‘My appearance, Miss Duncombe?’
She waved one hand towards him. ‘Today you are dressed neatly, with propriety. Last night you looked like a, like a...’ He waited, one brow raised, and at last she burst out, ‘Like a ne’er-do-well.’
He shrugged. ‘I have always found it expedient to adapt to my surroundings. I had a sudden fancy for a tankard of home brewed and I did not want to make the other customers uncomfortable.’
It was not a complete lie. It had been a risk to go into the taproom at all, but the parson had told him the landlord was not a local man and would not know him. Wolf had hoped that with his untidy clothes and the ragged muffler about his neck no one would associate him with the Arrandale family.
Grace looked sceptical.
‘Since the inn supplies us with our small beer I can only assume you had a sudden fancy for low company, too,’ she said coldly. ‘Forgive me if I appear uncharitable, but I think you have imposed upon our hospitality long enough.’
The door opened and the parson’s soft voice was heard.
‘Ah, Mr Peregrine, there you are.’ Mr Duncombe came into the room, looking from one to the other. ‘Forgive me, am I interrupting?’
Wolf met Grace’s stormy eyes. ‘Your daughter thinks it is time I took my leave.’
‘No, no, my dear sir, there is no need for that, not before you have finished your business in Arrandale.’
Wolf waited for Grace to protest, but although her disapproval was tangible, she remained silent.
‘Miss Duncombe is afraid I am importuning you, sir.’
‘Bless my soul, no, indeed. I am very pleased to have you here, my boy.’
‘But your daughter is not.’ His words fell into a heavy silence.
‘Perhaps, my son, you would allow me to speak to my daughter alone.’
‘Of course.’ As Wolf turned to go the old man caught his arm.
‘Mark me, sir, I am not asking you to quit this house. In fact, I strongly urge you to stay, for as long as you need. You are safe here.’
‘But if Miss Duncombe is not happy about it—’
‘Let me talk with Grace alone, if you please. We will resolve this matter.’
* * *
Grace frowned. She did not understand the look that passed between the two men, but the stranger went out and she was alone with her father.
‘Now, Grace, tell me what is troubling you. Is it merely that you think Mr Peregrine is imposing upon me?’
‘I do not trust him, Papa.’ She saw his look of alarm and said quickly, ‘Oh, he has not acted improperly towards me, but—’ She broke off, searching for the right words to express herself. ‘Yesterday, when I was coming home after visiting Mrs Owlet, I came upon him in the Arrandale Chapel, and I saw him again last night, outside the Horse Shoe Inn when we drove past at midnight.’
‘Ah.’ The parson smiled. ‘These are not such great crimes, my dear.’
‘But you must admit it is not the behaviour of an honest man.’
‘It may well be the behaviour of a troubled one.’
‘I do not understand you.’
‘No, I am aware of that. I am asking you to trust me in this, Grace.’
‘Papa!’ She caught his hands. ‘Papa, there is something you are not telling me. Do you not trust me?’
He shook his head at her.
‘My love, I beg you will not question me further on this matter. One day, I hope I shall be able to explain everything, but for now you must trust me. It is my wish that Mr Peregrine should remain here for as long as it is necessary.’
He spoke with his usual gentle dignity, but with a firmness that told her it would be useless to argue.
‘Very well, Papa. If that is your wish.’
‘It is, my child. Now, if you will forgive me, I am off to visit the Brownlows. They sent word that the old man has taken a turn for the worse and is not expected to last the day.’
‘Of course. I must not keep you from your work.’
‘Thank you. And, Grace, when you next see Mr Peregrine I want you to make it plain to him that we want him to stay.’
With that he was gone. Grace began to pace up and down the room. Every instinct cried out against her father’s dictum. The man was dangerous, she knew it, to her very core. So why was her father unable to see it? Grace stopped and pressed her hands to her cheeks. The image of Mr Peregrine filled her mind, as he had been that day by the pump, droplets of water sparkling on his naked chest like diamonds. That danger was not something she could share with her father!
There was a faint knock on the door. She schooled her face to look composed as Truscott came in with a letter for her. The handwriting told her it was from Aunt Eliza, but her thoughts were too confused to enjoy it now. She would saddle Bonnie and go for a ride. Perhaps that would help her to see things more clearly.
* * *
Wolf heaved the axe high and brought it down with more force than was really necessary. The log split with satisfying ease and even as the pieces bounced on the cobbles he put another log on the chopping block and repeated the action. It was a relief to be active and he was in some measure repaying his host’s kindness. The vision of Grace’s stormy countenance floated before him and he pushed it away. He wanted to tell her the truth, but Mr Duncombe had advised against it. He must respect that, of course, but there was something so good, so honest about Grace that made the deception all the more abhorrent.
The axe came down again, so heavily that it cleaved the log and embedded itself in the block. He left it there while he eased his shoulders. He had discarded his coat and waistcoat, but the soft linen of his shirt was sticking to his skin. It would need washing again. A reluctant smile tugged at his lips as he recalled Grace tripping out into the garden and seeing him, half-naked, by the pump. He remembered her look, the way her eyes had widened. She had not found his body unattractive, whatever else she might think of him.
The smile died. There was no place in his life for a woman, especially one so young. Why, he was her senior by ten years, and her innocence made the difference feel more like a hundred. No, Grace Duncombe was not for him.
There was a clatter of hoofs and the object of his reverie approached from the stable yard. Her face was solemn, troubled, but the mare had no inhibitions, stretching her neck and nudging his arm, as if remembering their last meeting. Idly Wolf put a hand up and rubbed the mare’s forehead while Grace surveyed the logs covering the cobbles outside the woodshed.
‘My father wishes me to make it clear that you are welcome to remain here as long as you wish.’
‘Thank you, Miss Duncombe.’
She looked at him then.
‘Do not thank me. You know I would rather you were not here.’
She went to turn the mare, but Wolf gripped the leather cheek-piece.
‘Grace, I—’
The riding crop slashed at his hand.
‘How dare you use my name?’
He released the bridle and stepped back. Fury sparkled in her eyes as she jerked the horse about and cantered away.
‘Hell and damnation!’ Wolf rubbed his hand and looked down at the red mark that was already appearing across the knuckles.
‘Is everything all