Page 135 of The Earl She Once Saved

At last, he stepped back. She held his gaze a moment longer before letting out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

Roland walked to the window. Candlelight shifted across his face.

“You appear to believe this house protects you.”

Verity became still.

“The servants are loyal,” he continued. “The tenants admire you. Even my brother has appointed himself your guardian.”

He looked back at her.

“But none of that changes the law.”

The room seemed to contract.

“You are still my wife,” he said. “While you remain my wife, you are mine to command.”

Her eyes flared at him. “I will not stand beside you and lie for you.”

“A wife who openly defies her husband invites unfortunate conclusions, such that she is not entirely well.”

Cold moved over Verity’s skin. Roland spoke with the same pleasant patience he had used downstairs.

“Consider how the county sees you. A woman running an estate as though she were a man refusing her husband entrance to his own house and encouraging his younger brother before a room full of witnesses.”

Verity could hear her own breathing. “You would not.”

“A husband has certain responsibilities when his wife becomes … shall we say, incapable of governing herself?”

“You would declare me mad?” she gasped.

“I should be most reluctant.” The false sorrow in his voice sickened her. “But if your conduct continues, others may persuade me there is no kinder course. There are places for women who require quiet and supervision.”

He came nearer.

“Private places. Discreet places. Once a woman enters one, people are generally relieved to forget her.”

The walls pressed inward. Verity had heard of such houses. Everyone had. Women were sent away for grief, temper, inconvenient desires or inheritances another person wished to control. There, a husband’s word weighed more than a wife’s sanity.

“You would have to prove it.”

“My dear.” Roland smiled. “You searched my brother’s bedchamber and then danced with him before the county, gazing adoringly into his eyes. How much proof do you suppose they will require?”

He knew about the search. One of the servants must have told him. Or perhaps, Rafe himself?

The thought cut through her fear, clean and merciless. Another secret carried between brothers.

Roland opened the door. “I shall give you a few minutes to compose yourself.”

“I am not coming down.”

His smile remained. “Yes, you are.”

He left. The latch settled into place. For several seconds, Verity did not move. The music below continued. Violins, laughter and the measured rhythm of dancing feet. The sound pressed upon her from every side.

Edgeworth had become a trap. She could fight debts. She could fight failing harvests, storms, and men who believed a woman incapable of understanding a ledger. She could not fight Roland from inside the house while the law called him master of it and husband to her.

Verity looked at the door. He expected her to return to the ballroom. He expected obedience because the alternative was too terrible to risk. He did not know her at all.