Page 44 of The Earl She Once Saved

His gaze fell to her mouth. He stopped breathing. Verity’s fingers tightened. Then something changed in her face. It was recognition, not of him, but of herself.

She abruptly pulled away. Rafe released her at once. The cold entered between them so quickly it felt physical.

Verity pushed herself to her knees. “I am quite all right.”

Rafe sat up. “You nearly went beneath the horse.”

“But I did not.”

“That is a remarkably poor argument for being all right.”

She stood. He rose too quickly and pain struck through his shoulder.

Verity noticed. “You are hurt.”

“No.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You struck the ground first.”

“I have survived worse.”

“That does not make you uninjured.”

He almost laughed, only because the alternative was to acknowledge that she was still close enough for him to reach.

“I believe that was my line.”

She looked away. The mare stood trembling farther down the lane. Verity went to her. Rafe watched her run both hands carefully down the animal’s legs, checking for swelling, heat, injury. The familiarity of the movement unsettled him. Everything about her did.

He turned away. This had to stop. Whatever had stirred between them in that lane was not something he had any right to examine. She was his brother’s wife. The words came deliberately. He set them in order.

His brother’s wife.

Although he had never been close to his brother, they were still blood. And she married his brother, not accidentally and not in ignorance of what marriage meant. She stood in a church and took his name.

Rafe’s jaw tightened. He had no business remembering a field hospital, drawing her face in the middle of the night or wondering what she might have been if Roland had never found her.

He caught his horse. Verity remounted without assistance. He did not offer it.

They rode home in silence. Dawn came while they were still upon the road. The sky lightened slowly behind the eastern hills, turning first gray, then pearl. Mist collected in the hollows. Every field looked washed clean beneath it.

Rafe saw none of it. His thoughts kept returning to the lane, but he shut the memory down.

Roland’s wife.

The words had become almost a punishment. He welcomed it. There had been enough chaos in his life born from men forgetting where lines were drawn. He would not be one of them.

By the time Edgeworth came into sight, pale through the thinning mist, the wall was back in place. It was not as strong as he would have liked, but it was strong enough.

Verity dismounted in the yard and a groom came forward. She handed over the reins. For one moment Rafe thought she might turn. She did not. She went inside without a word. He watched the door close behind her, but he did not call after her.

He inhaled, and headed inside several moments later, only to find Ezra in his study. The fire had been built up, though morning had already arrived beyond the windows. Ezra was seated in one of the deep chairs near the hearth, with his bad leg extended before him and a cup of coffee balanced upon the arm.

He looked at Rafe once, frowning. “Good grief, man … you look terrible.”

Rafe frowned. “Good morning to you, too.”

“It was, until now.”