Chapter Eleven
Grace awoke with a delicious sense of wellbeing, but as full wakefulness returned she realised she was lying on the ground, warm enough in her thick cloak, but very much alone. It had all been a dream, then, lying in Wolf’s arms, feeling safe and secure and with the promise of delights to come, once they were both rested. She struggled to sit up, rubbing her eyes. It was early, the first grey fingers of dawn were creeping through the trees but everything was still and quiet. Not even the birds were singing yet.
She looked around and saw Wolf standing by the horses, strapping his cloak to the saddle. Somewhere in her foolish, naïve imagination she had expected to wake and find him lying beside her, that he would roll over and make love to her here in this forest glade. What a romantic notion for such a practical person!
A sigh escaped her and Wolf turned. The closed look in his face sent the rest of her happy thoughts crumbling to dust.
‘It is time we were moving.’
‘Of course.’ Grace scrambled to her feet and shook her cloak to shed the twigs and dead leaves that clung to the wool. The man was flying for his life. He had no time for dalliance, least of all with a woman who meant nothing to him. She should be grateful.
‘Shall I pack up your cloak?’
‘No.’ She threw it back around her shoulders. The excitement of the adventure had gone, she felt exposed and rather foolish in her boy’s clothes. ‘I am cold.’
‘The ride will soon warm you up.’
Silently Grace climbed into the saddle. It would take more than exercise to remove the ice in her heart.
* * *
Three hours hard riding brought them to the outskirts of Arrandale. They cut into the woods that bounded the park, where there was less likelihood of being seen than if they followed the road.
‘You should go straight to the Hall,’ Grace suggested. ‘I will leave the horse at the stile and you can send someone to collect him.
‘No, I will escort you.’
* * *
Wolf did not look at her. He did not want to see the pain in those lustrous eyes. Last night they had been so close, so companionable and he had almost succumbed to the temptation to make her his. Thank heaven he had moved away when he did. She still loved her precious curate, and although he might have made her forget the fellow for a time, in the days ahead she would measure Wolf against her saint and find him wanting.
When they reached the gates they were closed but unchained, suggesting Sophia had arrived. The village street was deserted, those who worked in the fields were already departed and the rest had not yet breakfasted. He turned to Grace.
‘Give me the reins. I’ll take the horse back with me.’
‘Yes, of course.’ She made no move to dismount.
‘Go carefully. Grace.’
‘I have only to cross the street. That back lane will take me directly to the vicarage garden.’
Wolf nodded. He had used it many times as a boy to steal fruit from the parson’s orchard. What would Duncombe say, if he knew how close Wolf had come to stealing his daughter?
She sighed. ‘So this is goodbye.’
‘Yes.’ He could not meet her eyes. ‘We shall not meet again.’
‘Will you not shake hands with me?’
After the long ride the animals stood quietly side by side. How could he refuse, after all she had done for him, risking her life, her reputation, to help him.
He took her hand, forced himself to look into her face.
Ah, Grace, if things had been different. If I had not led such a rakehell life. If we had met before you fell in love with your saintly curate. We might have stood a chance.
The words screamed in his head, but he could not say them.
‘Goodbye, Grace Duncombe.’
