Come Love a Stranger

Chapter Seventeen

LENORE’S eyes fluttered open, and she stared into the worriedly frowning, soot-smeared face looming over her. A trace of a smile touched her lips as she lifted her hand, and Ashton seized it in an eager, but gentle, grasp before lowering a kiss upon the slender fingers. Her gaze moved slowly about the interior of her bedroom. She lay fully clothed upon the silken coverlet of her own tall four-poster. Meghan stood close to the head near Ashton and bathed her forehead with a cool, wet cloth. Robert Somerton had taken up a stance at the foot and appeared rather disconcerted as he clasped a hand about a bedpost. Some vague image seemed to obscure his countenance as she stared at her father, and she flicked her lashes to clear her vision, but when she fixed her attention once more on the white-haired man a diaphanous visage again blurred and distorted his features until his jaw became squarish, his hair dark, and his eyes green. A disturbed frown puckered her brow, and in deepening confusion she averted her face.

“What happened?” she asked in a hushed whisper.

Ashton’s frown relaxed slightly as he replied. “I believe you fainted, madam.”

“Aye, mum, that ye did,” Meghan readily agreed.

“But how did I get here?” Lenore indicated the room with a brief sweep of her hand.

“Mr. Wingate carried ye, mum,” the maid supplied the information.

Lenore tried to lift herself from the bed as a memory came back to her, but she closed her eyes again and quickly retreated to the pillows as the room swam dizzily around the bed. Ashton’s hand dropped upon her shoulder in a silent urging for her to rest. Feeling his touch, she lifted silken lashes and conveyed her distress in anxious questions. “Your wound? Is it serious?”

“A flesh wound, madam, nothing more,” he assured her. “Meghan has offered to bandage it for me.”

Lenore breathed a trembling sigh of relief. “You frightened me.”

“I’m sorry, my love,” he murmured. “’Twas not my intent.”

“Not yours…but obviously someone else’s! That man was out to kill you!”

“I do believe he was, madam,” Ashton admitted. “And so were the others.”

“Others?” She raked her brain and then recalled that she had seen another body sprawled on the decking. “There were two of them?”

“I believe I counted four,” he calmly supplied the information.

“Four!” she gasped and braced up on an elbow. “How did you ever manage to escape?”

“Talent, madam.” The hazel eyes gleamed at her. “I seem to have a certain aptitude for brawling.”

Lenore dropped back into the feathery softness and groaned at his humor. “Oh, Ashton, you’re making light of it all. Don’t you know those men could have killed you?”

“I believe that came to me at the time, madam.”

“What were the thieves after?”

“My heart, I gathered.”

She looked at him with a quizzical frown as she framed the briefly worded inquiry, “Not thieves?”

“Assassins,” he stated. “They were apparently sent here by a man.”

“But who?” The suspicion came quickly. “Malcolm?”

Robert Somerton promptly entered the conversation and shook his head in a quick gesture of denial. “Now, girl, don’t go blaming this mayhem on Malcolm. ’Twas that Titch fellow on the River Witch last night, that’s who did it. Malcolm told me what happened. ’Twas him. He had lots of reasons to see Wingate dead.”

“But Horace has been taken into custody by Sheriff Coty,” she argued.

Robert spread his hands and shrugged. “So? He hired the thieves last night. Why could he not have hired the assassins for today’s attempt?”

Ashton considered the man a lengthy moment. “Horace swears he’s innocent….”

“And you believe him?!” Robert laughed shortly. “Addlepated, that’s what I’d call you if you think that.”

“Just say that I haven’t closed my mind yet to the possibilities,” Ashton responded. He tilted his head thoughtfully. “What I’m wondering is why Marelda came rushing to Horace’s defense and what venom she bore Malcolm when she claimed the jewels he had given Lierin were stolen from a friend of hers about a year or so ago. She said when she first saw them she wasn’t sure they were the same, but after giving it more thought she became certain they were.”

“Stolen?!” Lenore laid a hand where the necklace had been and looked to Meghan. “Fetch them for me. They must be taken to the sheriff, so he can look into Marelda’s claims.”

Meghan hurried across the room to the highboy and, unlocking a secret compartment, drew it open, then turned with mouth hanging slack. “They’re not here, mum. They’re gone!”

Bewildered, Lenore frowned and shook her head. “But I put them in there last night….”

“Aye, mum, I saw ye,” the maid affirmed, equally perplexed.

“Did you see anyone come into my room while I was gone?” Lenore asked the woman.

“Mr. Sinclair was in here early this morning an’ found ye gone, but he took off again in a raging fit. He didn’t stay too long, mum.”

“And he didn’t return?”

“Well, I’m not sure ’bout that, mum. When he came back from the tent, he sent me…” She glanced toward Somerton, as if reluctant to continue in his presence and cautiously proceeded. “Ye were needin’ clothes, he told me, an’ he was gone when I come back from takin’ ’em ter ye.”

“And the two guards?” Lenore pressed. “What of them?”

“They were sleepin’ in the parlor when I come down at break o’ day, mum, an’ when Mr. Sinclair left, he took ’em with him. Besides the chore boy, the cook, an’ meself, that left yer father an’ Mr. Evans comin’ an’ goin’ in the house ’til ye come back ter yer room. I’d say just about anyone could’ve taken ’em, mum.”

“Heaven only knows who has them now. Malcolm has gone, but Mr. Evans will be back later tonight….”

“You’re not going to blame this thieving on my friend either,” Robert declared. “If you ask me, someone else had a hand in this…and had plenty enough time to do the deed while we were in town.” He bestowed a direct stare on Ashton for a short span of a moment, then under that one’s dubious regard he lifted his shoulders. “Then again, Horace might have sent his men to do the handiwork while a few of the miscreants entertained Wingate here. You wore the jewels last night, and so he knew you had them. Whatever the case, ’tis apparent they’re gone now, and not likely to be recovered.”

Lenore carefully raised herself and, with Ashton’s assistance, sat up on the edge of the bed, letting him smooth her skirts as she braced back on her hands and waited for the world to correct its orbit. She ignored the brow her father sharply elevated at this apparent intimacy, and braved a smile for Ashton.

“Are you feeling better now?” he asked in concern.

She gave a slow, cautious nod, thankful that her answer was for the most part true. “I’m much better…except…I’m terribly hungry.”

Meghan chortled and hurried to the door. “I’ll tell the cook ye be feelin’ better now, mum. Ye an’ the mister come down whenever ye like.”

The maid departed, and Robert followed reluctantly to the portal. “I…ah…guess I’ll be going down, too.” He turned a questioning eye toward Ashton, seeming opposed to leaving the pair alone together. “Coming, Mr. Wingate?”

“In a moment,” Ashton replied, pointedly waiting for the man to remove himself from the room and close the door behind him.

Robert vented a low, derisive snort. “Haven’t you caused enough woe to come to this house without makin’ a kept woman of my daughter?”

Ashton’s head came up, and he gave the man a mildly disdaining stare. “Perhaps one of us should leave, Mr. Somerton. We don’t seem to have much to say to each other.”

Robert shot a glance toward his daughter. “Well, I know which of us she’ll want to stay.”

The portal slammed behind the elder, and Lenore watched Ashton as the sound of her father’s angry stride drifted back to them. The twitching muscles in the lean cheeks clearly portrayed his ire, and with a tender smile she slid her arms about his neck and kissed his frowning brow.

“It doesn’t matter what he says,” she whispered. “Whether I am Lierin or Lenore, I still love you.”

His questing mouth found hers, and for a long, pleasurable time they savored the hotly flaring passion that catapulted through them. Clasping her knees, he pulled her toward the edge of the bed and bent to lightly nibble at her ear. “You have too many clothes on.”

A thought struck her, and she leaned back in his arms to probe the smoky eyes. “The tent…?”

Ashton moved his shoulders in a slight, upward motion. “Gone, I fear.”

“Oh.” Her voice was small with disappointment. “It seemed so…nice out there.”

A grin tugged at his mouth. “The tent is gone, madam…but we still have what made it nice.” He placed a lightly provocative kiss upon her parted lips as he answered the unspoken question in her eyes. “Each other, my love. We need nothing more than that.”

“I could use some nourishment,” she teased.

He started to laugh, then grimaced and clasped a hand to his side. Smilingly he admonished, “Don’t torture me with your humor, madam.”

Gingerly Lenore pulled aside his bloodied shirt and examined the long gash in the flesh along the side of his ribs. “You need to be tended.”

Ashton rubbed a hand through his hair and caught the whiff of smoke that drifted from it. “I need a bath!”

“That can be arranged, too. I’ll tell Meghan to have one prepared for you right away.” Brushing hard against him, she slid off the bed and, having no place else to put her feet, used the space on either side of his. Her downward movement left the bulk of her skirts wadded between them, and the ever-rutting rake grinned at the opportunities presented him. His hands slipped beneath her petticoats and roamed the delightfully rounded ending of her torso, bringing her warming gaze up to his. “Would you consider delaying that order a moment or two, madam?”

The softly glowing green eyes spoke her answer before she gave one in a barely breathed murmur. “I don’t see where a few moments will matter one way or another.”

Ashton lifted her back to the bed and leaned close against her loins as he plied his talent to unfastening the back of her gown. “I thought you were hungry.”

“Who needs food when there are better things to do?” she asked with a smile flirting at her lips.

It was much later when a properly garbed and freshly bathed Lenore unlocked the hall door leading to the attic and climbed the steep stairs to that lofty area. A small force of men had come from the Gray Eagle, but with assurances that no one had been injured in the fire they had returned to the ship and were instructed to be wary of any curious activity around the house. Ashton was resting in Lenore’s room, having been up most of the night, but she was feeling restless, as if something beyond the barrier wall that held her memory captive was beckoning to her. She now knew what had led to her collision with Ashton’s coach, but there was still the matter of the man’s murder to be dealt with…and the attempt on her own life. It was rather frightening to know that someone whose face she had once seen wanted her dead. If it was only because she had been a witness to a murder, the man was still out there somewhere, waiting for her…and she knew not who it was.

The contained heat in the attic immediately brought a fine dappling of moisture to her skin, but she did not plan to stay. She knew what she had come for. The portrait of the man who had haunted her when she looked at her father. Taking up the framed painting, she removed the cloth sheathing and stared at the square-jawed visage. It did not seem so stern now…for it had become an almost cherished sight in her dreams. She ran a trembling hand over the dried oil, stroking the area of his chin, and in flickering impressions she saw a tiny hand lovingly caress that strong jaw. The man lowered a kiss upon the small auburn head that nestled against his chest, and Lenore blinked back sudden tears as she experienced all the same warm feelings the girl had felt then.

“Robert Somerton?” she whispered the question and, with growing assurance, declared, “You are my father. You are Robert Somerton.”

Her heart leapt for joy, and blinded by a rush of happy tears, she clasped the painting to her and took a step toward the trap door, only to stumble over something large and heavy blocking her path. She moved the portrait aside to see, and stared down with growing perplexity at the huge trunk she had tried to open on her last visit to the attic. She had all but forgotten it was here. Her slender fingers lightly traced the straps that bound it, seeming to call forth an illusion of servants loading the piece in the boot of a carriage as she stood with Malcolm at the door of this very house and bade farewell to departing guests. She was gowned in the pale blue organdy, and it seemed they were being congratulated on their recent nuptials. When the last couple was waved off, Malcolm took her in his arms, and they exchanged a lengthy kiss before they entered the hall, laughing. He strode into the parlor, and in her mind she could see the steps of the stairway before her as she ascended, then the door of her bedroom was being pushed closed. Through a murky haze, she stared at her own image reflected in the mirror of her dressing table. The eyes were slightly wistful, not quite happy, as if yearning for something that could not be. The jaw firmed, and a gleam of determination came into the green eyes. Straightening, she began to tidy her coiffure, then her heart started racing as her vision lifted to a tall form standing just beyond the open french doors. The face was not handsome, but she knew it well from her tormenting nightmares, except now he was not screaming, nor was he being bludgeoned to death by a poker iron. She felt the same scream building in her lungs which had threatened to burst forth then, but the haze cleared, and she saw the man step quickly forward with an anxious, almost pleading gesture for her to be silent. His eyes were fearful as he glanced nervously about…like a little ferret…then he moved to her dressing table and picked up the folded piece of parchment he had earlier passed to her. He opened it and gave it over into her hands, urging her to read. Lenore sensed the dismay she had experienced then, but she was ignorant of the cause. The man pressed other articles in her hands, and with each her distress deepened until once again her attention was on the man. Raising a hand, he moved backward, bidding her to come…bidding her to come…to come…to come….

Lenore’s eyelids fluttered as the impressions left her and her mind cleared. She glanced down at the trunk and knew with sudden certainty that she must see what was inside. A heavier tool had to be found to pry free the locked flap, and she determined to fetch one soon after removing the landscape from the parlor wall and placing her father’s portrait in its stead.

Taking the painting with her, she made her way carefully down the narrow stairs and entered the lower front room. Once again she dragged a straight chair to the fireplace, took down the wooded scene, and hung the painting of the square-jawed man. She tucked the landscape out of sight and sat down in a wing-backed chair to wait for the one who called himself her sire. It was barely half an hour later when he strolled in with his nose in a book.

“It’s a hot one today,” he observed, loosening his cravat and moping his brow. “Why, the fish are fairly jumping from that big boiling pot out there.”

He chortled at his own humor, but his laughter faded in swift degrees when he looked up and found himself beneath the weight of Lenore’s stoical stare. He cleared his throat as he moved away and, pouring himself a libation, settled on the settee. Raising an arm above his head, he leaned backward, stretching himself, and then froze. His mouth slowly descended to convey his surprise, leaving him gaping at the portrait.

“Good heavens!” he gasped. Sitting forward in a rush, he shot a glance toward her, finding her expression unchanged. His features clouded as a deeply troubled frown creased his brow, and hurriedly he gulped down another unhealthy portion of whiskey before wiping a hand across his mouth.

“Can you tell me one thing?” she asked in a quiet voice.

He took another quick swallow before he asked, “What is it that you want to know, girl?”

“Who are you?”

He bounced in agitation on the seat. “What do you mean, daughter?”

“I…don’t think I am…”

“Am what?” He appeared perplexed.

“Your daughter,” Lenore stated simply.

He stared at her agog. “Why, of course you are!”

She replied with a slow, negative shake of her head. “No, I really don’t think so.”

“What is this? Another lapse of memory?” he questioned almost angrily and gave a short, scornful laugh. “We’ve been through this before, I believe.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “but I am beginning to see things clearly now.” She lifted her hand, bringing his attention back to the portrait, but he quickly ducked his head, as if he felt some shame viewing it. “This is my father, isn’t it?”

“Good lord, girl! You’ve lost your mind,” he charged, blustering.

A lovely eyebrow arched queryingly. “Have I? Or am I just beginning to get it back?”

“I don’t know what you mean!” He sprang to his feet and paced the floor restlessly. “What has taken hold of you? That damned Wingate fellow comes into this house and suddenly you cast away all who love you….”

“The name in your book of plays…it’s your name, isn’t it? Edward Gaitling…Shakespearean actor.”

The white-haired man moaned and twisted his hands in deep distress. “Why are you tormenting me like this, girl? Don’t you know that I care for you?”

“Do you?” Her tone was doubting.

“Of course!” He flung a hand about in a wild, frenzied gesture. “I am your father! And I care for my daughter!”

Lenore sprang from the chair with an angry command. “Stop it! You are not my father! You are Edward Gaitling! There is no further reason for your pretense.” She raised a hand to indicate the portrait once again. “This is my father. This…is…Robert Somerton! And I want to know who I am! If I am Lenore Sinclair, why was there need for all this chicanery?”

Edward Gaitling opened his eyes wide in surprise. “Oh, but you are Lenore…and Malcolm is really your husband.”

She shook her head in painful confusion. She had desperately hoped that he would make a different announcement. “Then why all this pretense? Why have you played the part of my father?”

“Don’t you see, girl?” He came toward her holding out a hand in pleading supplication. “With you being in Wingate’s house and believing you were Lierin and his wife…and him strongly declaring it was so, you needed something more than Malcolm’s word to sway the balance.”

“But why couldn’t my real father do that?”

“Because he is in England, girl, and Malcolm was afraid of what would happen between you and Wingate. By the time your father could have been summoned and traveled here…good heavens!…you could have almost borne the man a child!”

His exaggeration made her cringe inwardly, and she was the one now who twisted her hands in dismay. “So Malcolm hired you to perform for me.”

Edward Gaitling seemed unable to manage more than a brief, hesitant glance in her direction. “I guess…that’s the way it happened.”

“You seem particularly loyal to Malcolm,” she observed distantly. “How long have you known him?”

Edward tossed down another swallow, and as he lowered his glass, he gripped it between both hands. “I’ve known him for a long time, I guess.”

“Before we were married?”

“I…ah…I’ve been away…for a long time,” he answered lamely.

“Then you weren’t informed of the wedding?”

“No…I wasn’t…I can’t tell you anything about that.”

“I remember…part of it,” she said.

Edward’s head snapped up. “Oh? But I thought you couldn’t…remember very well.”

A wry smile touched her lips. “I told you…it’s beginning to come back.”

A worried frown flitted across his brow before he hurriedly dropped his gaze. “Malcolm will be happy to hear that.”

“I really don’t see why.”

“Eh?” He peered at her in confusion.

“Even if I were to regain all my memory, it would not change things between us. I don’t know exactly why I married him…but whatever was there between us is there no longer.”

Edward’s shoulders sagged, and he heaved a laborious sigh. “Poor Malcolm. He does love you, you know.”

“I’m not at all sure about that, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve made up my mind.”

“Will you be going back to Natchez with that Wingate fellow?”

“I don’t see why you need to know my plans.” Lenore released her breath haltingly. “I’d like you to leave the house as soon as you can. There’s no further reason for you to stay.”

Edward Gaitling looked at her in surprise, then his wonder ebbed into a disconcerted frown. Giving a reluctant nod, he set down his glass and moved to the door. He paused another long space to gaze back at her, then slowly made his way from the room. Lenore could hear his footsteps on the stairs, ascending at the same lagging pace, and in the still house, she heard the closing of his door a few, short moments later.

The house grew quiet and still, and in the loneliness of the parlor Lenore lifted her gaze to the portrait, wondering about the man who was really her father. If she could correctly discern anything from the glimpses she had of him in her memory, he was a man who really loved his daughters. Ashton would be like that, she thought with a wistful smile. He would be a good father. He loved so well. Indeed, she wondered why her sister had not somehow fought to live and claim the happiness he could have given her.

Lenore shook her head, trying to reject the thoughts that came to plague her, but they persisted, and she had to yield her mind to their presence. Had she a right to take her sister’s place? To seize upon Ashton’s devotion for another and selfishly claim it for herself? He had assured her that he would love her whether she was Lierin or Lenore, but was it true? With his dream swept away by tragedy, had he been too eager to grasp at whatever facsimile became available? And was she taking advantage of his love for her sister to fill an emptiness within herself?

She groaned inwardly as a weighty guilt came down upon her. Edward Gaitling had put a name to her. A kept woman! The mistress of her sister’s husband! Adulteress!

A depressing coldness clamped its clammy hands upon her as the heavy lump in the pit of her stomach grew weightier. She had begun to sense that the white-haired man was not her father, and with the suspicion, a hope that she might not be Lenore had begun to form. Still, if she had recognized the facts as being what they were, she would have accepted the fleeting memories of her marriage to Malcolm as truth. The blue gown…the wedding guests…the trunk…

Lenore lifted her head, feeling a burning need to see what the chest contained. She set herself to finding a chisel and hammer and, accomplishing that feat, retrieved the landscape and climbed once more to the attic room. Now in the late afternoon the heat in the closed space was nearly unbearable, but she worked at the lock with a fierce purposefulness, disregarding the mugginess and the gown that began to cling cloyingly close to her dampened skin. Finally, the flap broke free, and she quickly lifted the top. An empty tray met her gaze, and a quick flash of a memory filled it with neatly arranged possessions. In her mind she could visualize her gowns packed beneath the wooden compartment. Almost eagerly she lifted the tray and set it aside. There the images halted…abruptly. Nothing but large stones filled the bottom. She stared down at them, suddenly unsure of herself and more than slightly puzzled. She bent to move one aside, then a strange, sickly sweet odor touched her nostrils, reminding her of something spoiled. Warily she turned her head, and her eyes slowly widened as they settled on the dark reddish brown stains smeared across the inner lining.

With a gasp Lenore stumbled back, hitting her head sharply on a low rafter, and was brought up short by the confining timbers. Her stomach heaved, and she covered her mouth with a shaking hand. Averting her face to deny any chance glimpse of what she had just seen, she pressed her brow against the slanting wooden brace. A strange creepiness made her skin crawl, and while her heart quivered, a frosty chill shivered up her spine. Her mind began to tumble in a dizzying gyre, and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut to forbid any intrusion of the nightmare that threatened.

“No, no,” she moaned miserably as once more the poker was lifted and brought down with murderous intent. She cowered, wanting to see nothing more of it, but the horror was relentless and seeped into her brain until all she saw was…blood! Her mind screamed at the terror she had witnessed, and then the tall, broad-shouldered form came slowly around with a dark cloak swirling about it. The face was enraged, the eyes flaring, the mouth snarling, and the visage was one she knew!

“Malcolm!” she gasped, flinging her eyes wide.

“You bitch!” his voice barked from the stairwell, and though she whirled to flee, he was there immediately behind her, grabbing her arm in a cruel, unrelenting vise and ensnaring the heavy chignon at her nape. He shook her head until her vision blurred, and then he twisted her head around until she thought her neck would snap. A sharp pain shot through her head at his abuse, but she stiffened her jaw, refusing to whine or mewl for mercy.

“You killed him!” she accused through gritted teeth. “You murdered him! And you stuffed his body in my trunk so you could get rid of it.”

“You shouldn’t have left here with him,” he snarled close to her ear. “You should never have listened to him! I was waiting for you downstairs…and I waited…and waited. It was time for us to go aboard the ship. We were to sail to Europe and abroad, but still you didn’t come down. Then the coachman came running in and said the carriage had been stolen by someone who had hit him over the head, and when I ran upstairs, I couldn’t find you.”

“But how did you know where I had gone?”

Malcolm laughed without humor. “The note the bastard wrote to you…you left it on your dressing table. Then I knew who had been here and where he had taken you…to Natchez to see his sister…to provide you proof of what he said…and to secure her release with your testimony.” His short, snorting chuckle came in derision. “Sarah! Another bitch! She didn’t trust me either…but she loved me. You lust after that devil, Wingate.”

“Bigamist!” The tendons in her throat tensed into tight cords as she tried to pull her hair free from his grasp, but he yanked her head back upon his shoulder and, slipping an arm about her throat, applied pressure until she was forced to cease her struggles or be choked to death. Her outrage was not so easily subdued. “Murderer!”

Forcing her face around with his wrist, Malcolm stared down into the blazing emerald eyes and smirked. “You needn’t be jealous, my pet. I took care of her. She’s naught but ashes now.”

“You set fire to the madhouse?!” Lenore questioned, horrified at the extent he would go to achieve his own ends.

“I’m very good at building fires, my dear,” he boasted. “I take great pleasure in doing it well. Whenever I’ve paid others to do a like service, they have failed me. Wingate’s warehouses, for instance. A clever ploy to get him away from Belle Chêne so you could be pressed to do the honorable thing, but those sheds were supposed to burn…all of them, and the blame was to be cast on Horace Titch.”

The wall was slowly crumbling, and the horror was beginning to spill through the widening fissures. “You had Sarah committed after we met, while her brother was still abroad and I was in England. I don’t know what evil quirk of your mind made you choose Natchez…or why you didn’t kill her.”

“I had gained the sympathy of the family attorneys with all the distress I had to go through having to commit her. It would have been foolish to arouse their suspicions, especially when any investigation into the accident that killed her father would have implicated me. Since the lawyers were willing to believe her brother would never return, they let me have everything I needed. It was disappointing to learn how quickly the family’s wealth could be exhausted. I had just seized upon another outlet when her brother came…and took you away.”

“We had only arrived in Natchez and were making plans to visit Sarah the next day. How did you manage to arrange everything so quickly?”

“You made the mistake of traveling by carriage across land, my dear. I left immediately by boat and went up the Mississippi by steamer. You had to allow rest for the horses and a night’s lodgings; nothing delayed me.” Malcolm loosened his grip on her arm and caressed it as he murmured against her ear. “You should never have come to his room when you did…”

“I heard arguing….”

“Aye, and your curiosity nearly bought you a grave, my love. I could not let a witness to one of my murders live, no matter how fond of her I was.” His stroking hand came upon her breast and sent a shiver through her. “It would have been so easy if you’d have allowed me to remove the man’s body in secret. Then you’d have thought he had disappeared and was only playing you for a dupe. You certainly would not have been able to make inquiries at the madhouse after I torched it and secured the silence of those who knew me.”

“I really don’t understand the workings of your mind, Malcolm,” she said in some amazement. “Can you honestly believe you can continue in your evil ways?”

“I’m very ambitious, my dear…and I have the intelligence to bring into being all that I desire.”

“If you think you’re so intelligent, tell me why you filled my trunk with stones and left it here to be discovered. Why didn’t you just dump it in the river?”

“Oh, but I couldn’t. At least, not while that coachman I hired watched me so closely. He helped me carry it out of the inn and kept insisting he’d handle the baggage…even when we got here. I didn’t want the servants to open it, so I had him help me bring it up here. It seemed safe enough behind a locked door.”

“But the body…when did you get rid of it?”

“The first night we stopped on the road…I had to sneak out of the inn and carry it into the woods…then I filled the chest with stones so the coachman wouldn’t get suspicious. You just don’t know how much I regretted that you went off without our driver.”

“A man you hired!” she scoffed. “Even if he had consented to take us, he’d have left a trail so wide, you couldn’t have missed it.”

Malcolm gloated. “I have been blessed immeasurably by the loyalty of my men.”

“Cutthroats! Thieves! Rapists!”

He chuckled at her rising ire. “I have to allow them a few pleasures now and then.”

“Why didn’t you let them take me? Why did you make such a pretense of saving me from them?”

“Ahh, my dear,” he sighed. “There are some pleasures a man wants to preserve for himself.”

“You could have forced yourself on me then. Why did you insist on courting me and pressing for my hand?”

“I was not content with mere tidbits. I wanted it all. The first time I saw you, I was intrigued by your beauty. When I made inquiries, you became even more desirable to me. I thought I had lost you…and then to my joy I found that my men had taken you prisoner. They had made plans to ransom you, but first they agreed to pass you around among themselves….”

“That’s when you fought them off.”

“I had to make it look good, you understand. When I delivered you safe and sound to your father…I became a hero.” Malcolm’s brows drew downward into a sudden scowl. “But even then you denied me…and it seemed that I had failed. I was turned away, but my hopes rose again when you came to Biloxi to live.” His fingers tightened as they came upon her arm, and he was pleased by her pained grimace. “You still did not make it easy for me. You were too set on mourning your husband.”

“Aye! And I should never have let you wear down my resistance. I would have saved myself a lot of misery.” She resisted the prodding prongs of fear when his hand lifted to caress her throat, as if he seriously contemplated her extinction. “If you’re going to kill me, Malcolm, get it over with,” she gritted. “There’s nothing to stop you now.”

“Ahh, but there is, my dear.” He chuckled with more amusement. “’Twas the reason I married you. Your vast fortune could do great wonders for me. I have all the documents I need to prove that we are married. They’ll give me title to everything that is yours. There’s even a will….”

“I’ll never sign anything like that!”

“You needn’t, my dear. Samuel Evans is quite adept at his work. He wrote out the documents and made them look legal. He can just as easily sign your name to them. Why, no one even noticed how he touched up our marriage document. I could not let that devil Wingate know just when we exchanged vows.”

“For all of your planning and scheming, Malcolm, you’ll still get nothing. If I die, what I have…except for this house…reverts back to my father. It’s his wealth, and his it shall remain.”

Malcolm regarded her with heavily hooded eyes that gleamed above a smug smile. “I’ve already taken care of that matter. By now, the man I sent to perform the task has no doubt carried through, and your father’s demise will soon be announced.”

“Nooo!” she moaned, falling limp against him.

“There, there, my dear. No need to mourn. With your father in England and you here, you can almost make believe he still exists. I only await the word of his death to begin collecting, since it is the law that I inherit all that he leaves you, but if you have the imagination for it you’re quite free to think of him as still alive.”

Wearily she rolled her head upon his chest. “What do you plan to do with me?”

“Oh, I’ll keep you around for a while, just to make sure there are no surprises concerning your father’s inheritance. I don’t want Wingate intruding into this. I know a little madhouse along the river where you will be safe…until you are of no more use to me.”

“And then? Will you set fire to that, too?” Her inquiry was sharp with sarcasm.

“Oh, I might. It makes things simpler that way.”

“And it doesn’t matter how many you kill in your effort to destroy one?”

“Those miserable souls, they’re better off dead.”

“Not everyone would agree with you, Malcolm,” she flung over her shoulder.

“I know. Sarah’s guard found me out and tried to stop me. I killed him in the cookhouse, and then dragged his body into the house to be burned. Of course, his death was something I had arranged anyway, so it was hardly a loss.”

“You’re evil, Malcolm,” she accused. “Evil. A spawn of Satan.”

Growing tired of the discussion, Malcolm pulled her with him as he turned. “Come along now. I want to see where your lover is.”

“Lover?!” Her temper flared anew.

“Never mind that now. I want to see Wingate’s face when I threaten to blow your head off….”

She fought him in sudden desperation, for the moment ignoring his ruthess grasp, but it was difficult to disregard the derringer that he pressed beneath her chin.

“If you think I won’t use this, you’re wrong. Samuel Evans has worked for me for some time now, so he’ll do whatever I ask…even penning a note that would explain why you took your own life.”

He dragged her to the stairs and, slipping an arm about her narrow waist, lifted her off her feet and started his descent. She dared not struggle, for he held her out over the edge of the stairs, and he seemed to delight in taunting her over the open space. His sudden dips snatched her breath and inspired his low chuckles.

At the lower door Malcolm paused and leaned close to her ear. “Where is your lover?”

Her heart trembled inside her chest. “I think I’d be a fool to tell you.”

“No matter.” He was unaffected by her lack of cooperation. “My father will tell me.”

“Your father?” She tried to see his face, but could not. “Who might that be?”

“The sot,” he sneered.

“Edward Gaitling…is your father?” Her astonishment was complete.

“Not one I’m proud of, but the only one I can claim.”

“And does he know all about your activities?” she queried in wonder.

“Many of them, I suppose. Some he doesn’t approve of, but he has much to make up for. He deserted my mother when I was but a young lad…and it was only after she died…and I was a man full grown that he came pleading for my forgiveness. He’s been trying to make up for his sins ever since.”

“By committing more?” Her short laugh revealed her contempt. “No wonder he drinks so much. It takes a lot to dull his conscience.”

“Bah! He’s squeamish. He turns his back so he can tell himself he’s not aware of what’s going on. He plays ignorant. He’s still wondering about Mary, but he knows she overheard us talking. I just accepted the fact that I had to get rid of her, but I made it pleasurable for her until the end.”

His captive shuddered in revulsion. She had never known a man as evil or as depraved as he. If anyone deserved to be imprisoned in a madhouse, it was he, but his crimes reached far beyond the maladies of those poor souls.

Malcolm opened the door and stepped into the hall, toting her as he would a doll. Hurrying footsteps sounded in the lower corridor, and Meghan’s voice drifted up in a wordless melody. Malcolm growled a low warning and tightened his arm around the slender waist, making his hostage writhe in pain. Her fingers clawed at his coatsleeve, trying to pry his arm free, for it seemed doubtful that her bones could stand the strain.

“I’ll find out anyway,” he whispered. “So you might as well tell me where Wingate is.”

“In my bedroom,” she gasped in agony.

“How convenient for you to keep your lover abed until you are ready for him.”

She refused to answer and give credit to his remark. He loosened his arm enough to allow her to breathe, but the pistol nudged her jaw again, warning her to silence while he carefully crept down the hall toward her chambers. The door was closed, and he set her to her feet at the portal, then imprisoned her there with his own body.

“I’ll be right behind you,” Malcolm breathed against her ear. “If you make any forward move to get away from me, I’ll get either you or him with this shot. Do you understand?” He waited until she replied with a hesitant nod of her head. “Now open the door…very carefully.”

Her hand trembled as it closed around the knob, then complying to every word of his command, she turned it until the latch clicked free. With wildly thumping heart she pushed it inward, moving cautiously forward as she did so. Ashton was lying on his side facing the door and had been sleeping, but as she entered, his eyelids came slowly open. He smiled sleepily as he saw her, but then his eyes lifted, caught the glint of the derringer beside her shoulder and the large shape behind her. Not waiting for an explanation he dove toward the bench at the foot of the bed where he had left his own derringer beneath his clothes, not caring at the moment that he flattened the sheet which had covered him under his naked form.

“I’ll kill her!” Malcolm barked and shoved the bore of the small pistol into her throat. “So help me, I will!” He let the other man digest his threat a moment, then he directed, “Now carefully…take whatever weapon you’re after…and place it on the floor in front of the bed and slide it very slowly over here to me. If you make one quick, unnecessary movement, she will be the one to pay for it. And if you think I don’t have it in me to kill her, then you’d better ask her how many I’ve already done away with.”

Ashton’s gaze met his lady’s, and reading the troubled disquiet in the green depths, he knew they were both dealing with a dangerous man. As instructed, he removed the pistol from beneath his clothing and, coming to his feet, laid it on the rug and pushed it out toward them, then gave it a light shove, sending it sliding slowly across the floor.

Malcolm took the slender wrist that was close at hand and prodded his captive again with the pistol. “Pick it up by the cylinder and hand it to me butt first.” He smirked in pleasure as his orders were obeyed and, slipping the extra derringer into his coat pocket, chuckled at his power. “Strange how the pair of you have come to respect me. Perhaps you are finally learning.” Laying his arm around his hostage’s shoulders, he waved the pistol toward Ashton. “I’ll allow you to get your trousers on now. Though my wife may prefer your present state, I’m sure Meghan will be unduly shocked if you go downstairs wearing only that patch on your ribs. My men would have saved me considerable trouble if they had taken care of you as they should have…especially if they had done so at the very beginning.”

“Just what are you planning?” Ashton asked sharply as he shoved a leg into his trousers.

“If you must know, Wingate, I’m going to take you downstairs and wait for the rest of my men to come. I’ve told them to use caution coming to the house. I don’t want to make anyone on your ship suspicious of our activities here.”

“And once your men get here?” Ashton thrust his other leg into the pair of pants and began fastening them.

“Then, of course, there will be enough of us to deal with you as I would like. I promised Lenore if I ever caught the pair of you together, I’d see you gelded….”

“Noooo!” The cry came out in a frightened wail, and once again the woman fought the restraining arm that held her.

“I know how you must treasure that part of him, my dear, but you should never have betrayed me with him.”

“Betrayed you!” She twisted in rage at his accusation, and though his arm slipped down and tightened agonizingly about her ribs again, she would not be stilled. Ashton stepped forward with a low growl, but the gleaming bore of the derringer swung around, bringing him to a sudden halt. A frightened cry broke from the woman, and she quickly submitted herself to Malcolm’s will, pleading, “Don’t! Don’t hurt him. I’ll do anything you want. Just don’t hurt him…. Please.”

“Your concern for him is touching, my dear.” Malcolm’s disdain seeped into his tone. “You might have bestowed some of that on me when you had the chance and saved yourself some grief now.”

“Did you show concern for me with your lies and deceptions?” she inquired snidely.

“’Twas only a small matter of bigamy,” Malcolm casually excused. “Sarah is dead now, and we’ll deal with the other problem shortly.”

The tearing green eyes lifted to Ashton’s wondering stare, and she wept as she told him, “Malcolm was already married when he spoke the vows with me. He had put his wife in the madhouse, and then he set a torch to it just to get rid of her.”

The dark brows raised in surprise. “Then you are Sarah’s husband,” Ashton mused aloud. “What she was seeing here was not her imagination.”

Malcolm frowned as he peered at the other man closely. “How do you know Sarah?”

The broad, bare shoulders lifted indolently. “You were not successful in killing her. She works for me now.”

“The little bitch!” Malcolm showed his teeth in a snarl. “She always did give me trouble.”

“If she ever gets her hands on you, Malcolm, your trouble up until then will have been minor,” Ashton remarked laconically. “She did not exactly appreciate being locked away in an asylum.”

The full lips twisted sardonically. “Neither will this one.”

Ashton returned his attention to the one he loved. He read her trepidations in her troubled gaze, but at the moment he could neither say nor do anything to console her.

“When you go downstairs, Wingate, walk far ahead of us,” Malcolm instructed. “You can guess what will happen to your mistress if you disappear out of my sight or make any sudden moves.”

“You can’t expect to hold us hostage while her father and the rest of the servants look on.”

“Ashton, the man is not my father.” She brushed at the tears that spilled down her cheeks and sniffed. “He’s Malcolm’s father.”

“Aye,” Malcolm agreed. “And by now he should have the rest of the servants locked safely away.” Moving carefully across the room with his burden, he motioned Ashton to the door with the gun. “Let’s go now. And be careful if you have a care for this redhead.”

Ashton strode leisurely ahead of the man, glancing back now and then to see how Lierin was faring. As before, Malcolm carried her in one arm and kept the weapon ready to use in his other hand. When the pair reached the lower hall, Ashton was already at the settee. He halted at the younger man’s command and turned to face the doorway as Malcolm stepped through.

“Hurry it up,” the tawny-haired man flung over his shoulder as Edward Gaitling came rushing from the back of the house with a long length of cord. “Get Wingate tied…and be quick about it. No mistakes now.”

Ashton looked directly into the reddened gray eyes as the actor came forward, but Edward dropped his gaze in sudden haste and, stepping behind the taller man, drew Ashton’s arms behind his back and secured the wrists with several tight loops of the rope and a trio of firm knots.

“Tie his ankles, too,” Malcolm ordered. “I don’t want the bloody bastard kicking me.”

Edward pushed Ashton back onto the settee and warned, “You know of course that it won’t do you any good to attack me.”

Malcolm sneered at his father’s feeble attempts to subdue the man by logic. “Wingate knows if he tries anything Lenore will die, now do what I told you.”

Lumbering footsteps came from the back of the house, and everyone in the room paused to listen, Malcolm with bated breath. Two brawny shapes stepped to the parlor door, and when he spied them, a long sigh of relief slipped from his lips. One man had frizzy red hair and bore a pair of pistols in his belt. The other carried a long gaming gun, and a knife was tucked in a leather sheath at his waist. A mass of black hair brushed his shoulders.

Ashton’s hackles rose as he recognized the brigand, and he bent a sharp, questioning stare upon Malcolm. “Are these some more of your men?”

The younger man directed the pair to take up their positions, one beside the hall entry, while the other was motioned to a place near the french doors. Finally deigning to acknowledge Ashton’s inquiry, Malcolm turned a smirk over his shoulder. “What if they are?”

Ashton jerked his head toward the small giant. “That one came aboard my steamer during a pirate’s attack. He’s the one who shot me after Lierin fell overboard.”

Malcolm laughed shortly. “He’ll get that chance again soon enough.”

“And your other man…who guarded the house,” Ashton pressed. “He worked in the engine room about that same time. No doubt he sabotaged the engine when the pirate’s barge came into view.”

“Well, aren’t you the smart one, Mister Wingate,” Malcolm sneered.

“If they’re your men, then you must be the leader of the band of pirates who’ve been making raids on the riverboats…and who attacked mine.”

Malcolm presented a question to the red-haired man. “How soon will the others be coming, Tappy?”

“Some should be comin’ in shortly,” the miscreant answered. “A few more’ll be comin’ later on. The rest are gettin’ the ship readied for when you get there.”

“We won’t be able to leave here until after dark,” Malcolm replied. “I don’t want Wingate’s men coming after us.”

“Ye’ve called out a small army ter deal with one man,” Tappy observed. “An’ he looks like he’s wounded, at that.”

“Wingate killed four of our men this morning and that’s all he got! A mere scratch!” Malcolm snapped. “I’m not taking any more chances with him. Robert Somerton was a very rich man, and I don’t want anything to spoil my inheritance.”

“What be ye goin’ ter do with the man here?” the black, straggly-haired one asked with a leering grin.

The pirate leader laughed in amusement as he detected the eagerness of his cohort. “Why, Barnaby, I thought you might enjoy cutting Wingate up a mite, then the lady can really have his heart to carry around with her while she’s in the madhouse.”

A sudden shriek of rage rent the air, and Malcolm stumbled back as a sharp heel scraped rudely down his shin. In the next instant he found himself set upon by a clawing, biting, hissing she-cat. He yelped in pain as her long nails raked across his cheek, drawing blood, and with a back-handed slap he sent her reeling to the floor. In the very next moment he had to swing the pistol around and halt Ashton as that one came rushing toward him with a snarl. It was most apparent that Edward Gaitling had forgotten the bonds for his ankles.

“Go ahead and use it,” Ashton challenged. “I’m dead one way or another, but if you shoot me, you will be taking the chance that my men will hear and come to investigate. They know there’s trouble in the wind, so why don’t you go ahead and shoot me? Tell them you’re here.”

Barnaby stepped between the two men and, with a broad hand on Ashton’s chest, shoved him back upon the settee. “Now don’t ye go ruinin’ me fun. I likes the idea o’ carvin’ ye up a mite, an’ I wants ye ter stay safe ’til then, so’s ye don’t get wore out none ’fore I gets ter ye. I wants ye ter be able ter scream real good.”

Holding a handkerchief to his bloodied cheek, Malcolm glared down at the woman whose eyes fairly snapped with green fire, then he whirled upon his father in a savage temper. “You sot! I thought I told you to tie Wingate’s ankles. Can’t you do anything right?”

“I’m sorry, Marcus,” Edward apologized, shriveling in shame. “I’m not used to all of this.”

“Marcus?” Ashton made the single name a query.

“Aye! Marcus Gaitling,” Malcolm tossed at his adversary. “But I changed my name, and it’s now Malcolm Sinclair. ’Twas my mother’s name, Sinclair.” He delivered a sneer to his father as he added, “And I prefer it.”

A trio of men broadcast their presence as they stomped through the hall from the back and sauntered through the door of the parlor. Malcolm glanced at them briefly, then caught Edward’s arm as the elder bent to attend to Ashton’s bonds.

“Go fetch Meghan and tell her to get upstairs and start packing some baggage for her mistress. I’m sending a couple of these men up with Lenore. They can guard outside the doors while she changes into suitable traveling attire. If we’re going through Biloxi in a carriage, I want everything to look normal.”

As Edward hurried from the room, Malcolm yanked his second wife to her feet and snarled in her face. “I’m going to send you upstairs, and if you give me any more trouble, Barnaby will have my permission to start carving. Do you understand?”

She nodded briefly and, with a worried glance at Ashton, left the room with her two escorts. The two men set themselves to guard the exits of her bedroom, one in the hall and the other on the porch, and by the time Meghan arrived, her mistress had already formed a plan. She took the derringer Ashton had given her aboard the steamer and checked its loading as she laid out the details to the maid.

“Tell the guard on the porch that I’ve fainted, and when he bends over me, hit him with this.” Quelling a shiver of revulsion, the younger woman pressed the poker iron into the other’s hand. “It’s the only thing we have in the room that can accomplish what we want, and that is to see him laid out unconscious without the other guard being aware of it.” She had to force her mind away from the horror she had witnessed and set it to winning Ashton’s release, but was trembling so much she could hardly speak. “Meghan, are you up to it?”

Meghan’s grit was not hindered by a nightmarish memory. “Mum, if it means me life, an’ I have every reason to believe it does, I’ll be doin’ it with zeal.”

The maid caught the iron, and her mistress subdued the temptation to tell her to be gentle. She was not sure how well she was going to bear an actual recurrence of an attack made with a poker iron, but when Ashton’s life was at stake, she was ready to subject herself to the test. No other object would prove as effective in subduing the man. A glass lamp or vase might have shattered and alerted the man in the hall, and neither she nor Meghan had the strength to make a club from a chair leg. The iron was their only safe option.

The younger woman curled face-downward on the floor and gave Meghan a nod when she was set. “Now call him in…and be careful.”

Meghan flung open the doors and, in a frantic mein that Edward might have envied, beckoned to the knave who loitered on the porch. “Hurry! Me mistress has fallen an’ struck her head. Come lift her onto the bed.”

Tappy came running in and, seeing the feminine form lying crumpled on the floor, tucked his pistol in his belt and bent down to pick her up. In the next moment a piercing pain filled his head, then came darkness, and he tumbled unconscious alongside the redhead. That one had braced herself to still her panic as the poker thudded into his head, and she dared a cautious peek to assure herself the man was still breathing. He was, and that posed a problem which had to be taken care of before she could feel secure in leaving him.

“We’ll have to tie and gag him, or else he’ll alert the others,” she whispered to Meghan. “After we do so, I want you to slip out and go for help. If they haven’t taken Hickory, perhaps you can reach him. The sheriff must come here with as many men as he can lay hold of. We’re dealing with an unworthy lot of pirates and murderers.”

Meghan’s worry increased as she watched her mistress remove the pistol from the miscreant’s belt. “But, mum, what will ye be doin’? Where will ye be goin’?”

“Downstairs. They threatened to start cutting on Mr. Wingate if I tried anything, so hopefully I can stop their bloodletting and deliver a surprise they’re not expectin’.”

“Ye’re goin’ back into that devil’s den?” the maid questioned in astonishment. “Ye’ll not likely come out alive.”

A wistful smile curved the younger woman’s lips as an image of a tall man gripping a wooden railing came to mind, and she knew from experience that life without Ashton would hardly be worth living.

The sun dipped lower in the west, and Ashton distantly mused that it was like the sand that sifted through the narrow waist of an hourglass marking the dwindling hours of his life. With so many guards holding their weapons upon him, he was beginning to despair that he would find an opening to launch an attack. His hopes rallied briefly when a team of horses brought a carriage rattling up the drive. The presence of the conveyance gave his adversaries a start until Malcolm noticed a pair of his own men sitting in the driver’s seat. The miscreants relaxed, and a moment later a burly man stepped to the parlor door and, reaching back, pulled a struggling woman into view.

“Look who I found in Biloxi.” The man chortled as he swung his captive around to face the occupants of the parlor. Her face was red and enraged, and the green eyes blazed in outrage. Malcolm gaped in stunned silence, while gasps of astonishment came from his companions. Edward Gaitling slowly sank to the settee, perhaps more confused than anyone.

Ashton came to his feet and stepped forward for a better look. “Li…er…?” he began, and then halted. The features were similar, but not as refined. With sudden certainty he shook his head. “You’re not Lierin.”

“Of course not. I’m her sister, Lenore. And who might you be, sir?” she asked crisply. “Are you part of these ruffians who kidnapped us as we were leaving the boat?”

Ashton began to smile and then to chuckle with real, heart-felt humor. “I do believe someone has made a mistake and sent me the wrong portrait.” He sobered slightly as he cocked a querying brow. “Mrs. Livingston?”

“Yes,” she answered warily. “And you?”

“I am your brother-in-law, Ashton Wingate,” he replied.

“Ashton?!” Her eyes widened in dubious wonder. “But he’s dead.”

“No,” the Natchez man grinned broadly as he replied. “I’m very much alive.”

“But Lierin was sure that Ashton was dead,” Lenore insisted. “She saw him die…and Malcolm showed her the grave.”

Ashton raised a brow as he cast a glance toward the other man who had finally managed to close his mouth. “My grave? And where might that have been…and just when precisely did he show it to her?”

“Lierin said Ashton was buried near the place where the pirates attacked the River Witch. Malcolm showed her the grave shortly after he rescued her.”

“I fear Malcolm has deceived us all…or at least tried to.” Ashton faced the lady with a vow. “I swear to you that I am very much alive and the bearer of the name, Ashton Wingate. I believe your sister will attest to that.”

“Where is she? Where is Lierin?” Lenore demanded. “I want to see her.”

Ashton almost smirked as he turned to Malcolm. “Would you mind having one of your men fetch my wife?”

Malcolm returned a glower to the challenging hazel eyes, then with a gesture of a hand sent one of his men on the errand. “Get her down here…and make sure her maid comes with her.” As the other left the room, Malcolm bent a curious stare upon the woman who was jerking off her gloves and his eyes narrowed slightly as he inquired, “What are you doing here?”

“We came here to see Lierin, Malcolm. An attempt was made on my father’s life, and he grew anxious about Lierin’s safety. He sailed from England, came by the islands, and bade me to journey with him the rest of the way.”

“Your father is here?” Malcolm inquired in amazement. “But where?”

“He’s in the carriage. He didn’t like the way that buffoon was treating us and set upon him. The pair of bullies knocked him unconscious, and he hasn’t come around yet.”

Malcolm faced the fellow who had brought her in and flung out an arm toward the front porch. “Get out there, you idiot! I don’t care if you have to carry Somerton, get him in here. He’s too dangerous to leave out there alone!”

Lenore displayed some wonder as she watched the man scamper out, then she lifted a confused stare to Malcolm. “Am I wrong in assuming you’re the leader of this band of misfits?”

Ashton was in amazing good spirits as he seized the moment to introduce the man and his companions. “You are correct in your assumptions, madam, and if perchance you do not know his real name, this is Marcus Gaitling, son of…” He twisted slightly, indicating the actor, who raised bleary eyes to the young woman. “Edward Gaitling, Shakespearean actor.” Ashton nodded toward the other men who stood about the room. “These are some more of Malcolm’s associates…and I would do the honors for them, except,” he shrugged, “Malcolm hasn’t told me all their names.”

“It doesn’t matter,” the pirate leader snapped.

“Temper, temper,” Ashton chided.

Malcolm swung around on him in a fit of rage. “You needn’t gloat, Mister Wingate. She may be your wife, but it will do you little good…nor will it benefit her or the child she carries. You’ll be dead shortly…and she’ll be confined to a madhouse.”

Lenore gasped and laid a trembling hand to her throat. “You wouldn’t.”

“I regret to say, madam, that Malcolm will do anything to see his purposes served,” Ashton stated wryly. “What I’m wondering now is how he plans to get rid of you and your father….”

Malcolm smirked. “That will be taken care of easily enou-”

“Unhand me, you brigand!”

The shouted command made Malcolm jump and glance around in sudden dismay as stumbling footsteps ended in a loud crash against the outside wall of the house.

“I’ll make my own way, damn you! Now where is my daughter?! Where is Lierin?!”

Thundering footfalls came into the front hall, rattling the glass in the door as Malcolm had never thought of doing with his awesome entries. The pirates glanced at each other in worried confusion, but they had no time to obey Malcolm’s angry gesture to get into the hall and seize the man. He came striding in on his own.

Ashton had once given up the thought that he would ever meet Robert Somerton face to face, but he knew as soon as he laid eyes on the graying dark head and blazing green eyes, that this was indeed the sire of Lierin Wingate. One of the brigands bolted forward to grab the older man’s arm, but he was slammed carelessly aside, and as he struck the wall and slithered senseless to the floor, Robert came around with another thunderous demand.

“Fetch me my daughter!”

The pirate who had been sent after Lierin sidled past the man and entered the room, carefully avoiding the raging intruder as he did so. Hurrying to Malcolm’s side, he made a whispered announcement. “She’s not to be found, sir. She and that maid of hers…they knocked Tappy out…and left him all bound up.”

“Find her!” Malcolm shouted. “Don’t let that bitch leave here!”

Ashton glanced over his shoulder as he glimpsed a movement on the veranda, and he saw the tail of a skirt flick past the open french doors. Casting a wary gaze around, he found the miscreants occupied with Malcolm, who was angrily giving them orders. Straightening his stance, Ashton moved cautiously backward until he stood on the threshold of the double doors. He held his bound hands outward, away from him, and waited as unseen fingers plucked at the cords. It was nearly dark and they did not have much time left to secure their freedom. His brows lifted slightly in surprise as a large pistol was placed in his grasp. The time was not appropriate to thank the hidden angel for her gift, but he would strive to bestow the full measure of his gratitude at a later moment…when their victory was firmly in hand.

Behind his back, he tucked the pistol into the top of his trousers and then cleared his throat for attention. “Maybe Lierin has gone up to the attic to hide. She has been up there before.”

Malcolm came around at Ashton’s suggestion and, seeing how close the other man was to the french doors, yelled another command to his companions, “Get him back in…!”

“I’m coming!” Ashton barked and leisurely sauntered toward the settee, keeping his hands folded behind his back.

“I promised that bloody bitch I’d see you cut,” Malcolm growled. “I think it’s about time I let Barnaby have his fun.”

“Really, Malcolm. You have become such a boor lately,” Lierin chided as she swept through the french doors. She fervently hoped that she appeared more serene than she felt. The dam had broken completely away from her memory, and it was flooding back with vivid detail. With her entry she won the gawking stares of the band of thieves who cast befuddled glances between the twins, but Lierin hardly noticed as she continued to berate her second husband who had made a bigamist of her. “All you can do lately is threaten people. You haven’t been successful in killing anyone since Mary…” She heard the startled gasp of Edward Gaitling and wondered if something his son had done had finally shocked the actor. “If you’re not careful, we’ll stop taking you seriously.”

“You bitch,” he growled. “I thought you were an angel when I first saw you with Wingate aboard the River Witch. I told my men to kill him so I could have you, but you have meant nothing but misery for me.”

“Tsk, tsk,” she shamed and, shrugging her shoulders innocently, crossed the room with a shawl draped over one hand. She moved to her father who was being held to his position by the menacing bore of a gaming gun. Robert Somerton’s eyes glowed with pleasure as he gave his daughter a casual inspection, and with a laugh that trembled slightly, Lierin came into his wide-spread arms. As she did so, she dropped the small derringer she carried into his pocket and breathed close to his ear. “The one without a shirt is a friend of ours, Papa. The rest can go to Hades.”

Robert Somerton pressed a kiss upon her brow, then setting her aside, stepped toward Malcolm with a demand. “I want to know what the bloody devil is going on here. When you brought Lierin to England, we were under the impression that you had saved her from the pirates who had killed her husband in an attack upon his steamer, but here you are, looking very much like the villain in this game.”

“He is,” Edward Gaitling slurred from the settee. He tipped the crystal decanter that he held and poured an ample draught into his glass. “My son has seized the moment in hand and made his own bed…may he rot in hell.”

Malcolm’s eyes flared as he glanced at the white-haired man, then his lips curled as he faced Somerton. “Your daughter would have drowned but for my men. They caught her by the hair as she was swept near the barge and going under. They pulled her aboard and saved her life. You ought to be grateful-”

“Grateful!” Lierin cried. “Why, you buffoon! It was their attack on the steamer that nearly killed me! They shot my husband, and for all I knew he was dead. Then you came into their camp to receive the spoils, few that they were, and you pretended to rescue me. Oh, how gallant you were to brave so many. You won my release, and then took a grieving widow to see her husband’s grave which bore a tombstone that you had purchased. An empty grave!”

“I could have filled it!” he retorted. “Would that have made you happier?”

“You tried!” she accused. “You paid your cutthroats to kill him, but he was too much of a man for the lot of them.”

Barnaby chuckled. “We’ll see how much of a man he is when I start slicing.”

Lierin whirled to face the shaggy-haired man. “You bloodthirsty lout! I’ll see you sent to hell before I’m finished with you!”

“Oooh, a right fiery bitch, she is,” the unkempt bloke taunted with a leer. “I’ve gots me a bit o’ Indian blood runnin’ in me veins, an’ ye knows what Indians like best?” His eyes twinkled at her. “Scalps! That’s right, an’ yours would make a fine one, I’d say.”

Lierin dismissed his threat with a scoffing jeer and turned back to Malcolm. “When you took me to my grandfather’s house, we saw something there that confused us both. Lenore’s portrait was gone, and when we arrived in England, neither my father nor Lenore knew where it was. But you knew, didn’t you! Or rather, you guessed. You were aware that Ashton was still alive, and you realized he was sent the wrong portrait by mistake. When you returned there, you knew where it was. There was no need for you to search for it, but you were looking for more evidence to convince me that I was Lenore…and I think you were still there when Ashton and I came.”

“Aye,” Malcolm sneered. “I saw the pair of you there, and it only made me more anxious in my quest to separate you again. Your memory loss was my good fortune, and I meant to make the most of it. Wingate had supposed you dead, and all I had to do was make him believe you were Lenore. I even had Samuel Evans change the name on the marriage document to read Lenore instead of Lierin Wingate.”

“But Ashton wasn’t so easily persuaded, was he?” Lierin derided. “From the very beginning he has thwarted your manuevers and turned your gambits to his favor….”

“The prize is within my hands now, my pet,” Malcolm responded with a caustic laugh. He was elated at the thought of the other man’s demise, but when he turned a superior smile to Ashton, he saw the mockery gleaming in those smoky depths. The glowing eyes rattled his confidence and made him wonder if there was anything that would move the Natchez man to fear. Once again he tried. “Weill will be left here for dead, and Horace will be blamed again. Poor Mr. Titch, he has been a valuable asset in my game. I’ll miss him.”

“The sheriff might not be so gullible,” Ashton replied. “I warned him last night that it seemed too easy and the thieves might be using Horace as a scapegoat.”

“You set a trap for my men,” Malcolm jeered. “And you caught a little rabbit in the snare, and once the foxes are released, he’ll be the only one who’s left.”

“You also took back the jewels you had given Lierin,” Ashton said.

Malcolm shrugged and smiled. “She kicked me out. Why not?”

A badly slurred voice came from the settee. “Marcus told me she was really Lenore….”

“’Twould seem you have played us all for fools,” Somerton accused. “Even your father. You have gone to great lengths to make my daughter your wife.”

“Lierin had something I wanted.” The full lips smiled slightly. “Wealth. She was my best hope to gain it. I courted her relentlessly and finally she agreed to marry me.” He frowned sharply. “But on our wedding night she left me…to seek out proof that I was already married. She couldn’t even allow a benefit of a doubt. She believed the man.”

“He showed me evidence!” Lierin exclaimed, striding forward. “Your marriage license, a small miniature of you and Sarah…and a letter sent to her brother from the attendant whom you hired to guard her…except he began to care about her…and didn’t like what you were doing to her. Her brother went searching for you…and found you making plans to wed me…and on the afternoon the ceremony was performed, he tried to warn me and even pressed a note into my hand, but I was busy and didn’t read it…until later….”

“And you left me on our wedding night!” Malcolm shouted.

“Aye!” Lierin cried. “And you don’t know how happy I am that I never went to bed with you!”

It was Ashton’s turn to gape in astonishment. He stared at the two who glared at each other and began to chuckle. The sound was infectious. Robert Somerton started to chortle and Lenore hid a giggle behind her hand. Lierin’s laughter tinkled brightly in the room, but it was Ashton’s amusement that sorely beset Malcolm.

Gnashing his teeth, he lunged toward the other man and seized him by the throat. His fingers sought to close, but suddenly, surprisingly he heard a familiar click and felt something hard prod him in the belly. Cautiously he lowered his gaze, and his breath halted as he saw the dull gleam of a large pistol. He lifted his gaze to Ashton, and felt his own vitals begin to roil with dread.

“Call off your villains, or you’re a dead man,” Ashton warned softly.

Malcolm made a futile attempt to shake his head, but the negative gesture would not come. He caught the sound of another hammer being drawn back and almost sighed in relief until Barnaby squealed, “How’d the bloke get that pistol? Someone! Get him!”

It seemed a miracle, but suddenly there were men with guns rushing through the french doors and Sheriff Coty was leading the pack. The miscreants bolted for the hall door in their attempt to escape, but other lawmen came through the front door while others ran in from the back.

“Meghan!” Lierin cried through a rush of joyful tears. “Bless her dear heart! She made it through and saved us!”

Sheriff Coty seized Malcolm’s arm. “You’ve been causing a lot of trouble, I hear. I’m sure Titch will be relieved to see you arrested for the crimes he has been accused of.”

Robert Somerton came forward as the lawman dragged Malcolm away and extended a hand in friendship to Ashton. “I don’t know who you are, young man, but my daughter says you’re a friend.”

Lierin laughed gayly and slipped her arm through Ashton’s. “Something more than a friend, Papa.” Her eyes danced as she won her father’s attention. “This is my husband…” She saw his eyebrows raise in surprise. “…Ashton Wingate…the man I love with all my heart.”

Robert Somerton stared at the couple for a long moment as tears gathered in his eyes, then he laid his other hand over the two that were already joined. “It’s good to meet you, son, and a very good pleasure to welcome you into the family.”

Lierin caressed her husband’s bare arm as she murmured, “I’m glad you approve, Papa. Now perhaps your grandchild will have a name and a father to be proud of…just as I am proud of you.”