Page 108 of The Earl She Once Saved

“I do not mean to.”

“No,” Cordelia said. “Men seldom do.”

She walked away before he could answer. Rafe entered. No lamps had been lit. The last gray light rested upon Verity’s face as she stood before the window.

She turned when he entered. Her hair had been loosened from its riding arrangement, though she still wore the same gown. Fatigue showed in the set of her shoulders. The sight of it made him ache.

He approached. Verity watched him, guarded now, but she did not ask him to leave. That small permission gave him more hope than it ought to have done.

Rafe opened his hand. “This belonged to my mother.”

Her eyes lowered to the pendant. Even in the fading light, the blue stone held a muted gleam.

“It is beautiful,” she whispered.

“It should be yours.”

Her gaze returned to his face. “Why?”

“Because Roland took everything that ought to have been yours. Your mother’s fortune. Your security. Years of your life.” His throat tightened. “This is the least I can set against it.”

“I cannot take your mother’s jewel.”

“I want you to have it.”

“You carried it through the war.”

He looked at her. “How did you know?”

“Ezra once said you kept one thing from home with you. He did not say what it was.”

Rafe glanced down at the pendant. “I kept it because it was hers.” He lifted his eyes. “I am giving it to you for the same reason.”

Verity’s lips parted, but no answer came. The light caught in the blue stone, deep and uncertain as water.

Rafe lifted the chain. “May I?”

For a moment he thought she would refuse. Then, Verity turned. Her hair had been pinned loosely, leaving the slender line of her nape exposed. A single dark curl rested against her skin. Rafe drew the chain around her.

His knuckles brushed the side of her neck. She went very still. Her warmth passed into his fingers. The faint scent of roses clung to her hair, beneath it the clean outdoor scent of wind and leather. He tried to fasten the clasp and missed it once.

His hands were not steady. Verity’s breath caught softly.

“Forgive me,” he murmured.

“There is nothing to forgive.”

The words were quiet. They moved through him more dangerously than any touch.

He tried again. The clasp closed.

Rafe should have stepped back. Instead, his hands remained near her shoulders, not touching. The loose curl stirred beneath his breath. He imagined smoothing it aside. He imagined lowering his mouth to the place where his knuckles had brushed her skin.

Wanting became a physical ache, low and fierce.

Verity turned slowly. The pendant rested at the hollow of her throat. They stood too close. Rafe could see the movement of her breath beneath the stone. Her eyes lifted to his, and for one dangerous instant the wall Ezra had spoken of seemed no more substantial than smoke.

Verity’s hand rose. Her fingertips touched the pendant, then rested lightly against Rafe’s open palm. His fingers closed slightly beneath hers.