Page 126 of The Earl She Once Saved

She wept until exhaustion emptied her. Sometime later, she lay down without undressing. The lamps burned low. Rain whispered against the windows, soft and persistent. Sergeant slept before the cold hearth.

In the depth of the night, Verity dreamed that the door opened. A shadow crossed the carpet. She tried to wake, but her body would not obey. The faint scent of wine moved through the room. Floorboards creaked beside the bed, then near the dressing table.

One dressing-table drawer slid open. Its contents shifted softly before it closed again. A second drawer followed. Whoever stood in the darkness was searching. The third drawer opened with a faint scrape. Verity heard the quiet movement of metal against wood. She tried to call Sergeant, but strangely enough, no sound came. Sergeant must have gone out during the night.

The drawer closed again.

Footsteps crossed the room, and the darkness took them.

Chapter 20

Rain pressed softly against the library windows. Rafe found himself standing before the cold hearth while Ezra sat behind the desk, with his injured leg stretched before him. The remains of breakfast lay between them, untouched except for the coffee Ezra had poured and allowed to grow cold.

“Crote followed him to Ripon,” Rafe said.

Ezra’s fingers stopped upon the head of his cane. “Roland?”

“He followed the rumors. He heard enough of them to believe Roland might be alive and found him at the Crown.”

“So the creditor found his debtor.”

“And made himself useful.”

Rafe crossed to the window. Beyond the rain-darkened glass, servants moved between the house and outbuildings, carrying tables, linen and crates of wine. Roland’s ball had grown through the morning like a fever. Every instruction he gave created three more.

“Roland and Crote have struck a bargain,” Rafe continued. “Crote will no longer hound him for payment. He will support Roland’s return instead.”

“With what?”

“Money, credit … whatever influence he possesses among the other creditors.”

Ezra’s mouth hardened. “And what does he receive?”

“Everything he is owed, with interest.”

Ezra looked toward the window. “An estate which is prosperous because Verity saved it.”

“Yes.”

“So Crote has ceased waiting for the wolf’s leftovers and joined him in the hunt.”

Rafe turned. “That is nearly how Roland described it.”

“Your brother has always possessed charm.”

“He has always mistaken charm for innocence.”

Rafe thought of Roland in the study the previous evening, pouring wine for Crote while speaking of Edgeworth’s revenues as though he had earned them. He had known the value of the new grazing leases. He had known what the repaired mill produced and how much Verity had saved by renegotiating the northern farms. Someone had been informing him, or he had begun asking questions long before the letter reached Rafe.

“He does not come alone now,” Rafe mused. “Crote has wagered upon his success. He will make certain Roland has every opportunity to achieve it.”

“And if Roland fails?”

“Crote will take whatever remains.”

Ezra leaned back. “Comforting.”

The rain thickened, blurring the lawns into gray. Rafe’s right hand ached. He looked down and discovered that he had closed it into a fist. Ezra noticed.