“How?”
Wolfie propped himself up on his elbows and cleared his throat. “You know that dent you noticed on the living room panels?”
Perplexed by the sudden topic change, Pippa nodded curiously.
“My father. He caused that damage,” he went on. “He did it when I told him I wanted to study music in London instead of something ‘masculine’ like business or law. He threw his glass at me, but he was so blotto it missed. It hit the wall and smashed and a shard of glass hit my chin.” Wolfie worried the scar with his thumb. “That’s when he told me no son of his was to study music as that wasn’t what ‘real men’ did. Trouble was that, apart from music, I had no interest in school or academia. I loved –love– music. For years it had been my escape and he—” His mouth twisted ruefully. “At any rate, I enlisted the next day. Shipped out just a few months after that.”
“Your father hurt you?” He was so calm, Pippa thought. So measured.
“My fathertriedto hurt me,” Wolfie corrected her gently. “He almost always failed. That time was the first and last time he was successful.”
“What about your mum?” Pippa demanded. “Why did she let him treat you like that?”
Wolfie hesitated, his serene composure slipping. “Mum was … she was just as much a victim. He never hit her, but he inflicted mental violence on her every day. She was helpless against him. I’m working on forgiving her for that, believe me. It’s what she deserves.”
“God.” Pippa sat up. She felt sick. All those years dreaming about the perfect Squires family, their dream house, but the whole time Wolfie was living an utter nightmare. No wonder he’d spent much of his adult life far from here. And then she’d come along, squawking about how he didn’t appreciate what he had, how he owed it to the town to keep the house in the family … a town full of people ignorant to the horror going on within said house. “I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“Pippa Munro, we’ve known each other for a few weeks. It took memonthsto tell a therapist all that stuff.” Wolfie’s smile was small, but shaky.
“You’re in therapy?” Pippa said.
“All the best people are.” His attempt at a breezy tone made Pippa’s heart ache. She’d long noted his calmness – it was one of the things she found most attractive about him – but now it was downright admirable how he achieved such a demeanour in the face of such trauma.
Pippa lowered herself back down and wriggled so her gaze was perfectly level with his and he could see her sincerity. “No judgement from me.” A smear of mud on the pillowcase caught her attention. “God, sorry. I’ll do a laundry load.”
“We’ll take care of that later.” Wolfie snared her waist. “Stay with me.” His teeth grazed her shoulder and Pippa’s insides turned over as his hands began to wander south. But the sight of the mud had triggered a question and as much as she was enjoying what his hands were doing to her, she had to ask.
“Wolfie. Why did you follow me up Clough Hill?”
He paused, brushing a lock of hair off her face. “I wanted to apologise for talking to you the way I did. Everything you said was true and I realised if I didn’t tell you right there and then I never would and I’d miss the chance to … well, you know.” He grinned bashfully. “So I followed you out to the road, but you were stomping away at speed like a rampaging beast—”
“Rampaging?” Pippa echoed with a giggle.
“I said what I said.” He nibbled her shoulder again. “I did consider leaving you alone to ruminate on how much of a bastard I am. But then the heavens opened, and I got a storm alert on my phone.”
Warmth bloomed through Pippa’s chest. “And then you came after me,” she said.
His eyes locked with hers. “And then I came after you.”
Something tilted inside Pippa as she held his gaze and pure contentment flooded her veins. “Thank you.”
“Any time, Pippa Munro,” he murmured, leaning in for another kiss. “Any time.”
ChapterNineteen
Pippa opened her eyes. The room was dim thanks to the closed drapes but she could tell that the rain had stopped. Disoriented, she sat up. It took a second for it to sink in that she was in Wolfie’s room and the delicious ache spreading through her body was thanks to him. She wasn’t sure where her clothes were – no doubt scattered up the stairs and along the landing, if memory served. Wolfie wasn’t next to her, but the bed was still warm. He hadn’t been gone long. Wrapping a sheet around herself, she moved to the window. The sky remained an ominous grey, casting the moorland in shadow.
Hearing movement downstairs, she decided to go to her room and dress, then noticed a note on Wolfie’s pillow.
PM,
Doing a conference call downstairs. Didn’t want to wake you.
Yours, W.
Pippa traced the writing with her finger. Like Wolfie, it was elegant and efficient. And despite the spare detail, the sign-off made her tummy flip.Yours,he’d written. Was there a more beautiful word?
As Pippa made her way back to her room, she realised she’d not asked Wolfie about the girlfriend she’d suspected him of having. She dressed blindly as her mind tumbled over all the possibilities. It had to be that her assumption was wrong. Perhaps she’d misheard the call where he’d pledged to spend the Squires sales profit on this woman. Surely Wolfie wasn’t the kind of guy to bed someone whilst he was in a relationship? The way he’d kissed her, the way his eyes had connected with hers as he moved inside her, Pippa had felt like the only woman on the planet. There was no way she could have misread that.
