Page 588 of From Rakes to Riches

She felt bound.

To her duplicity.

Impossibly, to Rake.

The dull ache in her chest told her as much twenty times a day.

And as she did twenty times a day, she pushed past it and shrugged on her overlarge coat.

A few minutes later, she was making her way downstairs to the taproom. The atmosphere of The Running Horse had been raucous from the moment she’d set foot in it a few days ago, and the party showed no signs of abating as more spectators, blacklegs, touts, owners, jockeys, and all London poured into Newmarket. With the Two Thousand Guineas, then the OneThousand Guineas the following day, this was the biggest week of the year for the town.

Tucked behind a table in a relatively quiet corner, Liam waved.

Liam.Her family…heronlyfamily—or, more accurately, her only family that mattered.

Though spying on the Somerton stables wasn’t exactly right, it wasn’t exactly wrong, either.

She wouldn’t take any of it back.

Not when it meant keeping Liam and herself safe.

Even if she hadn’t succeeded in keeping her heart safe.

As she wound through the taproom haphazard with revelers who were roaring into life for another round, Gemma’s gaze shifted from Liam to the raven-haired man seated adjacent to him at the small table. As only Liam had direct dealings with Deverill, this was her first time viewing the man in the flesh.

Where Liam was long and lanky, this man was large beyond his physical form. He had apresence. Of a sudden, his head angled, and piercing eyes the blue of a glacier shifted and made their own up-and-down assessment of her.

Lord Devil.

Even without having exchanged a word between them, Gemma understood the nickname.

The man was almost too handsome to gaze upon directly.

She took the chair next to Liam, opposite Deverill, and signaled for an ale she wouldn’t drink.

“Gem,” said Liam, half ironic.

Gemma nodded, tight. Deverill sat back in his chair and openly watched her, all but demanding she meet his gaze.

A wry smile had settled about his mouth—a mouth almost at odds with the rest of his face. Where his features were all hard, sharp angles, his lips were pillowy and soft.

Lord Devil had a pretty mouth.

He opened that pretty mouth. “And everyone believes you a man?”

From the disbelieving tone in his voice to the skeptical look in his eye, he was clearly flummoxed.

Liam snorted.

“Alad,” corrected Gemma. It was an important distinction.

Deverill cocked his head, unconvinced. “How old?”

“Seventeen years.”

He nodded slowly, consideringly, and the moment stretched to the breaking point. Gemma didn’t like this man. She decided it on the spot.

He shook his head and lifted his straight black eyebrows. “I suppose you’re passable enough.”

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