Page 577 of From Rakes to Riches

Bolton.

He would be present at the Two Thousand Guineas. Of course, he would. And if the conditions were favorable, she had no doubt Bloody Hell could win it. The colt had been of sweet, solid temperament from the moment of his birth. When she and Liam had made the decision to leave Bolton’s estate, it had been Bloody Hell to whom she’d spoken her final goodbyes.

But seeing him again meant seeing Bolton.

She set about tearing off all the fine, borrowed clothes sent by Rake and immediately donned her old, familiar rags. Instinct had her rushing across the room and jerking open the wardrobe, grabbing the rest of her belongings and stuffing them into her valise.

The fact was she could leave—tonight…now.

She’d collected enough information on the Somerton operation for Deverill.

And she didn’t have to ride in the Two Thousand Guineas.

A pang of anguish struck through her at the very thought. She wanted to see the race through with Hannibal. With her on his back, he would show England what he could do.

No.She couldn’t let such thoughts slow her.

She would ask Deverill for payment, then she and Liam would be on their way to New York.

It was that simple.

And that painful.

Here was something precious, lost.

But had it—the something precious she’d lost—had it ever been hers in the first place?

Two light taps sounded on the door. She stopped mid-step, and silence prevailed.

He was waiting.

That was the thing about the Duke of Rakesley. He was a patient man. He could wait and wait and wait. He was a stubborn man too.

If she wanted to flee Somerton, she would have to go through him.

That was what his presence at her door said.

She recovered the remaining frayed bits of her nerve and jerked the door open. She avoided his gaze and silently stood aside. He was going to come in. She might as well invite him.

As he stepped past, she inhaled. She couldn’t help herself. He was the most delicious-smelling man she’d ever come across. Of course, most men she came across labored in stables. Still…

He gave the room a quick scan. “Going somewhere?”

Gemma glanced away from his too-insightful gaze. “It might be best if I…”

She couldn’t finish the sentence. Every part of her mutinied against leaving.

And yet she must.

He crossed the small room in two quick strides, pulled a chair out from beneath the rickety wooden table, and sat, settling back and resting an ankle on his thigh. He looked utterly at ease and utterly in command.

Gemma wasn’t going anywhere just yet. That was what Rake was telling her without saying a word. She set her valise on the bed.

“It’s Bolton, isn’t it?” he said, getting straight to it in the way only he could.

“Bolton?” she asked. It emerged more squeak than word.

“Bolton,” he enunciated slowly.

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