Page 483 of From Rakes to Riches

But she would prevail.

Mainly because Liam was confined to a bed.

Well, one had to take one’s luck where one found it.

She had this under control.

Except…no one controlled the Duke of Rakesley.

No matter. She wasn’t planning to control him. She would only gather information about the operation of his renowned stables and send it along to Deverill in agreed-upon regular missives by post.

When viewed from that angle, it was practically a crime without a victim. No one would be getting hurt. It was simply the passing on of information. If she didn’t do it, someone else would.

And someone else would get that life-changing fifty pounds.

She made her way across the stable yard, and the wind caught at her slouch hat, a tendril of hair slipping from beneath. By the time she entered the inn, the errant lock was securely tucked away before she stopped to secure an extra blanket and pillow. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d slept on a floor.

Nor the last, she suspected.

Inside their room, she nudged Liam awake and recounted the happenings of the last half hour, leaving out not a single, solitary detail.

He let her finish, then said, “It won’t work.”

She puffed out an irritated breath. “Why is that?”

Liam didn’t rise to it. “Just look at you, Gemma.”

“I know what I look like.”

His eyes rolled toward the ceiling. “You’re a woman,” he explained slowly. “Truly, the man must be blind.” Anotherthought seemed to strike him. “Or a complete dolt, like most lords.”

It was only established fact. Most lords were self-centered dolts.

But Rakesley…

She wasn’t sure what he was—man or mythology—but one thing she was sure he wasn’t.

This duke wasn’t a dolt.

She shook her head. “He’s neither blind nor a dolt.”

Liam sucked his teeth. He didn’t like that answer.

“You know, I’m very much the size of a lad,” she continued. “The binding on my,erm, chest keeps it flat enough, and I’ve learned how to hide my privy habits around the stables in London.”

Liam pointed an accusatory finger square at her face. “Not a hint of fuzz on your upper lip.”

“Some lads don’t have any until later.” She could only hope she didn’t sound as desperate as she felt. “I’ll smudge dirt into my skin. No one will notice me.”

“Your hair,” stated Liam, as if those two words were enough said.

“What about my hair?”

“Tucking it away works when I’m around to vouch for you. But I won’t be there, Gemma.”

The worry was apparent in his eyes. They’d always protected one another, and with her up the road at Somerton and him here with a broken leg, he wouldn’t be able to.

“Your disguise might suffice for ten minutes, in the dark, but not every hour of the day. Your hair is silky. Like a woman’s.”

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