Come Love a Stranger

  “Then you’ll have to kill me here and now, Malcolm, because if you don’t let me out of this carriage this instant, I’m going to create such a scene that you won’t be able to stay in this town another day.” The words were slowly and carefully enunciated and the determination in the emerald eyes convinced him that she meant everything she had said. If he did not use caution and let her go, he could expect to take the consequences.

  “If you get out, then you’ll have to walk home,” he threatened.

  “Gladly!” Lenore glared at him. “Just move out of my way.”

  Her face was flushed and angry as she pushed open the door. Without a backward glance, she descended to the rutted thoroughfare and, snapping open her parasol, marched toward the boardwalk, heedless of the activity on the road. To an oncoming team and wagon, she gave little regard except a brief, cold-eyed glare that might have done much to shrivel the pride of the stout team. They had made large men scurry out of the way, but this trim lass did not display a flicker of fear. The team’s driver sawed hard on the reins, turning the pair aside and shouting as he passed her. “Are you crazy, lady? You almost got yourself killed!”

  Lenore mumbled beneath her breath. “Rude despicable lout! God only knows why I ever married him! I wish I had never seen him.”

  She stepped onto the boardwalk and walked briskly past several shops. A tall, nice-looking man who was leaning on a storefront ahead of her saw her coming and, with a sudden gleam of admiration in his eye, gallantly swept off his tall, beaver hat.

  “Good morning, miss. Can I be of assistance?”

  Ignoring him, she stalked past, and with a hurried twist of his body, the roué fell in behind. He ogled the shapely back as if the stylish clothes did not hinder his view of the slender body they covered and smiled broadly when she tossed a glower over her shoulder. She passed another doorway and drew a long, slow whistle from the barber, who was plying his razor to the well-lathered face of a customer.

  “She’s a redhead, all right,” he commented in appreciation. “Hotter’n some of them peppers the Cajuns grow in Louisiana.”

  The one he attended raised his head to view this sight, and even with a hurried glimpse of her profile through the window, Ashton could not mistake that fair face.

  “Lierin!” He threw himself from the chair, and, snatching the towel from his neck, used it to wipe the soap from his face. He dodged several chairs and men on the way out, causing one to start when he dropped the soapy linen in his lap.

  “Your coat, sir!” the barber called after him. “You’re leaving your coat!”

  “I’ll come back for it!” Ashton flung over his shoulder. He ran after the sprightly stepping woman, gaining the attention of the man who was following closely in her wake. That one frowned and set his arms akimbo in obvious vexation when Ashton ran past him.

  When a hand came upon her arm, Lenore came around, ready to jab the pointed end of the parasol into the one who boldly accosted her until she looked up and recognized the handsome face that grinned down at her.

  “Ashton! What are you doing here?”

  “I followed you and Malcolm into town,” he admitted, “and then when I saw you get in the carriage, I decided I’d get myself a shave.”

  She laughed as she rubbed a streak of soap from his cheek. “I don’t think you waited for the barber to finish.”

  Ashton scraped a hand over his bristly chin. “Forgive my appearance, madam. I left in a hurry this morning.” He tossed a glance up and down the street. “What are you doing here? Where’s your carriage?”

  Lenore lifted her slim nose into the air, still miffed at the one who had caused her anger. “I sent Malcolm and our carriage on their way.”

  A sparkle of interest began to gleam in Ashton’s eyes. “Malcolm left you here alone?”

  “I suppose my father is still here somewhere.” She gave a flippant shrug. “Though I really don’t care one way or the other.”

  Stepping aside, Ashton laid a hand behind her shoulder and swept an arm before them. “If you’d allow me time to get my coat, madam, I’ll be more than happy to escort you wherever you desire to go.”

  The handsome roué stood stock-still in the middle of the boardwalk, his feet braced apart and his hands set low on his hips. He might have been slow with his approach, but this wench was clearly one to squabble over. He made no move to step out of their way. Ashton met his challenging gaze with hardening eyes, then lightly handed the lady past the man. When she was securely beyond all danger, Ashton came back with his arm, sharply jabbing an elbow into the man’s chest, right below the rib cage. The fellow staggered back, surprised at the tenacity of this one who had whisked the lady right from under his nose.

  “Begone with you if you have a care for your hide,” Ashton growled low. He was not about to endure another man’s interference. “This one is mine.”

  The man regained his breath and caught Ashton’s shoulder, ready to make a protest. “I saw her first…”

  The frilly parasol was snapped shut in a second, and the pointed end quickly found a tender spot in the roués ribs. He yelped in sudden pain and, deciding the pair were too much for him, stepped into a stance of surrender.

  “If you insist!” he cried, holding his arms outspread. He backed away, immediately relinquishing any claim on the fine-figured filly. It was obvious she had chosen her escort.

  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.