Page 130 of The Earl She Once Saved

He looked down. “I beg your pardon.”

She smiled. “I said we must persuade you to remain in the county.”

“Yes.”

“You are not listening.”

“No.” The honesty surprised them both.

Before he could reconsider, Rafe bowed. “Excuse me.”

He crossed the ballroom. Verity saw him coming. Her expression gave away nothing. Roland’s did.

Rafe stopped before her. “Lady Edgeworth.”

“My lord.”

He held out his hand. “Will you dance?”

Verity looked at it. “You appear otherwise engaged.”

“I am not.”

The music changed. Couples began to move toward the center of the room.

Roland smiled. “Dance with him, my dear. We cannot have anyone believing the brothers have quarreled.”

Verity’s gaze hardened. She placed her hand in Rafe’s. Her fingers were cold as he led her into the dance. The first turn separated them. The second brought her back. Rafe touched her gloved hand, then her waist.

Neither spoke. Words would only have made the thing smaller. Every step said what he had denied in his room. Every return of her body toward his confessed the years of charcoal and paper. Her eyes met his, then fell to his mouth.

His hand tightened slightly at her waist. Verity’s breath changed. She came close on the turn, with her skirts brushing his legs. He caught the faint scent of roses in her hair. For one dangerous beat, the crowded ballroom receded. There was only the pulse at her throat, the warmth of her hand, and the memory of her standing among his drawings.

Then, Rafe saw Roland. His brother was watching from across the room. No injured husband remained in his face. There was no affection and no attempt to conceal what lay beneath it.

It was not jealousy. Jealousy acknowledged that the beloved possessed a will of her own. This was ownership. Roland looked at Rafe as though he had placed a hand upon something bearing another man’s name.

The music ended. Verity withdrew her hand. Before Rafe could speak, he saw Crote move behind Roland. The two men exchanged a glance. Roland turned toward the passage leading to the study. Crote followed.

Rafe bowed to Verity. “Forgive me.”

“For what?”

He did not answer. He crossed the ballroom and entered the passage. The study door had not closed completely. Light fell through the narrow opening. Rafe approached without sound.

Inside, Crote was standing beside the writing table. Roland faced him, one hand extended. Something blue and gold lay across Crote’s palm. Rafe stopped.

His mother’s pendant.

The chain hung between Crote’s fingers. The blue stone caught the firelight. That could only mean that Roland was in Verity’s room.

Rafe entered. “Give me that.”

Crote’s fist closed.

Roland turned. “Do knock, Rafe.”

Rafe reached Crote in three strides and caught the chain. Crote did not release it. The fine gold links drew taut between them.