The Outcast's Redemption (The Infamous Arrandales) Read Free Page B

Smiling, she watched the housekeeper hurry back to the kitchen then, putting a handful of pegs in the basket on top of the shirt, she made her way outside. The sun was shining now and a steady breeze was blowing. Grace took a deep breath. She loved spring days like this, when there was warmth in the sun and a promise of summer to come. It was a joy to be out of doors.
    A clothes line was fixed up in the kitchen gardens, which were directly behind the stable block. As she crossed the yard Grace heard the noise of the pump being worked and assumed it was Truscott fetching more water for the house, but when she turned the corner she stopped, her mouth opening in surprise to see their guest, stripped to the waist and washing himself.
    Her first reaction was to run away, but it was too late for that, he had spotted her. She should not look at him, but could not drag her eyes away from the sight of his half-naked body. The buckskins covering his thighs could not have been tighter, but although he was so tall there was nothing spindly about his long legs. They were perfectly proportioned. He had the physique of an athlete, the flat stomach and lean hips placing no strain on those snugly fitting breeches, but above the narrow waist the body widened into a broad chest and muscled shoulders, still wet and glinting in the morning sun. He bent to pick up his towel, his movements lithe, the muscles rippling beneath the skin. As he straightened she noted the black beard on his cheeks and watched as he flicked the thick dark hair away from his face. Droplets of water flew off the tendrils, catching the light. Like a halo, she thought wildly. A halo for a dark angel.
    ‘Good morning, Miss Duncombe.’
    Her throat had dried. She knew if she tried to speak it would be nothing more than a croak so instead she inclined her head, frowning in an effort not to blush. She forced her legs to move and walked on, feeling very much like one passing a strange dog and not knowing if it was going to attack. The line was only yards away from the pump and, keeping her back to him, she concentrated on pegging out his shirt. Her fingers felt stiff, awkward and her spine tingled at the thought of the man behind her. She had noticed faint scars on his body, signs that he had not lived a peaceful life.
    * * *
    It was very quiet, perhaps he had gone, after all he had finished washing himself and it must be cold, standing in this chill wind, naked...
    ‘Thank you for going to so much trouble for me.’
    She jumped at the sound of his deep voice. She turned to find he was very close, towering over her. He was towelling his wet hair and with his arms raised he looked bigger and broader than ever. The skin beneath his ribcage was drawn in, accentuating his deep chest with its shadow of dark hair. What would it be like to touch him, to run her hands over his skin and feel those crisp, dark hairs curling over her fingers?
    Shocked, Grace stepped back and hastily picked up the washing basket, holding it before her like a shield while she tried to gather her scattered wits. She must answer him.
    ‘It was nothing. We c-cannot have you going about the village like a beggar.’ She began to move backwards, as if she was afraid to turn her back on him. ‘Once you are dressed Mrs Truscott will serve you breakfast in the kitchen.’
    He kept his eyes on her, his look dark, unfathomable. She felt like a wild animal, in thrall to a predator.
    ‘Then I had best make myself presentable.’
    She swallowed.
    Pull yourself together, Grace!
    ‘Yes. Please do. And do not take too long about it. My servants have a great deal to do today.’
    From somewhere she found the strength to turn and walk away. She wanted to run, she could feel his eyes boring into her and a shiver ran the length of her spine. She had never met anyone who made her feel so ill at ease. Or so deliciously alive.
    * * *
    When Grace went down to the kitchen later she found their guest sitting at the table,