Page 614 of From Rakes to Riches

He reached into an interior pocket of his greatcoat, his hand emerging with a fat leather pouch, which he tossed across the footwell. Gemma caught it and tested its heavy, jangly weight. The £200 purse for winning the Two Thousand Guineas.

“Your thirty pieces of silver.”

Gemma wasn’t about to let him get away with those words. “Oh, Deverill paid me those last night.” She held up the leather purse. “This, I earned today for a job well done. You’ve got Hannibal through to the Race of the Century.” She wasn’t done provoking him. “We both got what we wanted.”

She hadn’t intended the words to emerge as an irony, but rather as a cheap provocation.

It felt like the opposite was true.

While both of them had gained what they’d wanted in the beginning, wants had shifted over the last few weeks and possibly changed. The possibility existed that for a fleeting moment, they’d wanted an entirely different outcome.

An outcome that might’ve been a possibility.

In another life.

The carriage rolled into the stable yard of The Running Horse. The time had arrived for Gemma to vacate this carriage.

And never see this man again.

Even as the conveyance slowed to a stop, neither of them moved to open the door.

“You don’t have to worry about Bolton anymore,” said Rake, offhand, as if the words didn’t mean very much.

Gemma blinked. “What do you mean?”

“He understands that you’re now under my protection.”

Her brow furrowed. “When did you?—”

“I spoke to him today.”

“But…” Oh, this needed to be said. “I’m not under your protection.”

“Bolton doesn’t have to know that.”

A long moment stretched between them as the implications of Rake’s words penetrated. She couldn’t leave this carriage without saying something. Even with all that had been said, two words yet remained. “Thank you.”

Rake’s jaw clenched. He didn’t want to accept her thanks, that was apparent. Still, he nodded. Then he reached for the handle and pushed the door open.

Gemma willed stiff muscles into motion, and somehow, she got herself out of the carriage. The door clicked shut behind her.

She didn’t expect to meet his gaze through the window. So much yet pulsed and pulled between them.

All of it impossible.

The chasm between them was too wide…unbridgeable.

He gave the ceiling two sharp raps, and the carriage lurched into motion.

Alone in the stable yard, Gemma watched it roll out of view. But she wasn’t alone. Rake had left her with a gift.

The gift of freedom.

He was angry with her. He wanted nothing more to do with her—and yet he wasn’t vengeful. He was generous. At the end of it all, he was a good man—an honorable man.

He was the man she loved.

For here was the gift—she and Liam were not only free of Bolton, but they no longer had to leave England. Not as long as Bolton believed them under the protection of the Duke of Rakesley. And Gemma knew Rake would never disabuse Bolton of that belief.

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