Page 27 of Wolfhaven

“This is pointless,” Evaine complained to her grandmother, who refused to remain alone at Wolfhaven. Their progress was slowed by the old woman’s pace, while the set of the duke’s shoulders radiated impatience and annoyance. “The cottage roof is damaged. We are not going to be able to repair it quickly.”

“We’re obviously not wanted at the main house,” Gran said. “If we can move home, I think it’s best.”

“This morning you were ready to send out wedding invitations.”

“Well, he is a duke.”

Evaine huffed. “Mercenary.”

“He would have to be rich for us to be mercenaries,” Gran answered primly. “To hear the duke tell it, he is a pauper.”

“I can hear you ladies whispering about me,” Gareth called over his shoulder.

“It is reassuring to know that your ears still work,” Evaine shot back. Gran squeezed her arm and chuckled.

The cottage was in worse shape than she had hoped. In daylight she could see how the tree had torn a hole right through the roof itself. Her makeshift patch job hadn’t held. An inch of water covered the floorboards, which had already warped in places.

“I’ll check the roof. We may get more rain,” said Gareth. He found an old, rickety ladder and placed it against the edge.

“You shouldn’t go up there with your hand like that.” Men. They would risk their necks for any absurd reason. Obviously, she and Gran couldn’t live here until the roof, and likely the floorboards, too, were replaced. Cold dread settled into the pit of her stomach. They were homeless again. Their welcome at this remote cottage had been tenuous at best, and now it was ruined.

Where would they go?

Undaunted, Gareth hauled himself up the ladder and thumped around on the roof, swearing under his breath, for several minutes, before he climbed down again. Scowling and silent, he stomped to the wood pile where an old wheelbarrow was propped against the mostly empty woodshed.

“Put your things in here. You’ll be staying with me for a while. I’ll have Cogswell come and sweep the water out. He can make the necessary repairs once it’s dried out.”

Evaine glanced up at the treetops. “That could be weeks from now.”

A muscle in Gareth’s jaw feathered. He didn’t respond. Only pushed the wheelbarrow closer to the door. Gran came out of the cottage clutching a satchel. He tossed it in and asked, “Is that all?”

“No.” Evaine went into the cottage and surveyed the damage. The cramped space had never been charming, exactly, but it had been homey enough. Now there was a musty smell clinging to everything. She stripped off the bedding and rolled it into a ball, tossed it into the wheelbarrow, and sloshed back inside. Her trunk full of personal effects was too heavy to lift by herself, but she managed to drag it to the door.

“I’ll push the handcart if you can carry this,” she said.

She eyed the graying bandage wrapped around his left hand with alarm. He shouldn’t be climbing ladders and touching dirty things with that cut. He was very un-duke-like. A rugged, practical sort of man. Very different from the pampered aristocrats she had met while at Girton.

Impossible to imagine any of them trudging through mud, or climbing onto a damaged roof, or barging into her bath⁠—

Heat flooded her cheeks.

Gareth wasn’t the only one acting oddly since what she had come to think of as the incident this morning. She was being stiff and awkward, too. She’d never had a man walk in on her naked before. She couldn’t stop thinking about his chest—or the scars mangling the left half of his torso.

But mostly, his chest.

The scars were arresting, but it was the definition of his pectorals and the breadth of his shoulders buttressed by prominent clavicles that was seared into her memory.

Hair grew between the perfectly formed right half of his body. The left, melted side, was dusted in places but otherwise only scar tissue grew there. Even his nipple had been damaged beyond recognition. Below his pectorals were ridges of abdomen disappearing into the narrow waistband of his trousers. Those defined muscles were a testament to a man who did not sit still. One who restlessly sought out physical activity—presumably in an effort to escape the memory of how he’d obtained those injuries in the first place.

Immediately after their graceless interaction, he’d been as kind to her grandmother as he’d been rude to her. Uncomfortable in her presence. Well, that went both ways.

She did not want to stay in the mansion with him. The rustic cottage that had been such a letdown upon their arrival a week ago now seemed a cheerful, sweet place compared to the prospect of bedding down inside that desolate mansion. It seemed they had no choice in the matter.

She was tired of not having any choices in her life. She felt like an autumn leaf that had fallen from its tree and was caught in a current of wind, spiraling wherever the world took her, regardless of where she actually wanted to go.

“What did you pack in here?” the duke griped on the return trip to the house. He was shifting his grip on her trunk every few steps.

“Iron shavings, just to torment you,” Evaine said snidely, ignoring her grandmother’s prodding elbow.