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Even now as she made her way toward the track with Hannibal, she still felt that trace of apprehension, familiar nerves skittering through her.
In truth, she’d done all she could to avoid Rakesley these last three days. Every time he entered the stables, she made herself scarce—slipping unnoticed into the tack room or finding a stall to muck out in the carriage wing.
It wasn’t simply that she was spying on his operation and didn’t want to draw attention to herself. Something else had her avoiding him.
Something that happened when their gazes met.
Something that she intuitively understood she needed to stay clear of.
Yet there was more.
Rakesley was no fool. Her disguise wouldn’t hold up beneath the close scrutiny of that man’s fathomless gaze. Particularly not when she kept inserting her opinions into every conversation.
She gave her head a clearing shake. She was only here to report the goings-on of the Somerton stable to Deverill. That was her actual job. The one that would be paying her life-changing money upon completion.
But Deverill’s wasn’t the only life-changing money recently offered to her.
Three days ago, on the spot, she’d had the brass to ask the duke about recompense.
But why not?
When Liam rode, he received a base pay for riding—andhe got a cut of the purse for winning. One grateful, sauced-to-the-gills lord had even given him an entire purse, for he’d only been in it for the bragging rights.
Just like Rakesley, presumably. But…
Two hundred pounds.
She couldn’t imagine having so much blunt that two hundred pounds would be as nothing to her.
Her mind couldn’t quite grasp it.
But with opportunity came higher stakes.
More life-changing money on the line.
Life-changing money was being thrown at her from every direction.
All she had to do was steady herself and catch it.
And the powerful horse below her played a large role, for somehow, improbably, she’d become his jockey.
It wasn’t worth denying that part of her relished it, but another part of her—the sensible part—understood how easily all could end in disaster. For now, instead of avoiding Rakesley’s scrutiny, she was firmly…decidedly…in the center of it.
But what choice had she in that moment three days ago? Refuse both Lady Artemis and Rakesley? It hadn’t seemed like an option. What reason would lowly Gem have for refusing? She still couldn’t think of a single solitary one.
And the choice between Lady Artemis and Rakesley?
It hadn’t been much of one.
While she would rather ride for Lady Artemis, she was here to collect information on Rakesley’s racing operation. She couldn’t lose sight of that.
Hannibal stepped onto the practice course, and tension shivered through him. Not to flee, but to arrive there faster. This tension wasn’t about distress, but rather readiness.
For all her nerves, Gemma couldn’t wait to test Hannibal out on the turf. Green and loamy, it was firm, but held a spring. They’d done a few laps yesterday, and Hannibal had shown he knew exactly what to do. He’d wanted his head. But she’d held the reins tight and hadn’t given it to him, allowing him to go no faster than a trot.
That was yet another part of his training. Would he accept instructions he didn’t like?
The answer had beenyes—and what a relief.