Page 590 of From Rakes to Riches

“And Rakesley?—”

“Not Rakesley.”

The blasted man looked as if he might be taking delight in confounding her.

Gemma sat back, baffled. “What has all this been about if not Rakesley and Hannibal?”

Deverill spread his hands wide. “Rakesley has the best horseracing operation in England.”

“Established fact,” she said, curt.

“Iwant to have the best horseracing operation in England.”

“But why?” Gemma found herself asking. “Aren’t you a manufacturer of steam engines?” She recalled the fact from Rakesley’s supper party a week ago.

“Been doing your research?” he asked, sardonic. Here was a man who didn’t like to be known. “Isn’t it enough that I enjoy being the best at everything I set my hand to?”

Gemma gave her head a slow shake. “I don’t think so.”

A heavy beat of time loped past. “How does one fit into their world if one doesn’t becomeoftheir world?” Deverill spoke the words with a lightness that didn’t match the gravity in his glacial eyes. “Someone took something precious from me, and I want it back.”

Oh…“This has never been about Rakesley, has it?”

“Not the man himself, no.”

A strange sort of relief struck through Gemma. The information she’d provided on Somerton had been a means to an end—not the end itself. Still, one thing needed to be clear. “I’ll not harm a horse.”

“I’m not asking for any real or lasting harm.”

“What they say about you is true.”

“They?” Deverill scoffed. “I’ve never given a toss about whattheythink.”

“You don’t belong in this sport.”

He shifted forward, humor replaced by utter seriousness. “I’ll belong anywhere I damn well please.” Now, it was his fingerstabbing into the center of the table. “Andtheycan putthatin their collective pipe and smoke it.”

Gemma’s gaze flashed toward Liam. “And you’re alright with going along with this?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Ah, Gemma, a little clover is all. Nothing of import would come of it.”

“Nothing of import can turn deadly serious with a horse very quickly. You know that.” Her attention returned to Deverill. What she was about to say could mean the end of all her and Liam’s ambitions. But one must draw a line somewhere and hold it. Here was her line. “I won’t do it. Once you pay us—now—our dealings are finished.”

A moment of time beat by, and fear settled deep in Gemma’s gut. He could refuse to honor their deal, and she and Liam would have no recourse.

And then what?

It would’ve all been for naught.

And if she and Hannibal didn’t win tomorrow, she and Liam would be back exactly where they’d started.

At last, Deverill’s hand slipped inside a coat pocket and emerged holding a leather pouch that clanked when it hit the table. “Fifty pounds, as agreed.”

Relief soared through Gemma. She saw it in Liam’s eyes, too, as he snatched the pouch and tucked it away.

If she and Hannibal took the Two Thousand Guineas tomorrow, that additional £200 would make her future real—make it secure.

But…

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