Page 29 of The Earl She Once Saved

It was ridiculous that a man could cross half Europe beneath fire and still be defeated by a dark room in Yorkshire.

At that moment, a sound came from the passage. Rafe stilled, while a soft knock followed. He knew who it was before she spoke.

“Rafe?”

He shut his eyes briefly.

“Go back to bed.”

Silence.

Then, she urged. “Open the door.”

He almost laughed. Even at this hour she managed to make concern sound like an order.

He rose, found his dressing gown and pulled it on. The floor was cold beneath his bare feet. When he opened the door, Verity stood outside with a candle in one hand.

Her hair was loose.

That was the first thing he saw. He had never seen it so. During the day it was always controlled, pinned and ordered as severely as the accounts upon her desk. Now it fell dark over one shoulder, heavy and unguarded, and made her look younger, too much like the girl he remembered.

Rafe tightened his grip upon the door. Verity’s eyes moved over him. He knew what she saw, his damp hair, colorless face and the unsteady hand.

Her expression changed. The coldness thinned. Concern entered in its place. He hated it at once.

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” he retorted.

“I heard you,” she spoke softly.

“A bad dream,” he explained.

She frowned. “That did not sound like a dream.”

Her voice softened. It should not have. That was worse than accusation.

Behind her, the passage lay dark except for the small circle of candlelight. Sergeant stood several paces away, watching Rafe with grave suspicion. Rafe looked back at Verity.

“No lady ought to be standing outside a gentleman’s bedchamber at this hour.”

Her eyes narrowed.

There. Better.

He could see the fire in those beautiful eyes and he hated himself for noticing it.

“Then you may comfort yourself with the knowledge that I have rarely been accused of behaving as a lady ought.”

“Verity.”

“What?”

“You need not have come,” he spoke through clenched teeth.

She looked at him for a long moment. “I know.”

The answer struck unexpectedly. It was not obligation, then, but rather a choice. He wished she had not said it. He became acutely conscious of everything he did not want her to see. The nightmare still lodged beneath his ribs. His hands remembered things they had done years ago. His body remained half convinced that if he turned too quickly he would find the room filled with wounded men.