Come Love a Stranger

Chapter Thirteen

EYES turned to regard the handsome couple as they strode along the boardwalk, and Ashton smiled with both pride and pleasure, having been successful in capturing the queen, at least for the afternoon. He beckoned to Hickory to bring the carriage around and, handing his lady in, settled close beside her and took her hand, gently encompassing the fine-boned fingers with his own. Lenore looked at him, unable to deny the warm feeling of contented bliss that quickly enveloped her whenever she was with him. His eyes glowed and brought a light blush to her cheeks as he took in every detail of her with a slow and exacting perusal. When he spoke, his murmur was soft and husky and bespoke of the yearnings that were readily visible in those hazel eyes. “You’re a most pleasurable sight, madam, one that I’ve not had enough of seeing lately.”

Her light laughter threaded through his mind. “My father and Malcolm think you’ve been seeing too much of me…and I of you.” The corners of her lips twitched in amusement. “My father was quite shocked by your penchant for exhibiting yourself.”

Ashton chuckled. “Aye, your father said as much when he came to rebuke me. He thought you too fragile to view what I had displayed. Obviously he isn’t aware that we were living as man and wife before you left Belle Chêne.”

The rosy color deepened in her cheeks beneath his querying regard. “I couldn’t tell them, Ashton,” she murmured, lowering her gaze to her lap. “They would have made it seem like something dirty.” She released a long sigh. “Everything you have done is despicable in their eyes, and my father still blames you for taking Lierin from him.”

Ashton squeezed her fingers in gentle understanding. “He’s a troubled man, and despite myself I’m beginning to feel some sympathy toward him.”

Her love for him welled up, spilling over the walls of restraint that she had tried so hard to construct as she lifted her head and searched the tanned visage. “You’re a good man, Ashton Wingate.”

With a chuckle Ashton tossed his hat upon the far seat and gave her a doubting look. “Why? Because I harbor no malice for an old man who thinks he has reason to hate me? It’s useless to waste my resentment on him. I never knew of his fondness for whiskey, but it’s clearly taking its toll. He almost lost touch with the world when he cut his hand, and I realized, then, that he’s only a weak, empty shell of a man, worthy only of pity. My anger is better spent elsewhere.”

“On Malcolm?” she inquired in a small voice.

Ashton’s face hardened, and above the line of his jaw the tensing muscles vibrated, making ridges and hollows flex in his cheeks. “Now there’s one who is deserving of my hatred.”

Seeing the writhing turbulence of his animosity, she rubbed a hand over his arm soothingly. “Let’s not talk about him,” she cajoled. “Tell me of your plans. How long will you be keeping the River Witch here?”

“As long as I have to…or until you send me away.”

“I’ve already asked you to go,” she reminded him.

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the pale fingers while his eyes warmly probed the deep green crystals, finding there a myriad of emotions all wrapped up in love. “When your eyes tell me to go, my love, I’ll go. Not before.”

Lenore lowered silky lashes over the dark, translucent orbs, wondering if her yearnings were so visible. It seemed pointless to deny her love for him; it was not an emotion that could be easily set aside. He rested their entwined hands upon his thigh, and she sensed they shared similar cravings when she felt his thudding pulse. His free hand came to lift her chin, and his fingers slowly stroked her throat as he stared into her eyes.

“I want you,” he breathed in a husky murmur. He moved her hand, making her aware of his needs, and he saw the wide-spreading confusion come back in her face. She shook her head in an almost pleading gesture of denial, mutely appealing for mercy, and tried to pull free, but the name Lierin, sighing from his lips, stilled her weak struggles. He pressed her head back upon the seat near his shoulder, and she stared with helpless entreaty into those smoldering green-brown eyes as his face loomed above her own. His mouth lowered, opening and slanting before covering hers, and she lost herself in the wild, sweet pleasure of his kiss, all the while knowing this should not be. The side of her hand burned where it rested against his loins, and the awareness of his inflamed desires made her tremble. Murmuring words of love and passion, he pressed fevered kisses upon her throat and cheek and lightly touched the fragile eyelids that quivered downward to receive his featherlike kiss.

“I wander helpless through the night,” he whispered in agonized torment, “wanting you and knowing you are beyond my reach. My vitals roil in helpless frustration as I think of you up there in the house…and Malcolm between us, claiming you. Aye, I seethe when I think of him, and I realize how fiercely jealousy has taken root in me. It tears me apart when I see you with him. I beg you to have mercy on this wretched soul, my love. Leave with me now. Let me take you back home where I can love you…and cherish you….”

“Oh, Ashton, Ashton,” she moaned as tears welled in her eyes. “What would I be if I went back to Belle Chêne with you? Never knowing for sure whether I am Lierin or Lenore, I would be caught in an eternal conflict, wondering if I were committing adultery or just fulfilling my rightful place as your wife. This house here in Biloxi holds the key, and I believe it can unlock the secrets of my mind and free it from this turmoil. There are ugly things I see in visions, hateful things, and if I don’t find the answers for them, they will hound me to my grave. I yearn to give myself to you now; I do want what you want, but I cannot go with you without knowing myself…who I am, where I’ve been, and what I’ve done.” She removed her hand from his grasp and, placing it in her lap, slowly stroked it with her other, as if soothing her burning skin. “I must go back, and I think it would be well for us both if you take me home now….” She turned her face away to hide a fresh rush of tears as she added, “Before I yield myself to you.”

All too aware of the loneliness that would settle down upon him when they were parted, Ashton sought to persuade her: “Stay with me for a while more. Have dinner with me, and then I’ll take you back later.” She looked at him again almost pleadingly, and he smiled sadly, taking note of her reddened eyes, and relented. “Perhaps I ask too much of you right now. I know you are troubled.” He let his breath out slowly, attempting to cool his mind and body. “I’ll take you back. There’ll be another day when we’ll meet.”

Relieved by his acquiescence, Lenore sniffed and, with her handkerchief, wiped the brimming wetness from her lashes. He knew how to appeal to her senses, and he was so hard to resist, she had found herself in a quandary, wondering if she could. Even now she had difficulty forgetting what had just passed between them and the scalding heat that had seared her hand.

Ashton gave Hickory instructions and, leaning back in the seat again, indulged himself in the pleasure of watching her rather than the scenery they passed. “I’m letting some business associates here in Biloxi borrow the River Witch.” He saw her surprise and explained, “They’re planning a social affair, with all the wealthy people in the area being invited to the gaming tables.” Actually, he had initiated their interest, having seen how well the occasion would fit into his schemes and aid in his advancement toward a lasting seizure of the queen.

Lenore saw the sparkling gleam in his eye and could not resist an inquiry. “What has that to do with me?”

A roguish grin readily showed the contrast between his dark skin and white teeth. “You and Malcolm will be invited, of course.”

“Malcolm will never go on your steamer.” The very idea seemed preposterous. “He hates you too much.”

“Ah, but I’ve been informed that Malcolm is quite fond of the gaming tables and likes the idea of easy money and associating with wealthy people. He doesn’t appear to be as well off as I had first supposed. In fact, it’s rather difficult to decide where he does get his money.”

“I don’t know anything about his work,” she murmured distantly, realizing Malcolm had never made any attempt to inform her of his past, his family, or his activities. “In fact, I don’t know very much about him at all.”

“I’ve had some of my men watch him, and his business dealings seem to radiate from a room above the tavern.”

“You mean”-a blush crept into her cheeks as she sought a delicate way of asking-“he’s keeping company with…purchased ladies?”

Ashton chuckled. “If he were, my love, I wouldn’t be telling you of his indiscretions.” He shook his head as he continued. “No. He meets with other men there, and they’re an unworthy-looking bunch from what my men report. The lot of them usually scatter after the meeting, going off in different directions, and then in a few days they’re back again to meet with Malcolm.”

“When Malcolm leaves the house, he only tells me he’s going to meet with the lawyers, and then he comes back with papers for me to sign.”

“What sort of papers?”

Her slender shoulders lifted briefly. “I don’t know. He’s never let me read them.”

“Have you signed them?” Ashton asked in sudden worry.

“No,” she replied, somewhat confused by his concern. “And I won’t until he lets me read them.”

“That’s a good girl.”

“What do you think they might be?” she queried.

“I don’t know, but if he could, he would have you sign a complaint against me. He’d like nothing better than to see me arrested for Mary’s murder.”

“Who do you think killed her, Ashton?”

“Horace Titch, perhaps.” Ashton shrugged. “Mary used to work for his sister. I really can’t say otherwise. That stretch of land near us is not entirely isolated from the rest of the world, you know. A stranger could have wandered in, seized the girl, and left her in the dinghy after he killed her.”

A shudder went through Lenore. “I never heard anything.”

“The attack on her probably happened while you were out with me, and it frightens me when I think you were on the beach alone about that time.” His eyes fondly traced the delicate profile as he murmured, “Have I thanked you yet for the alibi, madam? I didn’t expect you to tell the sheriff you were with me.”

Lenore stole a timid glance at him. “I couldn’t see saving my reputation and letting you be arrested.”

His finger teased a softly curling wisp that lay against her nape. “Where did you leave your bonnet?”

Surprise touched the lovely visage as she looked up at him. “It was so hot I left it in the carriage, but how…?”

Ashton finished the question for her: “…did I know that you were wearing a bonnet? I saw you leave the house this morning, remember? Besides, I notice everything about you. If I hadn’t seen you with the bonnet on, I would probably have wondered why your hair is a little mussed….”

Suddenly self-conscious, Lenore quickly reached up to repair her coiffure and then realized he was teasing her when he chuckled. Lowering her hands to her lap again, she smiled through a blush as he gently squeezed her arm.

“I’ve seen your hair in wilder disarray, my love, and you have taken my breath away with your beauty.”

Unable to resist his nearness as he laid his arm on the seat behind her, she leaned against his side. “Did you perchance know that I was a widow when Malcolm married me?”

Ashton’s face displayed his astonishment. “You mean Lenore…?”

“Yes, me.” She nodded. “I was married to Cameron Livingston before I married Malcolm.”

“If you ever married Malcolm,” Ashton gently protested.

“Will you ever stop insisting that I’m Lierin?”

“Only when I have irrefutable proof, madam.”

“Lierin Livingston just doesn’t sound right.”

“Lierin was not a widow when I married her.” Shaking his head, he smiled down at her rather roguishly. “She was a virgin when I took her to bed.”

“The same was not true of me when we made love at Belle Chêne,” Lenore murmured, then wished she could recall the words when she realized how inane the statement was. Whether she was Lierin or Lenore, she had come to him as a married woman. The only question was, whose wife?

Ashton chuckled softly as he pressed his lips against her hair. “By then, my love, the damage had already been done. It happened in one single moment, at least three years past, and I can truthfully say that when the sun rose the next morning, we were most definitely man and wife.”

“Comin’ home!” Hickory shouted from up front, and Ashton peered out the window at the gray-blue sea that stretched out across the horizon. Hickory had made good time in bringing them back, and it was a disappointment to both of them. Lenore’s fingers readily snuggled into his as Ashton reached to take her hand.

“Malcolm will be receiving an invitation for the party aboard the River Witch. I’d like you to come. Will you?”

“If it means that much to you, yes.”

“It does…because I’ll want to be with you. And when you see the River Witch leave, don’t be upset. I haven’t left you.”

“I’ll miss seeing her from my balcony.”

A soft chuckle accompanied his reply. “There’ll be another vessel coming in its stead, madam. Just be patient.”

Lenore was truly amazed. “Shouldn’t your boats be trading elsewhere? Aren’t you losing money letting them sit out there idle in the gulf?”

“When a man’s heart is not content, madam, riches mean nothing to him.” Ashton glanced out the window again, fretting because they had so little time left. They were only a short distance from the lane that led up to the house now, and he turned back to her with eyes that burned in anxious appeal. Lenore never really knew if she leaned forward or if he pulled her close, but in the next moment she was pressed hard against him and his lips were moving passionately upon hers. Though brief, the kiss stirred up a whole caldron of cravings, and by the time the landau turned up the lane, they were both beset with a burning need to continue. Lenore was sorry she had bade him return so early. She shivered in longing as his hand came around her side and covered her breast; then he pulled away, and for both it was a difficult struggle to maintain a serene mien. It was a lengthy moment before Ashton managed to subdue the rutting lust and step down. Taking her hand, his fingers squeezed hers and quite properly he helped her down.

They had barely reached the front steps when the portal was flung wide, and Malcolm came striding out, his face dark with rage. Lenore ignored his glare and though she was still very much annoyed with the heavier man, she spoke in a guise of sweetness. “Mr. Wingate was kind enough to bring me home, Malcolm. Wasn’t it nice that I didn’t have to walk?”

Though Malcolm’s hands remained lowered, they clenched into tight, meaty fists, while his eyes fairly flashed with indignation. He loathed the tolerant smile the other man returned to him, and wished he had been able to throttle Ashton right there on the front lawn. “Get in the house.” He tossed the command at Lenore as he jerked his head in that direction. “I’ll talk to you later. Right now, I have something to discuss with Mister Wingate.”

Lenore complied, but upon entering the house, she went into the parlor and stood near the french doors, where she could overhear the exchange. Malcolm was making a valiant effort to control himself, but he was clearly upset with her and Ashton. If the circumstances warranted it, she was ready to throw herself between the two men to halt a violent end to their confrontation.

“Just when in the bloody hell do you intend to leave here?” Malcolm demanded of the other man. “You accost my wife at every turn-”

“Accost whose wife?” A mildly questioning quirk lifted Ashton’s brow.

Malcolm became more incensed at the sardonic gibe. “Damn you! You know whose wife she is!”

“Aye, I know,” Ashton replied easily, “and I’ve come to fetch her home where she belongs.”

“There’s no talking to you!” Malcolm complained angrily. “You’ve shut your mind to the facts!”

“Only to your whining, Malcolm.”

“You can’t even recognize the truth when you see it!”

“I’ve been called stubborn, but I’m always willing to review the truth. Thus far, I haven’t been convinced that you’re right in claiming Lierin….”

“Lenore!”

A light chuckle shook Ashton’s shoulders. “We shall see, Malcolm. We shall see.” He placed a foot on the carriage step, but paused a moment to look back at the enraged man. “Even if she were Lenore, you wouldn’t deserve her.”

He climbed into the landau and, closing the door, settled back into the seat to await the next moment or two when Hickory would again halt the team, this time in front of the tent.

Wherever Lenore wandered, Ashton was sure to follow. It was a caustic taunt that Malcolm frequently used when he once again realized Ashton was hounding their heels. If Lenore stayed at home, then Ashton remained near his tent and was ever watchful of any opportunity that might bring them together while Malcolm was away. If she left with Malcolm, he moved behind them like a shadow, keeping a close surveillance.

While Ashton’s nearness grated on Malcolm’s nerves, it seemed to amuse everybody else. Behind her employer’s back, Meghan mutely cheered the Natchez man on, and her eyes sparkled with glee whenever she saw him ride out after the mistress’s carriage or when his own landau swung onto the road behind them. The only time she was a bit unnerved by his presence in the area was when he took a swim in the ocean. At such times she kept her gaze carefully averted, not wanting anyone to accuse her of secretly admiring such a magnificent manly form.

Even Robert Somerton began to take Ashton’s proximity in stride. He ceased to rage when he saw the younger man stroll out for a swim wearing naught but a skimpy loincloth, and on a few occasions he wandered over to share a libation or two with Ashton, though generally it was only coffee the latter imbibed.

Lenore enjoyed it all. His closeness. His unswerving tenacity. The sight of his brown body gleaming beneath the sun. It seemed quite an unladylike desire, but she yearned to feel again those flexing buttocks beneath her hands, to stroke those hard thighs, and to rouse him with her touch. With each passing day, her battle for control slipped another degree, and she realized she was completely abandoning her attempt to think of Malcolm as her husband.

It was during this time that the River Witch slid out of view. Malcolm was confused but elated. It appeared that Ashton’s men had deserted him; then bright and early on the morrow Malcolm’s spiraling hopes were dashed upon the rocks of despair again. There, anchored where the steamer had been, was an oceangoing vessel. This new ship which had come to haunt him was the Gray Eagle, and from it, a dinghy was launched, bringing ashore the captain, the men to row it, and a woman. Malcolm’s interest perked up as he watched the latter come ashore. Hoping she might be pretty enough to stir Lenore’s suspicions and perhaps endanger her fondness for the other man, he observed the visitor carefully as the captain escorted her toward Ashton’s tent, but from a distance he had to conclude that she was just another employee. Her dull red hair was pulled back into a severe knot at the nape of her neck, and the dark gray gown hung from thin shoulders. She had no bosom to speak of, and though she was neat in appearance, she was not of a quality that would give another woman cause to worry. Still, he was curious. She seemed slightly familiar, and yet he could not place her. He rarely wasted a second glance on a woman who looked as old and worn as she did, and he quickly decided it was not important if he knew her or not.

Ashton came out to greet his guests and accepted the account books Sarah handed to him.

“All of your journals are in order, Mr. Wingate,” she reported, pleased by her accomplishment.

“Excellent, Sarah. You’ve proved your value beyond anything I had ever imagined.”

She blushed with pleasure at the compliment. “I enjoy the work, sir. It helps me forget.”

Ashton smiled wryly. “Some strive hard to remember, others to forget. I await the day when Lierin remembers.”

“And I await the day when I totally forget…and perhaps forgive, though I don’t think I’ll ever do that.”

Captain Meyers offered the wisdom he had gained in his advancing years: “Forgiveness is the secret of a contented life, Sarah. You’ll only hurt yourself by carrying hatred in your heart.”

Ashton frowned slightly, realizing he had a problem of his own in that respect. His head lifted, and his eyes grew cold as he fixed his gaze on the one who roused that ire. “It doesn’t help me when I see the foe so often.”

Sarah followed his stare to the man who stood on the distant porch; then she frowned, wondering what mirage the morning heat had conjured up. She shook her head, dispelling the possibility, and turned back to the men.

Ashton indicated his not-so-humble dwelling as he presented an invitation to the pair. “Would you care to come in and look around? I borrowed the cabin boy from the River Witch, and he’s made some tea and coffee. There are some sweet cakes, too, if you care for them.”

They passed through the open tent flap, and for both, it was like entering a world of make-believe where sheikhs were plentiful and flamboyance was proof of success. The somewhat bedazzled captain chortled merrily as he was shown about, and Sarah followed, much agog. The sumptuous bed had been created from several feather ticks and was extravagantly covered and draped with black silk patterned with gold leaves, the same sort an Arab prince might envy. The sheerest gold silk hung from a round frame high above the bed, forming a mosquito netting that was possibly without equal, at least anywhere in Mississippi. Rich pillows were plentiful and formed a luxurious headrest for the mattress. The opulence they saw was hardly in keeping with the excellent and subtle tastes of their employer, but it was amusing to see such a setting in the local territory.

“When they told me you were living in a tent, Ashton, I never dreamed it would be anything like this,” Captain Meyers exclaimed. “I had visions of you huddling under a tiny piece of canvas and trying to find comfort on a narrow pallet. Did you design these lavish appointments yourself?”

Ashton chuckled over the rim of his coffee cup. “It’s for effect, Charles. Malcolm Sinclair seems to like everything gaudy when he’s away from home, if you can understand my meaning.” He had seen clear evidence of this in the company of harlots the man was wont to entertain. For all of their attempts at grandeur, none of them could come close to matching the elegance Lierin had in her little finger. “I thought I’d make Malcolm feel right at home, should he ever decide to saunter down this way and have a look-see.”

Captain Meyers’s eyes gleamed as he wiped a hand across his mouth. “The man likes his women, eh?”

“You might say that,” Ashton replied dryly.

“Malcolm Sinclair?” Sarah repeated the name in a tentative query. “Who is he?”

Ashton jerked his head toward the house. “He lives up there…with Lierin. Except he claims she’s Lenore.”

“My husband’s mother was a Sinclair,” Sarah stated distantly as she wandered to the open flap of the tent. She peered out, but the man on the porch was gone. With a sigh, she came back to sit upon the soft cushions and, taking her cup and saucer in hand, sipped the tea before directing a statement to Ashton: “You might be interested in hearing that Horace Titch was down at the river looking over that new stern-wheeler you recently purchased. While he was there, he also looked around your warehouses and seemed most curious about the one that burned. I didn’t know what to do, so I thought it would be wise if the sheriff knew about it. Sheriff Dobbs said he’d keep an eye on the man.”

“Horace was here,” Ashton stated as he went to refill his cup from the silver coffeepot. “He might still be, for all I know. Harvey asked him some questions, but there’s no real proof that he had anything to do with setting the fire. I thought of putting out some men to watch over the house, just to make sure nothing happens to Lierin while he’s here.” Ashton laughed in wry amusement. “But Malcolm has put out some rather unsightly pawns to perform a similar service…mainly to keep me away from her.”

“Pawns?” Charles frowned thoughtfully at the characterization. “Are you playing some kind of game here, Ashton?”

“Aye, Charles. A game of chess, except my heart is caught up in this one.”

Now that Ashton had visitors, Malcolm saw a chance to whisk his young wife into Biloxi without the other man being aware of it. When he strolled down the hall to her room, he gave no heed to the fact that Meghan had not yet awakened her. The door was locked, but his insistent knock brought Lenore stumbling sleepily to the door. She groaned in mute agony when she saw him dressed and ready to be about his affairs, which she hoped had nothing to do with her. As he pushed his way into the chamber, she returned to her bed and pulled the sheet high over her head, wishing she could dismiss him from the room as easily as she had banished him from sight.

“I have some business to attend to in Biloxi this morning, madam, and I would delight in your company. If you can extract yourself posthaste from the comfort of your bed and get dressed, I would greatly appreciate it.”

“Oh, Malcolm,” she moaned. “Please go without me today. I am truly sick, and I don’t relish the idea of waiting in the carriage for you when I’m feeling this way.”

“Come now, Lenore. You’ll feel better once we’re under way. The ride will do you good.” Malcolm held up a hand, halting any argument she might have made as she lowered her arm and, with it, the sheet. “I’ll hear no more of it, my sweet. I’ll send Meghan up with some tea, and she’ll help you get dressed. Please be quick about it. My appointment is important, and I’d like to be there on time.”

He stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him, giving her no opportunity to deny him. As his footsteps moved away, Lenore stared listlessly around the room. The breeze wafting through the open windows was warm and humid, giving no relief from the sweltering heat that consumed the days. Her gown clung to her clammy skin, while tiny beads of moisture trickled down between her breasts. Gingerly she pushed away the sheet and rose from the bed. She waited, hardly daring to breathe as her stomach rebelled against the motion; then she carefully crossed the room to the washstand. One glance in the small mirror, which hung above it, confirmed the fact that she was not feeling her best. She looked tired and pale, and the usual sparkle was gone from her eyes. She heaved a long sigh, resigning herself to a day of activity, and splashed tepid water on her face and arms, hoping it would revive her flagging energy. The effort proved of meager benefit, and it was not until Meghan brought tea and biscuits that she was able to make a somewhat firmer resolution to endure the outing. The toilette, however, was almost her undoing, and she had to fight against an overwhelming revulsion when Meghan offered an open vial of perfume for her to sample.

“Please,” Lenore murmured, turning her head aside and thrusting up a hand. Its sweet, flowery essence sent a shudder through her. “Something lighter today, Meghan, please.”

The maid studied her young mistress closely and watched her press a wet cloth to a wan cheek. “Mum, if ye don’t mind me askin’, do ye know what be ailin’ ye?”

Lenore shrugged the question away with a lame excuse. “This heat. I don’t know how you can bear it so well, Meghan.”

“I guess I do all right, mum, but then, I’ve nothin’ else botherin’ me.”

Lenore could not meet the woman’s gaze as she asked cautiously, “Do you think there’s something else bothering me?”

“Well, mum, I’ve had none o’ me own, but I have a sister what acted the same way as yerself whene’er she got with babe.”

The silky lashes fluttered downward as Lenore released a quavering sigh. Had she still been at Belle Chêne with Ashton, she would have gladly welcomed her childbearing state, but now the problems associated with her condition loomed monstrously large and foreboding before her. She could only foresee serious difficulties in store for her, and she was not quite sure how she was going to handle them all. It might have been better had she admitted her intimacy with Ashton from the beginning; then her condition at least would have been considered a possibility, and the two men would be braced for the news. She could only wonder how long it would take them to notice without an announcement. If she held silent for a while and gave herself a little time to prepare, perhaps she could figure out a way to avoid a violent scene. It seemed logical at least to make an attempt. “Meghan, I must ask a favor of you.”

“Yes, mum?”

“I beg of you to keep this matter a secret between us until a more appropriate time. I doubt if Mr. Sinclair will appreciate the idea of my being with child.”

“I understand, mum,” the maid responded kindly. “An’ ye can count on me keepin’ me tongue.”

Lifting her head, Lenore stared at the gently smiling woman. “Do you really understand, Meghan?”

The servant nodded slowly. “It’s that Mr. Wingate, isn’t it? You’re carrying his child.”

Lenore hid her worry, hoping the two men would not be as perceptive as the maid. The fear of what Malcolm might do or at least attempt to do to Ashton literally sickened her, and she flung out a shaking hand in mute appeal to Meghan as the nausea came in a sudden wave. The servant quickly interpreted the gesture and scurried to present a basin. A long moment passed before Lenore dared to raise her eyes, even to Meghan’s sympathetic gaze.

“I’ll never make it through the day if I have to go with Malcolm,” she declared weakly.

“Never ye mind ’bout that, mum,” Meghan soothed, removing the basin. “I’ll deliver the message to Mr. Sinclair that you won’t be able to go, and if he insists, then perhaps he needs to be shown proof.”

Lenore shook her head, aghast at the workings of the maid’s mind. “You wouldn’t…”

“Ye need yer rest, mum,” Meghan insisted. “An’ there may be no other way to convince him.” Having formed a dislike for her employer for the callous way he treated the mistress, she mumbled beneath her breath as she left the room, “’Twould serve him right if it raises his gorge a mite.”

The days were noticeably longer now with summer fully upon them. Dusk was short, and there were only shreds of the spectacular sunset left when Ashton stepped from his tent. He stretched his arms over his head and surveyed the darkening sky and the multitude of stars that were gathering in the heavens. The slim, sleek silhouette of the Gray Eagle lay against the deepening magenta hues on the western horizon, and the dim glow of the watchman’s lantern gave proof that his orders were being followed and they were keeping wary of any intruders. Beyond the ship the waters of the gulf stretched endlessly on into the horizon.

Somewhere in the swamp that lay behind him, the brassy call of a heron broke the quiet as Ashton turned his gaze toward the house. He searched the lighted windows, hoping to glimpse a shadow of the one he longed to see, but he saw nothing which gave him relief from the gnawing, aching loneliness in his breast. Lighting a cheroot, he strolled down to where the ebbing tide left a strip of wet sand along the water’s edge. The tidal creek lay like a dark barrier across the sand, setting a boundary between him and his love. The cheroot died in his fingers as his gaze again lifted to the house.

Lenore! Lierin! Lenore? Lierin? Though the face remained the same, the names blurred in his mind….

He ground his teeth and angrily tossed the cigar into the softly lapping waves. He felt an overwhelming urge to lash out at something…or someone. Malcolm preferably. But he had not yet returned. There was no one to receive his anger, only the calm, uncaring sea and the yielding sand that now bore the print of his boots and which on the morrow would be featureless again.

A slight movement caught his eye, and he peered into the darkness until he could make out the vague glow of a white-clad figure. Like an illusive wraith it moved with soundless tread toward the narrow strip of sand along the shore and there paused to gaze out toward his ship, seemingly unmindful of the encroaching waves. He scarcely breathed while the longings of his heart yielded to the quickening surge of hope. Was it…?

“Lierin!” The word was barely a whisper, taken from him by the rising wind, but in his mind it was a shout of acclamation as he recognized the pale, slender form. It was she!

He leaped across the stream, and his loneliness was banished to the far ends of the earth as he ran toward her. He saw her turn with a start as he drew near and realized she wore a nightgown and nothing else. The bottom part of it was wet where the waves had splashed up against her legs, and that which was dry was being whipped about by the wind. Her hair was loose and flying out all around her, and with the moon adding a soft luminous nimbus around her, she seemed like a fairy queen caught in alarm.

“Lierin.” The name came from his lips in a softly whispered caress and with all the pent-up longing of a man in love with a dream. It was the almost imperceptible crack in his voice that screamed with the agony of his frustration.

“Lenore,” she whispered in a desperate plea.

Though Ashton could not see her face clearly or discern the movement of her lips, he heard the choked sadness, and it wrenched his heart. “Whatever name you bear, you’re still my love.”

She raised a hand to brush the errant tresses back from her face and gazed up at him with desires of her own. The moon shone down upon him, and where the shirt gapped open, she could see the firmly muscled expanse of his broad chest. The sight evoked memories of a time when she had nestled there in love’s sated bliss and felt the tickling of his breath against her brow. Oh, what torture is love, she thought. Was she ever to find peace with it?

“I really didn’t think you were out here,” she murmured. “My father said he had seen you rowing out to your ship, and he invited the guards in for a drink.”

“One of my boatmen brought me some supplies,” Ashton replied gently. “Your father probably saw him returning.”

“Oh.” Her voice was tiny, dejected.

“Is everything all right in the house?” he asked in concern.

She took a deep breath and released it in slow degrees, trying to cool her brain and subdue the tormenting concupiscence that had made a torture rack of her bed. “I was just restless and couldn’t sleep, and I decided to take a walk.” She paused, knowing there was something else that had made her abandon her room, and she told him in a trembling voice: “I dreamed Malcolm took me and showed me your grave. I even saw a tombstone with your name chiseled into it. The wind was blowing, and it was raining. It all seemed so real, it frightened me.”

“It was nothing more than a dream, my love,” he soothed. “I don’t intend to die and leave you to him.”

The silence dragged on, and Ashton peered down at her, trying to see her face clearly. He sensed her unrest and, with a great deal of meaning in his words, rephrased his earlier question: “Is everything well with you?”

Lenore opened her mouth to deny the possibility that there might be anything wrong, then slowly closed it again. Shaking her head as she felt a rush of tears, she turned from him and began to make her way along the narrow strip of sand. She sensed rather than heard him walking beside her. Indeed, it would have been difficult to ignore him when every nerve awoke to his presence.

“You are pensive tonight, madam,” he stated with surety. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Lenore resisted the urge to brush at the tears streaming down her cheeks and, facing the sea, finally relented to his probing inquiry and spoke quietly into the wind: “I’m…I’m going to have a baby.”

Ashton stepped toward her, joy snatching his heart and flinging it high, but he halted, suddenly unsure of how he stood with her. She seemed cold and distant, as if she hated telling him. He was close behind her, almost touching, and the turmoil that roiled within him made his hands shake. It was a long time before he could speak the single word: “Whose?”

The question stung. Lenore could see no need for him to ask. Wiping at the now flooding tears, she spoke over her shoulder. “Malcolm and I have not been together since I’ve been back.”

With infinite care Ashton slipped his arms about her, one to slip beneath her bosom and hug her close, while the other hand settled over her stomach. He could feel the firm flatness of it through the cotton fabric and marveled at the gift of life that in less than a year’s time would bring forth a babe. His head bent, and his lips brushed her ear as he asked, “Now will you go home with me?”

Her breath slipped from her, and it was somewhere between a moan and a wistful sigh. “The baby solves nothing, Ashton. I can’t go back not knowing who I am. There are too many things I must remember. How can I accept you as my real husband when I am haunted by visions of my being toasted as Malcolm’s wife?”

“Visions, my love, not necessarily reality. How can you be sure what you’re seeing is the truth?”

She sighed shakily. “Because Malcolm confirmed what I saw without being aware of it. He could not have seen into my mind.”

Ashton’s voice was hoarse and ragged. “You can’t expect me to stand aside and let another man claim you and my child.”

“Give me a bit more time, Ashton,” she pleaded, stroking her fingers over the hand that held her close. “This house holds so many secrets. If I leave it, I may never know who I am!”

“Then let me send Malcolm away,” Ashton suggested. “I fear for your safety being in the house with him. He shows no care for you when he loses his temper. And your father is no protection.”

“I know that, and I intend to be careful, but Malcolm has been a part of my life, too.”

“What of me?”

Staring out into the dark horizon, Lenore rolled her head upon his chest. “I don’t know, Ashton. I hope…” Her mouth quivered, and the welling tears filled her eyes. “I hope for the child’s sake that you are something more than my present. I go to bed at night, and when the lamps are out, I remember how it was with you. I feel you beside me and the touch of your hand upon me and I ache….”

“Aye, madam. I know the pain of unsated desires only too well.”

“But I must be sure of myself.” She cast a worried glance toward the lane as she heard the distant rattle of a carriage and the thudding hoofbeats of an oncoming team. “Malcolm is returning. I must go.”

Ashton caught an arm closer about her waist, delaying her. “Don’t leave me without a kiss.”

Her breath wavered in a ragged sigh as she felt his manly form pressing close against her back. “You must think I’m far stronger of will than I am.”

Reluctantly Ashton let her go, and watched until the darkness of the night consumed her. The night was lonely again, empty as if something meaningful had left it. The moon was only a pale, drab glow in the sky. The clouds hinted of rain to come, and the tide was beginning to flow, washing up on the beach and erasing all signs of their meeting.