the table, and Rake realized he had, indeed, made that assumption. Even after Felicity—and even with his own intentions toward this very duchess—he’d made the assumption of a love match on the part of the lady.

What was becoming of him?

“You see,” continued Celia, her gaze steadily holding his, “I would be the sort of bride who would welcome an understanding with my husband.”

Mistresses.Rake would be free to have mistresses.

A potential prospect came to mind… The woman for whom he might’ve formed a bit of an obsession.

He would never feel thusly for the duchess, which left little doubt that she was the perfect wife for him.

Yet Rake did doubt.

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