Page 628 of From Rakes to Riches

He ran a hand through tousled hair, an air of frustration about him. “You can stop thanking me. I don’t want your thanks or undying gratitude. I want your—” His mouth snapped shut.

“What is it you want?” Gemma was barely able to whisper, her heart beating a hard tattoo in her chest. It knew what it hoped he wanted.

“We can talk about that later.”

More ticks of awkward silence crept past. Gemma had to stop herself from shuffling her feet. “How did you find me?” she asked, at last.

“I saw your brother at Epsom.”

“Ah,” she said on a slow nod. “His shock of red hair wouldn’t be too difficult to spot.”

Rake remained utterly serious. “He’s a damn fine jockey.”

“Aye.”

“I offered him employment at Somerton.”

Instinctively, Gemma scoffed. “You cannot offer my brother employment.”

“I can.” Rake shrugged. “I did.”

Sometimes, she could forget what an arrogant duke he was.

Then she was reminded.

“Did you come all this way to tell me that?” she asked, irked.

“No.”

Her irritation faded, a dizzying feeling of anticipation taking its place.

He glanced around their surroundings. “Do you like it up in Yorkshire?”

“It’s a bit nippy, but aye.”

His gaze shifted and seemed to really take her in. “You’re doing what you always wanted.”

“Aye.”

“You look well.”

“I am.”

Though they were speaking about her life, it felt like a superficiality. As if another conversation were straining below the surface of this conversation, aching to get out.

Then it hit her—Rake’s appearance. Three-day stubble on his face… His head hatless, hair wind-tossed… A scuff of muck on his greatcoat sleeve…

In short, he looked bedraggled.

Rake never looked bedraggled—not even when he’d just rolled out of bed.

A question came to her. A question she must ask—a question that required nerve.

Well, she’d never lacked for that.

“And the reason you’ve come all the way north?” she asked softly, nearly breathless.

Oh, the gallop of her heart… It would race straight out of her chest any second.

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