Page 609 of From Rakes to Riches

Ahead, Artemis dropped to the ground beside Dido, whose wind was labored and rough. “Rake,” his sister called over her shoulder. She cast him a pleading look, one that asked him to do something, anything. He was her older brother who always knew what to do…how to make any situation come out all right.

As a small crowd of gawkers and otherwise useless people began to gather around, a figure appeared in the distance, running toward them.Gemma, cheeks flushed crimson from the ride, sweat beading down the sides of her face, her chest heaving with exertion.

“Help her, Gem,” sobbed Artemis.

Gemma didn’t hesitate as she made straight for Dido and kneeled over her, ear pressed to Dido’s chest, which had gone eerily still. A few beats of time later, she lifted her head, and her bright eyes met Rake’s. She gave her head a small shake, which Artemis caught.

Artemis threw a sob of pure, inconsolable grief and disbelief to the sky, and Rake was wrapping his arms around his sister.

A few seconds later, when he glanced up, Gemma had disappeared into the crowd.

Swirled in to all the other emotions of the last few minutes, Rake experienced the pang of loss.

Nothing would be the same after this day.

He understood it with certainty.

He’d won.

But he’d lost so much more.

Lady Beatrix pushed through the intensifying crowd, shouting at them all to, “Back the blazes away,” and threw her arms around Artemis, who began sobbing into her friend’s shoulder.

For now, his sister was attended to.

Rake had another matter to settle.

Gemma.

Before this terrible day was done, he would know the truth about her.

He suspected he already did.

But he needed to hear it directly from her own mouth.

Grimly, he set out.

24

Throat scratched raw from thanking well-wishers and back sore from accepting claps of congratulation, Gemma walked Hannibal into the stables and out of Newmarket’s festivities, which had gone from rambunctious to riotous now that the race was finished. A full-on bacchanalia would be following the setting of the sun, to be sure.

What she and Hannibal needed was calm and routine. She’d finished cooling him down, and now he needed a bit of food, a bucket of water, and a good, long grooming session. She reckoned she had time for that as her farewell.

But with the relative calm of the stable—it was only a hair more subdued than the course grounds—came the image she’d been pushing from her mind this last hour.

Dido.

Gemma still couldn’t grasp it. One instant Dido and Hannibal had been neck and neck, then the next, she’d faded back. In that moment, the thrill of elation had burst through Gemma. She and Hannibal were going to win the race. It wasn’tuntil they’d crossed the finish line, and Filthy Habit had come in two lengths behind that Gemma looked back.

The rest was a blur.

Ignoring the crowd that had been rushing in with roars of cheers and jeers, she’d dismounted and handed off Hannibal’s reins to Wilson. Then she’d been running, her feet pounding against the turf as hard as the beat of her heart against her ribs. It wasn’t a clear run. She’d had to dodge and weave through horses and riders and crowds of gawkers, hoping against hope she’d been mistaken about what she’d glimpsed.

Then she’d shouldered through the final layer of the crowd, who had drawn as close as they dared, and her feet had come to a sudden stop, her mind only registering images. Dido on her side, unmoving. Lady Artemis bent over her beloved horse, inconsolable. Rake’s arm draped over his sister’s back. Then Lady Artemis pleading with Gemma to do something. Though she already knew what the outcome would be, she’d pressed her ear to Dido’s chest, which had gone too still. She’d not heard the beat of the filly’s intrepid heart.

She’d met Rake’s gaze. Perhaps he, like his sister, had held on to the hope that she would be able to do something. Her first instinct had been to go to him. But she’d stopped herself, instead giving a small shake of her head.

There was the time before the race—and the timeafter.

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