Page 40 of The Earl She Once Saved

He wore the same dark coat he had ridden out in, now damp at the shoulders. His boots were muddy. His hair was wet with mist.

He had been there. How long?

Verity stared. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting.”

“For what?”

“You.”

Something moved unpleasantly beneath her ribs. She looked toward the lane. His horse was tied near hers.

“You followed me.”

“Yes.”

Anger came as relief. Anger she understood.

“Why?” she demanded.

His expression hardened slightly. “You rode alone through the countryside in the middle of the night.”

“I have done so before.”

“That does not improve the argument.”

“There is no argument.”

“There ought to be.”

She turned on him. He had chosen very badly.

“A woman riding alone at this hour is neither safe nor seemly.”

Verity stared at him.

Seemly.

The word struck like a spark in dry grass.

“Seemly?”

Rafe appeared to realize his mistake, but it was too late.

“I have spent the night with my hands inside a dying woman while you stood outside worrying about what was seemly?”

“That is not what I meant,” he tried to correct himself.

“No?”

“Verity—”

“Don’t.”

Every exhaustion she had held at bay surged forward.

“Don’t stand there with your name and your inheritance and tell me how a woman ought to behave.”