“Yes,” he said at last. “You are correct. I do want to run the other way when I see you.”

“Why?” She hurried to keep up as he walked on, more briskly than before. “What have I done?”

“Absolutely nothing,” he said, adding under his breath, “and I pray it stays that way.”

“Then what ought I to do?” They were making good progress down the road. She had run out without a shawl or a bonnet, and had to squint against the sun when she looked up at him.

“Absolutely nothing,” he repeated. “For your own sake.”

“But if I’ve been doing nothing and it disgusts you, it makes no sense that I continue doing nothing.”

He paused. “You don’t disgust me.” He pointed past her with his cane. “There is the path to my home. Pardon me, Miss Weston.”

She let him pass, but kept dogging his heels, dragging poor Milo in her wake. “If I don’t disgust you, why won’t you speak to me? There was only that one moment, when you told me about the lost grotto, when I felt we were cordial.”

He heaved a soundless sigh. “I’m speaking to you now, aren’t I?”

“Without saying anything,” she grumbled. “We are neighbors, sir. Surely we can have an amiable relationship.”

With unexpected speed and grace he whirled on her. Abigail nearly tripped as she leapt back once, then again until her back hit a tree as he stalked toward her. He loomed over her, so close she could see the lines around his eyes, but not so close he was touching her. “Amiable,” he whispered. “We will never be amiable.”

“Why n-not?” she stammered. Her heart was beating a tattoo inside her chest.

He smiled, but there was nothing light about it. It was a black and bitter expression, and the sight made her eyes grow wide. “Because I am a wicked man, Miss Weston. Don’t you listen to the gossip? Madness runs in my family. My estate is utterly ruined. People call me a thief. They even say I killed my father. Ask anyone in town, and they’ll warn you to stay far, far away from me. To a beautiful, innocent young woman, I might as well be the devil incarnate.”

“Did you kill your father?” As soon as the words left her mouth, Abigail wished them back.

“What do you think?” he asked in the same soft, dangerous tone.

She frowned. “I doubt it.”

“But you don’t know. That should warn you to run away.”

She stared at him. “You intrigue me.”

He leaned closer. In confusion she closed her eyes. “And you intrigue me,” he replied, his breath stirring the hair at her temple. “That’s why I avoid you.”