Rafe saw the wariness in her eyes, but something else remained with it now. He could not accept her softness while a lie of silence stood between them.
Rafe made himself speak. “Verity.”
Her fingers left his hand.
“Did you know?” she asked.
There was no need to ask what she meant.
“Yes.”
Her eyes searched his face. “How long?”
“His letter came, and I rode to Ripon to meet him.”
Her softness vanished. Rafe watched it leave her. The warmth went first from her eyes, then from her mouth. Her whole face closed with the quiet certainty of a door being locked.
“I meant to keep him away from Edgeworth,” he revealed. “I wanted to deal with him before he could reach you.”
Her hand rose to the pendant. The gesture was not tender now. Her fingers closed around the stone as though its weight had changed.
“To protect me,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
He heard the mistake as soon as the word left him. Verity looked at him, and he saw what she saw: another Thornlow moving behind her back, another Thornlow deciding which truths she was permitted to bear.
“I would have told you,” he said.
“When? After you had persuaded him to go?” she asked. “After you had decided what was to become of my marriage and my home?”
“I did not decide anything for you.”
“You decided I did not need to know.”
“I wanted to spare you this.”
“This?” Her voice remained quiet, but the quiet had sharpened. “My husband returning? The title reverting to him? The estate I rebuilt becoming his again? Which part did you believe would cease to concern me if you kept it secret long enough?”
“None of it.”
“And yet you went to him alone.”
Verity’s fingers tightened around the pendant. “What did he say?”
“That he meant to return.”
Rafe looked at her. Understanding entered her face.
“He will not come near you if I can prevent it.”
Her chin lifted. “You cannot prevent it. Mr. Ellison has just explained that with admirable clarity.”
“I will find another way.”
“There is always another way with your family.”
“I am not Roland.” The words came harsher than he intended.