Page 137 of The Earl She Once Saved

She turned away. Rafe stepped forward, but Celestine caught his sleeve.

“Where are you going?”

“Give me the pendant.”

She laughed. “You have not even told me where you found it.”

“Celestine.”

Something in his voice finally reached her. Her smile faded, but she did not release him. “You brought it into the ballroom in your hand. What was I to think?”

He frowned. “That it did not belong to you.”

Her fingers tightened around the chain. “Then to whom does it belong?”

Rafe looked toward the doors through which Verity had disappeared. Several guests had begun to watch. Celestine noticed them, too. Hurt entered her face, whether genuine or summoned for the benefit of the room he could not tell.

“Give it to me,” he said more quietly.

She placed the jewel in his palm. “There is no need to be unkind.”

He closed his fist around it. “I am sorry, but I must leave now.”

He attempted to pass. She moved with him.

“Rafe, everyone is looking.”

That was precisely the difficulty. He could not tear himself free without feeding a room already hungry for scandal. He lost maddening minutes offering apologies he did not mean and assurances he barely heard.

Celestine reminded him of Thursday’s dinner. She asked whether she might tell her mother he would arrive early. Each answer pulled another question behind it.

By the time he escaped, Verity had vanished. He took the stairs two at a time. His injured side protested before he reached the landing. He ignored it.

Her bedchamber door stood open. The room beyond was dark.

“Verity?”

There was no answer, so Rafe entered. A blue gown lay across the floor, its silk gleaming faintly in the moonlight. One wardrobe door remained open. Empty hangers moved slightly in the draft. The vanity table stood devoid of her belongings.

Fear came cold and immediate. He crossed to the window. The drive below was crowded with carriages, but no rider moved between them. He had already lost her.

Footsteps hurried along the passage. Win appeared, white-faced, with a folded sheet in her hand.

“She has gone.”

Rafe crossed the room. “Where?”

“I do not know.”

The paper trembled between her fingers. “She left this upon the writing table.”

It was addressed to Win, not to him. Win held it out. Rafe read the few hurried lines. There was no accusation, no mention of the pendant, no anger over Celestine, no demand that he explain himself. There was nothing for Rafe at all, not even his name. The absence told him everything she believed of him now. She thought explanation useless because he had become exactly what she always feared.

“When?” he asked.

“I found it minutes ago.”

“Was Sergeant here?”