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 right, sir?’ Truscott appeared, looking at him anxiously. ‘I just seen Miss Grace riding out o’ here as if all the hounds of hell were after her.’
Wolf’s eyes narrowed. ‘I need a horse. A fast one.’
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