Page 9 of Gone with the Rake

Wearing the male clothes underneath her cloak made it easy for her to saddle the horse astride and spur it toward Mayfair. She felt more comfortable in male breeches and shirts even when lounging about the house and only wore the female attire when company required it.

Once, dressing like a boy was a survival method. Now, it was purely for comfort and as a disguise during her nighttime escapades.

She wasn’t out stealing every night or even every month—that would have been far too risky. She had only taken a few items of great import and regretted it already as they generated far too much attention. Normally, she’d taken just enough to keep herself comfortable while searching for the one item that would finally set her and Honoria free.

She never expected that item would be his…

Worse, she’d had the item in her possession a long time ago. For a fleeting moment, she wondered what might have happened if she had kept it but quickly pushed the thought away. Now was not time for what ifs.

Now was the time to formulate a plan.

The jewel she had been tasked with stealing was a family heirloom traditionally passed from the marquess to his firstborn son and later given as a gift to his bride. Or so Art had claimed. He could have lied.

What she knew for certain was that he kept all the family heirlooms locked in the safe inside his bedchamber. It was possible he had changed his habits, but that would be the first place she checked.

Lydia inhaled a ragged breath. The last thing she wanted was to see him for the first time in so many years in his bedroom while he was slumbering.

Would he be undressed? Heat crept up her cheeks at the thought. His body had surely changed over time. Had he grown broader, his frame more powerful? Perhaps, he’d gained a rounded belly like most lords were wont to do.

What if he wasn’t alone?

Now that was a sobering thought. The heat coursing through her veins instantly turned to ice.

Of course, he wouldn’t be alone! He was a known libertine, a rake. Lydia might not have seen him in years, but she had certainly heard the rumors of his amorous exploits. And no matter how much she told herself otherwise, those rumors still stung.

She didn’t know why she kept seeking out information about him. But she couldn’t quite resist.

It’s been so long; she should have forgotten about him. Moved on. Yet, every time his name was spoken, her senses sharpened, homing in on every detail, tucking each stray piece of gossip away in the corners of her mind.

She didn’t love him anymore. Of course, she didn’t.

It was impossible to love someone for so long, especially someone who had hurt her so deeply.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t curious.

Perhaps she could have made peace with it if he had married—or at least promised himself to another—and remained faithful. Love, she could understand.

But no.

He had cast her aside and then continued on his merry debauched way.

He had shut the gates on their young courtship, and in doing so, he had taken a part of her with him.

She needed to get that part back.

Lydia expelled a breath.

This mission, the final mission that would help her and Honoria escape the shackles of this pseudo existence, could be just the act she needed to finally get the viscount out of her mind. By stealing his jewel, she would reclaim that part of herself he had taken.

Lost in her thoughts, Lydia barely noticed that she had reached Mayfair. She pulled her mount to a stop a few houses away from the Wakefield residence and tied it to a tree.

She walked slowly down the fashionable street, the echoes of the past ringing in her mind.

“I shall marry you, darling. I shall make you my viscountess.” Art’s voice had been firm, confident.

“Servants’ daughters do not make good viscountesses,” she had murmured glumly.

“Do they make good wives?”