It was at times such as this that Grace regretted they only had the Truscotts at the vicarage to help them. She would have liked to hand her horse over to a groom and disappear to her room; instead she had to stable Bonnie herself. In normal circumstances she did not object, Truscott already worked very hard and she could not expect him to look after her mare as well as the old cob they kept to pull the gig.
She had just finished rubbing down Bonnie when Wolfgang Arrandale came into the stable.
‘I have brought a bucket of water for your mare.’
‘Thank you, but there was no need,’ she told him coldly. ‘What have you done with Mr Styles’s bay?’
‘I have returned him and paid Styles handsomely for the loan of his horse.’
‘And now you are back to plague me.’
‘That is not my intention. I beg your pardon.’
She sighed. ‘No, I begyours, Mr Arrandale. You are my father’s guest and I have behaved very badly to you.’
‘That is understandable, if you think me a murderer.’
‘Papa believes you are innocent.’
‘But you do not, do you?
She eased herself out of Bonnie’s stall only to find him blocking her way. She knew he would not move until she gave him an answer.
‘I do not knowwhatto believe. You...’ She locked her fingers together. ‘You frighten me.’
‘I do not mean to.’
He took her hands. His grasp was gentle, but it conveyed the strength of the man. Odd that she should find that so comforting.
‘Believe me, Miss Duncombe, I mean you no harm.’
‘No?’ She looked up at him. ‘But just your being here might harm us. Harbouring a criminal is an offence, I believe.’
‘Is that why you said nothing to Sir Loftus?’
Was it? She didn’t know any more.
He was still holding her hands and gazing down at her with no hint of laughter in his face. Her mouth dried. Suddenly everything seemed sharper, she was aware of the dust motes floating in the band of sunlight pouring in through the window, the soft noises from Bonnie as she munched the hay from the rack, the faint cries of a shepherd and his lad driving their sheep through the village.
Then everything around them faded into nothing. She was aware only of the man holding her hands, his powerful presence calling to something inside. It set her heart pounding so heavily she thought she might faint. His eyes bored into her and, fearing he could read her thoughts, she dragged her gaze away, but only as far as his mouth. Strong, unsmiling, sensual. She wondered what it would be like to have those finely sculpted lips fixed on hers. As if in answer his hands slid up her arms, pulling her closer and she leaned into him, her face turned up to receive his kiss.
It was no gentle, reverential salute, it was rough and demanding and Grace responded instinctively. She clung to him, her lips parted. Following his lead, she let her tongue dip and dance and taste. She felt intoxicated, an explosion of excitement ripped through her, leaving her weak, and when Wolf raised his head to drag in a deep, ragged breath she remained in his arms, her head thrown back against his shoulder, gazing up at him in wonder.
Fear rushed in. With a little cry of alarm Grace pushed herself free and ran from the stable. He overtook her as they reached the house.
‘I frightened you, I am sorry,’ he murmured, stepping past her to open the door.
She did not pretend to misunderstand him. ‘I frightened myself.’
‘Grace—’
She put up her hand and shook her head. Tears were very near. ‘I am not free to, tolikeyou!’
And with that she fled.
* * *
Wolf stood and watched her disappear into the house.Likehim? Like was too mild a word for what had passed between them and he cursed himself for allowing it to happen. He must concentrate on clearing his name. There was no time for dalliance and certainly not with a gently bred vicar’s daughter. What if she developed atendrefor him? He glanced down at his hand. The weal where her riding crop had caught him was still bright, a testament to the passion he knew she possessed. His mouth twisted. She was one who would love fiercely and he had no wish to break her heart.
