The Outcast's Redemption (The Infamous Arrandales) by Sarah Mallory Page B

pulled low over his face and it was the merest chance that he had looked up at just that moment, so that the light from the inn’s window illuminated his face.
    Why should he be skulking around a common inn at midnight? And had he recognised her? Grace drew herself up. She was not at fault. If he had seen her, then she was sure he would be at pains to explain himself. She was more than ever relieved that he was not sleeping in the house. When they reached the vicarage she gently roused her father and accompanied him indoors. She decided not to say anything to him about their guest tonight, but unless the man had a satisfactory explanation for his activities she would urge her father to tell him to leave.
    * * *
    The following morning she found their guest breaking his fast in the kitchen, freshly shaved, a clean neckcloth at his throat and looking altogether so at ease that for a moment her resolve wavered. But only for a moment.
    ‘Mr Peregrine. When you have finished your breakfast I would be obliged if you would attend me in the morning room.’
    Those piercing violet-blue eyes were fixed upon her, but he waited until Mrs Truscott had bustled out of the room before he spoke.
    ‘You wish to see me alone?’
    She flushed, but remained resolute.
    ‘I do.’
    ‘Is that not a little...forward of you, Miss Duncombe?’
    Her flush deepened, but this time with anger.
    ‘Necessity demands that I speak to you in private.’
    ‘As you wish.’ He picked up his coffee cup. ‘Give me ten minutes and I will be with you.’
    Grace glared at him. Mrs Truscott had come back into the kitchen so she could not utter the blistering set-down that came to her lips. Instead she turned on her heel and left the room. How dare he treat her thus, as if she had been the servant! If he thought that would save him from an uncomfortable interrogation, he was sadly mistaken.
    * * *
    Wolf drained his cup. The summons was not unexpected. It was unfortunate that Grace had seen him last night and it was his own fault. A carriage rattling through the main street at any time was a rare occurrence in Arrandale and he should have realised that it was most likely to be the Duncombes returning from Hindlesham. If only he had kept his head down, remained in the shadows, instead of staring into the coach window like a fool. Even now he remembered the look of shocked recognition on Grace’s face. Well, he would have to brazen it out.
    He made his way to the morning room where Grace was waiting for him, her hands locked together and a faint crease between her brows. She was biting her lip, as if she did not know quite how to begin. He decided to make it easy for her.
    ‘You want to know what I was doing at the Horse Shoe Inn last night.’
    ‘Yes. You are, of course, quite at liberty to go wherever you wish,’ she added quickly. ‘It was rather your appearance that puzzled me.’
    ‘My appearance, Miss Duncombe?’
    She waved one hand towards him. ‘Today you are dressed neatly, with propriety. Last night you looked like a, like a...’ He waited, one brow raised, and at last she burst out, ‘Like a ne’er-do-well.’
    He shrugged. ‘I have always found it expedient to adapt to my surroundings. I had a sudden fancy for a tankard of home brewed and I did not want to make the other customers uncomfortable.’
    It was not a complete lie. It had been a risk to go into the taproom at all, but the parson had told him the landlord was not a local man and would not know him. Wolf had hoped that with his untidy clothes and the ragged muffler about his neck no one would associate him with the Arrandale family.
    Grace looked sceptical.
    ‘Since the inn supplies us with our small beer I can only assume you had a sudden fancy for low company, too,’ she said coldly. ‘Forgive me if I appear uncharitable, but I think you have imposed upon our hospitality long enough.’
    The door opened and the parson’s soft voice was heard.
    ‘Ah, Mr Peregrine, there you