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With that, Gem nodded and led Hannibal away. Rake, slightly flummoxed, watched the pair go. Didn’t Gem know he was supposed to wait to be dismissed by a duke?
But that wasn’t all that was bothering Rake. It was that his gaze had slipped down and lingered for a beat too long on the back of Gem. All loose-fitting and dirt-encrusted, the lad practically swam in his clothes from hat to coat to riding breeches. But Rake had picked up a movement beneath those dingy, loose clothes. A subtle sway…
Of the hips.
Rake’s brow furrowed into a painful crease.
This noticing of a stable lad’s eyes and the sway of his hips was…new.
And…unexpected.
5
THREE DAYS LATER
Gemma took a deep inhalation of early morning air—air brisk enough to give the blood a little edge and ready it for the coming day.
It was her favorite sort of air.
Hannibal nudged her with his muzzle as she checked that bit and bridle were fastened correctly. He’d sensed the tetchy energy coming off her and knew today was different.
And, indeed, it was.
She stroked his nose. “You’re going to run free today, my friend.”
He whickered as she ran a palm across his withers before checking the saddle to make certain all straps were properly attached and tightened sufficiently. This saddle would be tested today.
Actually, they would all be tested today—saddle…Hannibal…her.
Today wasn’t only a test of horse, but also of rider.
The notion had her palms slicked with sweat, and her heart thudding in her chest.
Reins in hand, she led Hannibal out of his box and then down the red-bricked center aisle, the hollowclip-clopof his hooves inviting the other Thoroughbreds to poke their heads out of their boxes in bleary-eyed morning greeting.
Cal stepped into view at the end of the aisle, a big smile spread across his face. “Yer gonna run that beast today, eh?”
Gemma nodded.
She wasn’t the only one bursting with anticipation.
“Me and the other lads, we’ll be out there on the rails, givin’ ye a cheer. Never seen a lad jump up from muckin’ stalls to jockey so fast.” His head tipped to the side, a baffled expression crossing his features. “Or at all, come to think on it.”
Gemma grunted, as was usual for “Gem,” but she couldn’t suppress the smile lifting about the corners of her mouth. Indeed, Cal had never seen a lad like her—if he only knew the half of it.
“I bet yer likin’ yer new quarters.” A thread of envy twined through Cal’s words.
Gemma gave a shrug, as if indifferent, when she was anything but.
The instant she’d become Hannibal’s jockey, her status at Somerton had risen. A man supremely aware of such matters, Wilson had provided a room for her sole use just off the hayloft. She would’ve been content to sleep on a cot in Hannibal’s box, and she’d voiced as much, but Wilson wasn’t having it.
And anyway, she hadn’t put much passion into the protest, for she’d secured a luxury far beyond that of occupying a space with herself alone—the exquisite extravagance of unbinding her breasts every night before bed.
A luxury she would never again take for granted.
She and Hannibal stepped into the courtyard. The air wasn’t clear, but rather gray with mist that would burn off in the nexthour. She placed a foot in the stirrup before hauling herself up and into the saddle.
With a light squeeze of her knees, they began moving, passing beneath the wide arch of the gate and its impressive clock tower to make their way toward Somerton’s practice track. The rising sun glowed hazy and golden through the trees, imbuing the cool mist lifting off the ground with a dreamlike radiance. The ride gave Gemma a few minutes to gather herself within—to call upon nerve that had never before been tested. She drew another steadying breath.