Page 580 of From Rakes to Riches

“How did you come to be in The Drunken Piebald’s stable?”

Gemma found enough truth to draw upon. “Liam planned on seeking employment at Somerton.”

“Ah,” said Rake. “Which explains your boldness that first night. But, still, why?”

“Liam is quite a talented jockey. Word had reached London that you were experiencing jockey trouble, so he decided to throw his hat in the ring.”

“And Liam, where is he, anyway?”

“At The Drunken Piebald, nursing a broken leg.”

A beat of time passed. “So, you decided to take his place.”

“Liam was none too keen on the idea.”

“And the rest is history.”

“Something like that.”

“But not truly, is it?”

Panic streaked through her. Had he read the rest of the truth between the lines of what she’d said?

“Bolton won’t have stopped pursuing the two of you.”

“Aye.”

“And now you know he’ll be at the Two Thousand Guineas.”

“Are you trying to make me feel worse?”

Rake tucked a thumb beneath her chin and turned her head so she was left with no choice but to meet his gaze. “Here’s the thing, Gemma. You don’t belong to Bolton. You belong only to yourself.”

To hear those words spoken aloud—words she’d never been brave enough to speak herself—shifted something inside Gemma.

Because this man believed them.

And if he believed them, then perhaps she could as well.

“I can help you, Gemma.”

His words set off a contradictory storm of emotions within her. If he knew what she’d been doing to be free of Bolton, he wouldn’t be speaking them.

And yet… How seductive was his offer—the idea of it.

Of him and her being on the same side.

A seductive fantasy was all it was.

“Stay, Gemma,” he said.

19

Stay…

The word not a command, but a plea.

One Gemma was powerless against.

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