Grace took his arm and Wolf led her back to the vicarage, wondering why he did not feel more relieved that she was in no danger of losing her heart to him.
* * *
It was almost twenty miles to Newmarket and Grace spent the journey squeezed between Wolfgang and Truscott, in a gig only intended for two people. Wolfgang rested one arm along the back of the seat to make more room for her, but it felt to Grace as if he had his armaroundher. She tried not to lean against him, but it was impossible to sit bolt upright for the whole time, and as the gig bowled along the road through the early morning darkness the rocking motion made her sleepy. At one point she awoke to find herself snuggled against him. When she tried to sit up his arm pulled her gently back against his shoulder.
‘Hush now,’ he murmured into her hair. ‘Truscott needs room to handle the reins, even though the horse sees the road better than he does.’
And Grace allowed herself to believe him. She sank back against his convenient shoulder and dozed contentedly until they reached their destination.
* * *
A grey dawn was just breaking when they alighted at the inn, but even at that early hour the place was bustling. Grace was thankful that they could go into the dining room, where a few coins soon procured them two cups of scalding coffee.
It put new heart into her, so much so that she could almost forget her embarrassment at having virtually slept in Wolfgang’s arms. She looked up to ask him what time the mail was due in and found he was gazing at her. A slow, lazy smile curved his lips.
Two thoughts raced through her head. She could not remember him smiling, reallysmilingbefore. And how much she wanted to smile back. That would never do, one could not share smiles with a suspected murderer!
She said crossly, ‘Pray sir, why are you laughing at me?’
He immediately begged pardon but that only made her glare at him.
‘What were you thinking?’ she asked suspiciously.
‘That no other woman of my acquaintance has ever looked as neat as you do at this ungodly hour.’
‘Any woman of sense would be in bed at this hour.’
‘There is that, of course.’
Grace had answered without thinking, but his response made her choke on her coffee and a blush of mortification burned her cheeks.
‘You should not say such things,’ she told him, wiping coffee from her lips.
‘Why not? I was complimenting you on your appearance.’
She was not deceived by his innocent reply, but decided it would be wiser not to pursue the subject. She heard the laugh in his voice when he spoke again.
‘I know you are trying to maintain a dignified silence, but you have coffee on your cheek. Here, let me.’
He reached across, cupping her chin with his fingers and drawing his thumb gently across her cheek. Grace wanted to close her eyes and rest her face against his hand. When she looked at Wolfgang there was no mistaking the heat in his gaze. Her breath stopped. She could not look away, his eyes were violet-black in the lamplight and they seemed to pierce her very soul.
‘London mail!’
The landlord’s strident call broke the spell. Grace looked up to find the dining room had emptied.
‘You’d best be quick,’ the landlord warned them, standing by the door. ‘The mail don’t wait for no one.’
Wolf rose and put his hand under her elbow. ‘Come along, Miss Duncombe.’
She would have liked to shake him off but really, she was not at all sure that her legs would support her.
* * *
There were only two places left in the mail coach. Grace took the window seat and Wolf climbed in to sit beside her. She pulled her cloak about her. At least she could lean into the corner of the carriage. There would be no need for her to fall asleep on his shoulder, as she had done in the gig.
Soon they were rattling over the open road, swaying and jolting so much there was no chance for Grace to rest, she was afraid her head would crash against the window.
‘This ’un’s a bone-shaker and no mistake.’ A motherly woman sitting opposite grinned at her. ‘Never you mind, dearie, the road is a vast deal better on t’other side of Hindlesham, you wait and see.’
