Page 530 of From Rakes to Riches

“What is that?” Rakesley asked, leery.

“I think you’re afraid of my Dido besting your Hannibal.”

From what Gemma had observed on Somerton’s practice course this last week, Lady Artemis made a valid point. Simply put, Dido’s speed was blistering. She could very well beat Hannibal on a straight, which the Rowley Mile was. But for all Dido’s sweetness and speed, she possessed an unsettled spirit and needed to be handled delicately. “You need to race her from the lead,” said Gemma without thinking.

It was only when all three sets of eyes landed on her that she realized no one had asked for her opinion. “That’s how Dido will win races,” she continued for some reason. “You’ll have to work on her starts.”

When Lady Artemis opened her mouth to surely ask Gemma to elucidate further, Rakesley held up a staying hand. “Artemis, Gem is my jockey, not yours. You’ll be wanting to consult with Deeds about your race day strategy.”

Lady Artemis caught Gemma’s gaze. “Thank you, Gem. I shall pass along your suggestions.”

Deeds was Dido’s jockey. He’d arrived with Blankenship from Newmarket and possessed a distrustful, ferrety demeanor. Gemma intuited that if the man ever took the time to really look at her, he would see through her disguise in three seconds flat. She gave him a wide berth.

Lady Artemis’s eyebrows crinkled together. “Gem, are you quite alright?”

Gemma only just realized she’d begun rubbing her lower back. Nothing got past Lady Artemis.

“I’m,erm,” began Gemma, trying to think of anything that would deflect the group’s attention. “Stiff muscles,” she settled for muttering.

She shifted and propped an elbow on the table, hoping to appear relaxed. Everyone’s creased brows suggested she appeared the opposite. She’d likely winced.

Lady Artemis’s face went bright, like a wondrous idea had occurred to her this very instant.

Gemma tensed further.

“I know precisely what you need.”

Gemma only just didn’t groan. Lady Artemis would mean well, but…

“A long soak in a hot bath.”

Gemma felt her mouth gape open and barely thought to close it. When Rakesley began to nod in agreement, her jaw dropped again.

“Would you mind if I asked you a personal question?” he asked, the query directed square at Gemma.

Personal.

Which meant pertaining to her person.

Every cell in her person screamedno, no, no, even as she gave a curt nod of assent.

“Have you ever taken a bath?”

Indignation flared through her. “Of course, I have.”

The cheek!

His dark gaze narrowed. “Not a washing up, but a bath. A proper bath in a proper tub.”

“I’ve washed in a tub.” In second, and sometimes third-hand water, but he didn’t need to know that.

He gave a slow, measured nod. He seemed to know it, anyway. “That’s what I thought.”

Annoyance bolstered by a large dose of recklessness flared through Gemma. “What do you care if I’ve had a bath?”

“You’re Hannibal’s jockey, and since I plan on him taking the entire season?—”

“Hey,” piped up Lady Artemis and Lord Ormonde in unison. But their protest was only half-hearted with a good amount of humor.

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