Page 22 of From Rakes to Riches

A single horse came at them from the meadow, the rider making straight for their trysting place.

Sonia, in riding habit and hat very much like Gemma’s, swerved her horse under the trees and halted competently a few feet from Guy, Gemma, and their mounts.

“There are a great lot of people riding this way,” she said breathlessly. “I will distract them, but you must be quick.”

She made a neat turn and urged her mount into a canter. Horse and rider flowed from the trees and back to the meadow path, joining riders who were, as Sonia had warned, heading their way.

Guy seized Gemma’s hand. “Timely advice. Shall we flee?”

“Yes, I think we’d better.” Gemma’s face was flushed, and she looked everywhere but straight at Guy.

He quickly boosted Gemma into her saddle. She righted her hat, though the veil hung free, Guy’s impatience to kiss her having torn it loose.

Guy sprang to his horse, turning and guiding Gemma out of the little wood. He contrived things so that they were trotting sedately side by side up the path when the other riders poured at them.

He used the movement of adjusting his hat to lean to Gemma. “You and I will speak later, my love.”

“Do you think we ought to?” Gemma’s eyes glistened, the blue of them piercing his heart.

“Oh, yes. Why should we not?”

Her mouth curved into a glorious smile. “Because we always kiss when we do.”

Guy’s heart sped, and a deluge of warmth flooded him. “All the more reason to seek each other out. Now, let us behave like prim chaperones and ride with your stepdaughter.”

“An excellent suggestion.”

They slowed and waited for Sonia, who trotted to them as though surprised and delighted she’d caught up to them.

Guy noted the smug expression on Sonia’s face, no trace of jealousy to be found. For a debutante who’d caught her potential suitor kissing her stepmother, she appeared inordinately pleased.

Gemma barely sawGuy after they rejoined the riders, the gentlemen absorbing him while Gemma and Sonia were surrounded by the ladies.

Back at the house, Guy was swept from Gemma by a tide of his cronies all too happy for the opportunity to talk horse amongst themselves. The Duke of Ashford’s stables held fine horseflesh, which could occupy conversation for hours.

During supper that night, Gemma found herself seated a long way from Guy. Interestingly, so was Sonia. Guy’s supper partner was Aunt Margot.

After the meal, Gemma withdrew with the ladies to the drawing room, and the gentlemen did not join them until late.

No sooner had the gentlemen entered—most wearing resigned expressions that they’d had to leave behind port, cheroots, and foul language for tea and polite conversation—when Helena declared herself tired and said it was time for the ladies to retire. None disputed with their hostess, and the ladies departed en masse. A few of the gentlemen looked relieved.

Gemma caught Guy’s gaze as she strolled from the drawing room, arm-in-arm with Sonia. Guy regarded her neutrally, one acquaintance to another, but her heart sped at the glint deep in his eyes.

She spent a wakeful night vividly recalling Guy’s decadent kiss, his touch gliding along her body, the firmness of his thighs under her hands. She half hoped he’d find a way to slip into her bedroom, clad only in nightshirt and dressing gown, pressing quieting fingers to her lips as he slipped into her bed.

The fantasies that scenario engendered made sleep impossible.

Alas, Guy did not visit her in the night, and in the morning, she discovered he had departed for London even before Gemma and her family had descended for breakfast.

Helena, who’d relayed the information, seemed to find nothing odd in Guy’s behavior. In fact, she said nothing further about Guy as she assisted Gemma’s party for their return to London, and strangely, neither did Aunt Margot.

As for Sonia, she remained mute on the subject of Guy kissing Gemma, projecting an air of innocence that bordered on the vapid. Sonia continued this uncharacteristic vacuousness in the Broadbent chaise all the way to London. Aunt Margot remained quiet, a peculiar smile hovering about her mouth.

Only Tristan was talkative, unusually so. “The duke is a gracious host, ain’t he?” He almost beamed. “His Grace has invited me to sit in his box at Newmarket and again at Goodwood. An excellent man, is the duke. Most excellent. The very picture of a gentleman.”

Aunt Margot shot both Gemma and Sonia a glance that begged them not to laugh.

“Lord Guy Lovell, now,” Tristan rattled on. “The duke’s closest friend—he is an excellent gentleman as well. I know Lord Guy from my club. He gave me many tips on the Derby and told me he’d have the butler at Brooks’s put aside a bottle of the best port for me. What a fine visit we’ve had.”

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