Page 46 of The Earl She Once Saved

Rafe’s face remained expressionless. He had become very good at that.

Ezra leaned back. “Did you ever find her?”

The room seemed suddenly too warm. Rafe thought of Verity outside his door with her hair loose, Verity in Hartley’s cottage, Verity against him in the mud.

He looked away. “No.”

The lie came quietly. It was not entirely a lie. In fact, he was no longer certain she existed anymore.

Ezra watched him. Rafe did not offer more. After a moment, his friend let it go. That was another reason Rafe loved him: Ezra knew when a locked door was merely locked and when opening it would do damage.

Instead, he said, “Your brother’s wife is … formidable.”

Rafe’s gaze snapped back. Ezra’s expression was bland.

“That is a diplomatic word.”

“Impossible is another,” Rafe supplied.

“Ah.” Ezra lifted an inquisitive eyebrow.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Rafe knew that tone. “Bellamy.”

“I merely find it interesting.”

“What?”

“That I have watched French cavalry charge with less effect upon you than one stubborn woman in a muddy riding habit.”

Rafe set down his cup. “She is impossible.”

“You mentioned that.”

“She argues for pleasure.”

“Perhaps you are provoking.”

“She refuses assistance merely because it has been offered.”

“An exhausting quality.”

“She assumes the worst of everything I say.”

Ezra smiled. Rafe stopped.

“Why are you smiling?”

“A woman that stubborn is usually worth discovering the reason for it.”

“I know the reason.”

“Do you?”

Rafe’s expression hardened. “My brother.”