Page 17 of The Outcast's Redemption
‘I came home to look after my father, not to find a husband.’
‘The local gentlemen are slowcoaches indeed if they made no move to court you.’
He is flirting with you. There is no need to say anything. You owe him no explanation.
But for some inexplicable reason she felt she must speak.
‘Iwasengaged to be married. To Papa’s curate, but he died.’
‘I am very sorry.’
For the first time in years she felt the tears welling up for what might have been. She said quickly, ‘It was a long time ago.’
‘And now you have a new fiancé,’ he said.
‘Yes. I am very happy.’
* * *
There was a touch of defiance in her words, but Wolf also heard the note of reproof. He had been over-familiar. She was the parson’s daughter and not one to engage in flirtatious chatter, but he had been curious to know why she was still unmarried. She was very tall, of course—why, her head was level with his chin!—and she had no dowry. Either of those things might deter a suitor. But they should not, he thought angrily. She was handsome and well educated and would make any man an excellent wife. Any respectable man, that is.
When they reached the park gates he saw they were chained, but there was a stile built to one side. Wolf sprang over it and, having helped Grace across, he pulled her fingers on to his arm. Silently she disengaged herself. Understandable, but he could not deny the tiny pinprick of disappointment.
* * *
Grace was relieved to be back on the High Street and with the vicarage just ahead of them. This man was far too forward and the tug of attraction made her feel a little breathless whenever she was in his company.
You are very foolish, she told herself sternly.His only advantage is his height. He is the only man in Arrandale taller than you and that is hardly a recommendation!
‘You are frowning, Miss Duncombe. Is anything amiss?’
‘No, not at all.’ Hastily she summoned a smile. ‘Here we are back at the vicarage. It will be quicker if we walk up the drive rather than going around to the front door and summoning Truscott to let us in.’
Grace pressed her lips together to prevent any further inane babbling.
* * *
She is uneasy,thought Wolf.But how much worse would she feel if she knew I was a wanted man?
A large hunter was standing in the stable yard and Mr Duncombe was beside it, talking to the rider, but seeing them approach he smiled.
‘So there you are, Grace, and in good time.’
The rider jumped down. ‘My dear, I am glad I did not miss you altogether.’
Wolf watched as the man caught Grace’s hand and raised it to his lips. He looked to be on the shady side of forty, stocky and thick-set, with a ruddy complexion and more than a touch of grey in his hair. His brown coat was cut well, but not in the height of fashion, and he greeted Grace with an easy familiarity. Even before they were introduced Wolf had guessed his identity.
‘Sir Loftus Braddenfield is our local Justice of the Peace.’
It did not need the warning note in the parson’s mild words to put Wolf on his guard. Some spirit of devilry urged him to tug his forelock, but he suppressed it; Sir Loftus Braddenfield did not look like a fool. The man was coolly assessing him as Wolf made a polite greeting.
‘So you are on your way to London, eh? Where are you from, sir?’
‘I have been travelling in the north for some time,’ Wolf replied calmly.
‘And you thought you’d break your journey in Arrandale. Friend of Mr Duncombe’s, are you?’
‘I knew the family,’ explained Mr Duncombe. ‘A long time ago.’
