The Outcast's Redemption (The Infamous Arrandales) (7 page)

‘It must be nearly dinner time, Loftus. Will you not stay and take pot luck with us? It will give me the opportunity to make amends for not being in when you called.’

Wolf held his breath. The last thing he wanted was to spend the evening in the company of a Justice of the Peace. Not by the flicker of an eyelid did he show his relief when Braddenfield declined the invitation.

‘Another time, perhaps,’ he said, patting Grace’s hand. ‘My mother is expecting me.’

‘Of course.’ Smiling, Grace gathered up her reins. ‘Pray give her my regards.’

‘That was close,’ murmured Wolf, as they watched Sir Loftus ride away.

‘Not at all,’ she replied. ‘I learned last night that his mother’s companion is visiting her family and I knew he would not leave his mama to dine alone. It was quite safe to invite him.’

A laugh escaped Wolf. ‘By Gad, then it was very coolly done, ma’am.’

Two spots of colour painted her cheeks.

‘It was very badly done,’ she retorted, kicking her horse on. ‘Do not think I take pleasure in deceiving an honest man!’

* * *

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 beg
yours
, 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 know
what
to 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, to
like
you!’

And with that she fled.

* * *

Wolf stood and watched her disappear into the house.
Like
him? 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 a
tendre
for 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.

He exhaled, the breath whistling out. That would be a dastardly way to repay all the kindness the parson had shown him. No, he had learned all he could in Arrandale and it was time he moved on and forgot all about Miss Grace Duncombe. Closing the door carefully behind him, Wolf went in search of his host.

* * *

Grace summoned Betty to help her out of her riding habit. She was still shaking and her lips still burned with the memory of that kiss. It frightened her that she could lose control so easily. Perhaps she was like those wanton women of the Bible such as Jezebel or the daughters of Zion. A dispiriting thought and it made her ask Betty to look out her grey silk. It was her most sober dress, a plain, high-necked gown with long sleeves and only a tiny edging of lace at the neck and cuffs. Even Papa had joked that it made her look like a nun.

Once she was dressed she dismissed Betty and sat down before her looking glass to re-pin her hair, but for some moments she did nothing but gaze at her reflection. There was no doubt she looked very severe. Some months ago Mrs Braddenfield had commented favourably upon the grey silk and in a rare moment of rebellion Grace had put it away, determined never to wear it again. However, this was a necessity, she thought, picking up her hairbrush and dragging it through her hair with quick, jerky movements. She needed to be covered from neck to toe from the glances of men, glances that could bring the blush not only to her cheeks but to her whole body.

Her hand stilled. No, it was not men in general. Loftus had never made her blush in that way. In fact, it had never happened before in all her four-and-twenty years. What was it about Wolfgang Arrandale that caused her pulse to race and the blood to sing in her veins?

‘It is because he is so tall,’ she told her reflection. ‘Not since you were a child have you had to look up to a man. It is a novel experience, and you have allowed your fancy to run away with you.’

Yes, that was it. She finished brushing her hair and quickly pinned it up. It was the novelty of the man. He was so tall and dark and...

‘And dangerous.’

Her words echoed around the bedchamber. She had so little experience of the world. Of men like Wolfgang Arrandale. She gave a sigh. Mama had died when she was a baby and Grace had never felt her lack, until now. Now she wished quite fervently that she had a mother to advise her. She glanced at the small writing desk in the corner, where she had tossed her aunt’s letter before going out for her ride. Aunt Eliza had stood in place of a mother once, until she had married Mr Graham. Grace had felt bereft then, and a little aggrieved, but her aunt had never stopped loving her. And Aunt Eliza was so much more worldly-wise than Papa. That was the solution. Grace moved across to the writing table and sat down.

* * *

Grace went downstairs just in time to go in to dinner. The conversation was desultory while Truscott placed the last of the dishes on the table, but once they were alone Grace braced herself for the inevitable.

‘So, Grace,’ said her father. ‘You know our guest’s little secret.’

‘Not such a
little
secret, Papa.’

‘No, indeed, my dear. I would rather he had not told you, but perhaps you now understand a little better the need for secrecy.’

‘I do understand it, Papa, but I could wish Mr Arrandale had not put such a burden upon you.’

‘Believe me, Miss Duncombe, if I thought I could trust anyone in Arrandale half so well I would not have done so.’

Enveloped in her grey gown and the width of the dining table between them, Grace thought she might risk a glance at the speaker. A mistake. He looked dark and saturnine in the dim light. There was a pent-up energy about him, like a wild animal poised and ready to spring. Having raised her eyes to his, she found it difficult to look away.

Her father gave one of his mild exclamations.

‘My dear sir, I am
glad
you came to me and, despite my earlier concerns, I cannot regret that Grace knows the truth.’ He put out his hand to her. ‘We have never had secrets from each other, have we, my dear?’

She reached for his fingers and gave them a squeeze.

‘No, Papa, we have not. And that reminds me, there is something I have to tell you.’ She paused as Truscott and Betty came in to clear away the empty dishes, but only for a moment. After all, what she was going to say was not really a secret. ‘I have had a letter from Aunt Eliza.’

‘My sister,’ Papa explained to their guest. ‘She kept house here and looked after us until Grace went off to school. Then she left to get married.’

‘I remember Miss Eliza Duncombe from my visits to Arrandale as a boy,’ he replied, when the servants had withdrawn again. ‘How is she, sir?’

‘My sister is a widow now, alas, although her husband provided for her very well. She has a house in Hans Place and lives there very comfortably, I believe.’

Grace nodded. ‘Her letters are always cheerful, however I think she is a little lonely since Mr Graham’s death a few years ago. You will know, Papa, that whenever she writes she invites me to visit. Indeed, you have been urging me any time these past twelve months to do so.’ She took a breath. ‘I have just now sent off a note, accepting her invitation. I plan to join her within the week. I hope you do not mind, Papa?’

Grace looked up, expecting surprise from her father and even a little regret that she would be leaving him. She had mustered her arguments: if he said he would be lonely she would point out that he had Mr Arrandale to keep him company, and if he expressed concern at her going away when they had a visitor she would have to explain that she could not be easy in her conscience, harbouring a fugitive.

In the event, her preparations were unnecessary. Papa looked surprised, but only for a moment, then he gave a wide smile.

‘Why, that is excellent news, my love. I am delighted for you.’

She gave a sigh of relief. ‘I thought perhaps you would wonder at my going now...’

‘Not at all, my dear, not at all. In fact, the timing could not be more propitious. You see, Mr Arrandale is off to London, too, so you may travel together.’

Chapter Five

W
olf almost laughed at the look of horror upon Grace’s face.

He said drily, ‘I think you will find Miss Duncombe’s intention in leaving Arrandale is to remove herself from my presence.’ He added with a touch of bitterness, ‘She does not share your belief in my innocence, sir.’

‘That may be,’ said the parson, ‘but I am sure Grace is as keen as I am to see justice done.’

‘Yes,’ said Grace. ‘Of course, Papa, but...’

‘It would be quite ridiculous for you to travel to London separately. Why, you would be following one another within a matter of days, and what is the sense in that? And, Grace, I would be much happier to know you had a gentleman to escort you to your aunt’s door.’

‘Not if that gentleman is wanted for murder!’ Grace looked shocked by her outburst and said immediately, ‘I beg your pardon, but I do not need a gentleman to escort me, Papa. I thought I might take Betty.’

The parson laid down his knife and fork. ‘And how, pray, do you expect the poor child to get back? Why, she has less sense than a peahen.’

Wolf watched as Grace opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again. He felt a certain sympathy for her.

‘I understand your concerns, Miss Duncombe, but your father is right, I had already decided to go to London within the next few days. In fact, we were discussing the matter before dinner. However, I shall not inflict my company upon you if it is so abhorrent.’

‘Thank you, sir, but Papa is correct,’ came the stiff reply. ‘It would be sensible to travel together.’

‘Then perhaps a private chaise might be in order.’ Wolf saw her brows go up and added coldly, ‘The burden for this extravagance would not fall upon your father, my funds are more than sufficient.’

Her response was equally chilly.

‘You must excuse me if your dress and your manner of arrival caused me to doubt that.’

‘When I landed in England I wanted to attract the least possible attention. Thus I travelled as a gentleman of middling fortune, and with only one portmanteau. Going to London is another matter.’ She looked sceptical and, goaded, he went on, ‘Be assured, madam, I could hire a dozen private chaises to convey me there if I so wished!’

Wolf clamped his jaws together. He thought he had learned to govern his hot temper, but this woman brought out the worst in him. He wondered if he should apologise to his host, but the parson was unperturbed and helping himself to another portion of lamb from the dish at his elbow.

‘Where will you stay, my son? I am sure my sister would put you up.’

‘But, Papa, Hans Place is very out of the way. Even Aunt Eliza admits it is not convenient for the fashionable shopping areas such as Bond Street.’

‘Do I look as if I wish to shop in a fashionable area?’ Wolf retorted. Those dark eyes flashed with anger, but she made no response. He said stiffly, ‘Thank you, sir, but I shall arrange my own accommodation when I reach town.’

‘As you wish, my boy, but I shall send an express to Eliza, so she may expect you. She would never forgive me if she learned you had been so close and had not visited her.’ He sat back. ‘Now, if we have all finished shall we retire to the drawing room? I will ask Truscott to serve our brandy there and we can discuss the details of your journey.’

* * *

Grace put down her napkin. So she was to be allowed no respite. If only she had not been so precipitate! She had dashed off her reply to her aunt and asked Truscott to send one of the village lads to Hindlesham with it, to catch the night mail. It would look very odd if she were to cry off now.

‘Miss Duncombe?’

She heard Wolf Arrandale’s voice behind her and realised he was waiting to escort her from the room. There was nothing for her to do but rise and put her fingers on his sleeve.

‘This has put you in an awkward situation,’ he said as they entered the drawing room. ‘If I had not agreed the whole with your father before dinner I might have told him I needed to remain here a little longer.’

‘And if I had not been so quick to write to my aunt.’ She gave a little smile as she released his arm and walked to a chair beside the fire. ‘I fear Fate has conspired against us, sir, and I for one am not disposed to fight it any longer.’

‘Will you cry friends with me, then?’

She said cautiously, ‘Not friends, but not enemies, either.’

‘That will do for me.’

He held out his hand and instinctively she put up her own. She stared at the red mark across his knuckles and said remorsefully, ‘That looks very sore.’

‘I do not notice it, I assure you.’

‘You did not deserve that. I am sorry.’

‘Not then, perhaps, but later...’

Grace felt the heat burning up through her again.

‘What happened in the stables was not entirely your fault,’ she admitted. ‘I fear we bring out the worst in each other, Mr Arrandale.’

She thought he was about to agree, but her father walked in and the moment was lost.

* * *

Truscott brought in the decanters and they talked of innocuous matters until each had a full glass, brandy for the gentlemen and madeira for Grace. Papa looked askance when she requested it, but she felt in need of something stronger than ratafia to get her through the evening. As soon as Truscott closed the door upon them her father turned to her.

‘Now, my dear,’ he said, his eyes twinkling. ‘We must decide how best to get you two to London. I would not want Sir Loftus to think you were running away like star-crossed lovers.’

Lovers! A shiver of excitement scurried through Grace at the thought. She swallowed and tried to concentrate.

‘Indeed not, Papa,’ she agreed. ‘And, sadly, I do not think we can take Loftus into our confidence.’

‘Good heavens, no. A very worthy man, but he is, after all, a magistrate.’

She said awkwardly, ‘He has been pressing me to order my wedding clothes, so he will not object to my going to town for that purpose.’

‘Have you set a date then, Miss Duncombe?’ asked Wolfgang politely.

‘No, but Loftus is keen to do so.’ She wrapped her hands around the wineglass and stared down at it. ‘I shall tell him we will be married as soon as I return from London.’

‘An excellent suggestion,’ agreed Papa. ‘If you will forgive me saying so, my dear, you have kept the poor man waiting quite long enough.’

Grace continued to stare into her glass. She had expected to feel nervous at the thought of getting married, but not this sick, unhappy dread.

Do not think of it, then. Concentrate instead upon getting safely to London.

Wolfgang’s deep voice interrupted her thoughts. ‘If you will tell me where I can hire a travelling chaise, I will arrange everything.’

‘If I might suggest...’ She looked up. ‘I think we should take the mail coach. Loftus is bound to enquire and he will not expect me to travel by private chaise.’

‘Will he not want to escort you himself?’

‘I was about to ask that myself.’ Papa turned his gaze upon her. ‘Is that not a possibility, Grace?’

‘Yes. But we could travel on Friday. Loftus will be engaged at Hindlesham market on that day. And...’ She paused. ‘Perhaps Truscott could drive us to Newmarket. I know the mail picks up from Hindlesham after that, but we need not alight, so there is less chance that anyone would see us, or think that we were travelling together.’

‘You are a born conspirator, Miss Duncombe.’

The admiration in Wolf’s voice only flayed Grace’s conscience even more. Her father declared it an excellent plan and the two men discussed the final arrangements. However, when everything was settled and their guest had retired, Grace remained seated, gazing into the fire and twisting her hands together.

‘Something is troubling you, my child.’ Her father drew a chair up beside her and reached out to take her hands. ‘You do not like this business, do you?’

She shook her head.

‘No, Papa, I do not like it. My conscience is not easy. And after what happened to Henry...’

‘That is why I was loath to share Mr Wolfgang’s secret, my love. I am convinced of his innocence, but I knew for you it would bring back painful memories of Henry’s tragic death.’

She shuddered and he gave her hands a comforting squeeze.

‘I know it is difficult for you, my love, but when Wolfgang Arrandale came to me for help I could not refuse him.’

‘And you truly believe he is innocent?’

‘I do, Grace. Even more, I fear someone has deliberately put the blame on him. The tragic events of Mrs Wolfgang’s death might have been used to cover the theft of the necklace, but it could be something much more sinister.’

A cold chill ran down Grace’s spine.

‘He showed me the spot where he found her. Papa, it was directly beneath the balcony. What if...what if he lost his temper with his wife and pushed her over the balcony? It
is
possible, is it not, Papa?’

‘Yes, it is possible,’ he replied. ‘But he has returned here to prove his innocence. Surely that is in his favour?’ He gripped her hands. ‘He asked for my help, Grace, and I cannot deny him.’

No more can I.

Grace felt a band tighten around her heart. Papa was such a good man he would not think ill of anyone. She was far less sure of her own reasons for wanting to help Wolf Arrandale.

‘No, of course not, Papa.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘Tomorrow I shall see Loftus and tell him I am going to London.’

* * *

Grace was not looking forward to her visit to Hindlesham and she delayed it as late as possible the following morning by taking baskets of food to the needy. The last of the baskets was for Mrs Owlet, the widow who had broken her leg. The visit was not strictly necessary and Grace admitted it was an attempt to learn more about the Arrandales, but if she was hoping for reassurance then she was sadly disappointed. When Grace broached the subject the widow was scathing in her condemnation of the family.

‘The old man was a villain,’ she said, almost spitting with hatred. ‘Dying like that and leaving us all to fend for ourselves.’

‘He could hardly be blamed for that,’ said Grace, recoiling a little from such vehemence.

‘His sons are as bad. Rakes, both of ’em. The whole family is damned.’

It was not what Grace wanted to hear.

‘Oh, surely not,’ she murmured, preparing to take her leave.

The old woman clutched her arm, fingers digging in like claws. ‘And the oldest boy, the wife-murderer, well, he’s turned out worst of all. He walks with the devil.’

Grace made her excuses at that point and hurried back to the vicarage, but however much she told herself Mrs Owlet was embittered because the Hall had closed and she had lost her position, the words haunted her.

* * *

The visit to Hindlesham could be delayed no longer. Grace changed into her riding habit and went to the stableyard, where she found Wolfgang leading out Bonnie.

He walks with the devil.

‘You have been busy, so I saddled the mare for you,’ he said. ‘I thought you would go in the gig, but your father told me you would prefer to ride.’

‘He sees no harm in my riding alone here, where I am so well known. Besides, Truscott needed the gig to go to Newmarket and book our places on the mail.’

She allowed him to keep the mare steady while she used the mounting block and he held Bonnie while Grace arranged her skirts.

‘Thank you.’

She gathered up the reins, but he did not release the mare.

‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘Thank
you
, Miss Duncombe. I appreciate what you are doing for me.’

‘For my father,’ she corrected him. She glanced around to make sure they were alone. ‘He believes you are innocent.’

‘And you do not?’

His look sent the butterflies fluttering inside again. She knew where this man was concerned her heart was ruling her head. The only defence she could summon up was anger.

‘I would rather not think of you at all, Mr Arrandale!’

He nodded and stepped away from the mare’s head. ‘Do not tarry, Miss Duncombe. It looks like rain.’

Grace trotted out of the yard, resisting the temptation to look back. One more day and she would not have to see Wolfgang Arrandale again. A few weeks in London with Aunt Eliza, then she would return and marry Loftus. Safe, dependable Loftus. The marriage settlements had been agreed: they would secure her future and that would be a great comfort to Papa.

It would be a comfort to her, too. It had to be. Her betrothal was a promise to marry and she had been raised to believe a promise was sacred.

* * *

Once they reached open ground, Grace set Bonnie galloping, but for once the exhilaration of flying over the moor did not banish everything else from her mind. If Wolfgang was innocent, as her father believed, then she prayed he would be able to prove it. But what then? Would he return to his old rakehell life, or would he marry and settle down at Arrandale? That would be an advantage for the parish and it was what her father wanted, so she should want it, too. After all, it could make no difference to her. She would be married to Loftus and living at Hindlesham.

As if conjured by her thoughts the manor house appeared ahead of her and she was momentarily daunted by the necessity of explaining her sudden departure to her fiancé. Grace sat a little straighter in the saddle. It must be done, there was no going back now.

* * *

Upon her return to the vicarage Grace ran upstairs to change before going in search of her father. She found him in his study with Wolfgang. They rose when she entered, her father exclaiming in some alarm, ‘My dear, never tell me you rode back from Hindlesham in this rain?’

‘I was obliged to do so, Papa, unless I wanted to remain at the manor all day.’ She smiled. ‘Do not fret, sir, Betty has taken my riding habit to dry it in the kitchen and apart from my hair still being a little wet, I am perfectly well, I assure you.’

‘Nevertheless, you should sit by the fire,’ said Wolfgang, vacating his chair for her.

‘Yes, you must,’ agreed her father. ‘I cannot have you catching a chill. How did you get on at the manor?’

Grace sank down gratefully and held her hands out to the flames.