Come Love a Stranger

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  Ashton took the papers and, briefly scanning them, found that they did indeed attest to such an event. He handed them back with a brusque comment: “I have a similar certificate verifying my marriage to Lierin Somerton. However, neither of these records proves who she is.”

  Malcolm’s eyes blazed with ill-suppressed ire as he indicated the white-haired man. “But this is her father!”

  “Perhaps,” Ashton replied with a noncommittal shrug, “but I can’t guarantee your statement as fact because I never met the man.”

  “Good heavens! What will it take to convince you?” Malcolm’s ire rose in the face of the other man’s unyielding resistance. “Why in the bloody devil would I come here claiming she is my wife when she’s not? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I can’t think of a reason,” Ashton answered, “but I can’t ignore what I feel, and I sincerely believe this is Lierin.”

  “Show him the portrait, Malcolm,” the elder man bade. “Perhaps he will see his error.”

  The younger man placed the framed painting on a nearby table and held it upright with one hand, leaving it covered for a moment as he spoke to Ashton. “Were you not sent a portrait of your wife?”

  Ashton responded with a slow nod. “Yes.”

  “And did you have any question that it was a painting of Lierin?”

  “No.” Ashton’s spine prickled as the other smiled smugly.

  “Then I ask you to view this painting very carefully and give me your comments.” He lifted the cloth covering, bringing gasps of surprise from the members of the Wingate family. The portrait was similar to the one that had been shown to Lierin, but there were subtle differences in the facial features of the woman, for they were more delicate and refined. Though the other painting had closely resembled the one who sat in the parlor now, there was no question that she had been the subject of this portrait.

  “The other painting, which you have, is of Lierin…your wife, but this one is of Lenore, my wife.” Malcolm almost smirked as he watched the play of confusion on the other’s face. “Now tell me that you have not made a mistake, sir.”

  Amanda and Aunt Jennifer were equally distressed and wondered at Ashton’s frowning silence.

  “Perhaps now you will allow me to take my wife home where she belongs….”

  “Please!” Lierin gasped, turning to Ashton for solace. “Please, I don’t remember them….”

  Ashton gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Don’t fret, my love. I’m not about to let them take you.”

  “What are you saying?” Malcolm barked angrily. “You have no right to keep my wife here!”

  “This matter will have to be settled in a court of law,” Ashton stated. “I will not give up my claim to her without a thorough investigation into this matter. When Lierin fell from my steamer three years ago, no further trace was found of her….”

  Malcolm snorted derisively. “It’s not the first time the Mississippi has failed to yield its dead.”

  “I know that, but I must be thoroughly satisfied that every effort is made to clear up the question of Lierin’s identity.”

  “Lenore!” Robert Somerton corrected.

  “I will send agents to the family home in England and then to Biloxi and New Orleans to see what can be found.”

  “But that kind of investigation can take months!” Malcolm protested.

  “I don’t care how long it takes!” Ashton returned sharply. “My only concern is for Lierin and the outcome of the investigation. If I am proved wrong, I can do naught but comply with what is truth. I will bend to nothing less.”

  “And do you think you’re going to hold my wife here all that time?” Malcolm raged.

  Ashton smiled blandly. “She obviously wants to stay.”

  “I will not allow it!” The brown eyes snapped with fire as Malcolm glared at Ashton.

  “Then it will have to be settled by a judge’s ruling.”

  “I’ve heard about you in Natchez,” Malcolm sneered. “They say you’re a bullheaded and obstinate man, but let me tell you that before this is finished, you will have heard of me, and you will know that I am more than a match for you. Indeed, a duel may settle this….”

  Startled gasps came from the women, and they sought a denial from Ashton. He gave none.

  “I await your pleasure, sir,” he responded calmly. “Shall it be today?”

  Malcolm’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll let you know when the time is convenient for me.”

  “Please do,” Ashton urged. “Perhaps such a contest will abolish the necessity of an investigation and save me a great deal of trouble.”

  Malcolm sneered derisively. “For one who has already been shown that he’s wrong, you seem much too sure of yourself.”

  “Maybe I have reason to be.”

  Malcolm’s eyes were as cold as the frigid north. “Conceit never won a duel.”

  Ashton shrugged casually. “I’m willing to be tested.”

  “Think of Lenore,” Robert Somerton cautioned, laying a hand on Malcolm’s arm. “I’m sure this discussion about duels is upsetting to her.”

  “You’re right, of course,” the sandy-haired man agreed, seeming to dismiss the matter with ease. He stepped to the table and began rewrapping the portrait, but halted when Ashton came to his side.

  “That painting was in Judge Cassidy’s house not too long ago. How did you know it was there?”

  “Does it make any difference?” Malcolm questioned caustically.

  “Everything in that house belongs to Lierin or to me. You broke into it to take that painting.”

  “If you’re trying to accuse me of thievery, this is the only thing I took. I knew it was there because Lenore had told me her father had given the two portraits to the judge. When I saw the other was missing, I assumed you had taken it.” With that, he lifted the object of their discussion and crossed the room, pausing in front of Lierin’s chair. “I don’t fully understand your memory loss, Lenore, but remember this, my dearest, I shall always love you.”

  Turning, he strode from the room with Robert Somerton following in his wake. The sound of their booted heels striking the marble floor as they progressed across the hall echoed in the silence of the manse, and the unhesitating stride of Malcolm’s footfalls seemed to declare that he would meet whatever challenge was presented him.

  Chapter Eight

  THE sun lowered toward the western horizon where it was obscured by a gathering mass of dark clouds. As night draped the land with its blanketing cloak of blackness, lightning began to flicker in the distance and was followed by a low rumble of thunder. The storm advanced in slow degrees, grumbling and stamping its way across the leaden landscape and finally reaching its peak in the early hours of the morning. It seemed bent on thwarting Ashton’s attempt at sleep, but he could hardly blame his lack of slumber on the thundering crashes. He hated the small bed in the guest room where he had grudgingly agreed to stay until a judge could decide the matter of Lierin’s identity. Neither he nor Lierin had wanted the separation, but for the sake of appearances and to ease the minds of the elder ladies, they had thought it best to sleep apart. It had been a week of unparalleled torture for Ashton, for he had been haunted by the fear that he was about to lose Lierin all over again. He found no rest in his lonely bed. He missed her warmth and her softly curving form snuggled close against him; he missed reaching out and touching her in the middle of the night; he missed holding her in love.

  The fury of the storm was mirrored in his mood as he tossed and turned in a tempest of his own. A blinding flash of lightning bleached the darkness from the night, setting the rain-drenched windows aglow. A sharp crack of thunder trod on its heels, bringing Ashton upright with a curse. His temper had reached its zenith, and he threw himself from the bed. With long, irate strides he crossed the floor to the bathing room and, quickly traversing the cubicle’s narrow width, entered the master bedroom. The play of streaking lights beyond the crystal panes lighted the chamber and showed him th
e slender, white-garbed figure sitting in the middle of the huge four-poster. Her arms were wrapped about her folded limbs, and her knees were tucked beneath her chin. Her gaze was unswerving as she watched him come forward, and when another bolt of blinding brightness seared a path across the ebony sky, her eyes flicked downward to his naked loins. She showed no alarm at the passion he displayed, but calmly waited until his knee came upon the bed and the mattress dipped beneath his weight. His hands slipped to the hem of her gown, and she lifted her arms as he drew the garment over her head. With a soft sigh she sank back beneath his encroaching weight, and their lips began a leisured search as they savored the bliss of their love. He cupped her face between his hands, staring down into her eyes through the darkness, and realized her hair was slightly damp.

  “Where have you been?” he asked in wonder.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” she whispered, “and I stepped out on the balcony.”

  “In the rain?”

  She nodded. “I was so lonely I hardly noticed.”

  He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “You should have come to me.”

  “I wasn’t sure you wanted me.”

  “Good heavens, madam!” he responded, feeling rather astounded by her statement. “Have I been so lax in telling you how much I love you…and want you? How can I convince you of what my heart feels…?”

  “Just show me,” she breathed.

  His head lowered to her breast, and her mouth came open in a soundless cry as his tongue caressed a soft peak. His hands moved with unhesitating boldness over her body, while her own explored the familiar sinews that rippled beneath his warm flesh. He lifted her hips to his, and they merged as lovers who were bound to each other for all eternity. His hard-thrusting passion drove her beyond the flickering lights of the present world, took her to a haven where a myriad of images danced through her mind. Other flights of sensual pleasure flashed in twinkling rapidity through her consciousness, teasing her with brief glimpses of a naked man whose face and form eluded the grasping efforts of her concentration. Strive though she might, she could not bring the darkened visage into focus, but the man was as bold and lustful as the one who was with her now.

  She came slowly to herself again, and the illusions disappeared in a vapor as she felt the thudding beat of Ashton’s heart against her breast.

  “I was hoping you would come,” she sighed. “I’ve been so miserable this week, having this huge bed all to myself.”

  Aston braced on an elbow and gazed down into the glistening sheen of her eyes. “I couldn’t stay away another moment.”

  “What are we going to do now?” she asked quietly. “How can I ever stop thinking I’m your wife and accept the idea that I belong to Malcolm?”

  “I’ll have difficulty with that myself,” he sighed and brushed his lips against her ear. “I’m not willing to let you go.”

  “But you must…if I am Malcolm’s wife.”

  “I can’t believe that you are,” he groaned and rolled onto his back. He rubbed a hand over his brow. “It’s too painful even to think of letting you go. I nearly ceased to function as a man when I thought you were dead, and now that I have you again, how can I possibly allow another man to take you?”

  Lierin rose above him and lightly traced a finger over the scar on the side of his chest. “I feel safe here with you, as if it’s where I belong.”

  His long fingers slipped beneath the weight of her hair and gently kneaded her nape. “We can go to Europe….”

  She shook her head, and a long tress tumbled over his arm to fall in a thick curl upon his furred chest. “You’re not a man who runs from the truth, Ashton.”

  His hand moved downward until it lay soft upon her breast. He could feel the warmth and smoothness of her flesh beneath his palm and was aware of the reawakening fires in his own body. He thought no more of losing her when loving her took hold of his mind. Her mouth came down to meet his, but the kiss was but a heartbeat away as a distant pounding intruded into the silence of the room.

  Ashton glanced toward the mantel clock, but its blackened face gave no hint of the hour. “Who the devil…? It must be two or three in the morning.”

  The summons came again, this time louder and more insistent. A voice called, and the words were faint but clear: “Massa, wake up! Yo warehouses are burnin’ in Natchez!”

  “Damn!” The expletive exploded from Ashton as he leaped from the bed. He ran naked across the room, tore through the bathing room, and, hastily thrusting himself into a robe, flung open the far door. Willis stood before the portal with a nightcap sitting askew on his head and the neck of a nightshirt showing above a long, hastily donned robe. His eyes stared in wide-eyed alarm above the flickering flame of the candle he bore.

  “Massa Ashton,” the butler addressed him in anxious tones. “Dere’s a man at de front door, sayin’ one o’ yo warehouses down by de waterfront done caught fire in de storm, an’ he say dat most likely by de time yo gets dere, de others be goin’ up in smoke, too.”

  “Send someone to fetch Judd and tell him to gather some men to fight the fire! I’ll be down as soon as I can throw some clothes on.”

  The black hesitated. “Massa, if’n it’s all right, Ah’d like to go wid yo. Ah is pretty good at totin’ buckets.”

  “Be quick about it then. We don’t have much time to spare.”

  “Yassuh!” Willis jumped to action before the door slammed shut.

  Lierin entered the bedroom, tying the belt of her dressing gown about her narrow waist. “What’s happened?”

  “I’ve got to go into Natchez,” Ashton replied, jerking out of his robe. “My warehouses are on fire!”

  She hastened to lay out his clothes as he tugged on a pair of trousers. “It’s raining pretty hard. Can we dare hope that it might stop the fire from spreading to the other warehouses?”

  “How I hope!”

  As he shoved the tail of his shirt into the waistband of his pants, she stood beside him holding his coat. “Whatever happens, be careful,” she pleaded.

  He brought her close against him for a moment and crushed her lips beneath a quick, hard kiss, then spoke in a husky voice: “You can forget about separate bedrooms from now on. I’m not giving you up. Malcolm Sinclair will have to kill me before I’ll allow him to take you from me.”

  A blade of fear stabbed through her heart. “Oh, Ashton, don’t say that!”

  “It’s what I mean!”

  Tearing himself away, he ran from the room and down the hall. Near the stable Judd was already gathering the men into a wagon, and a tarpaulin was being spread to protect them from the elements. Pulling down the brim of his hat and tugging up the collar of his oilskin coat, Ashton squinted toward the eastern horizon where the sky was still black. There was no hint of dawn behind the mass of dark clouds that roiled across its face. He climbed up beside Judd on the driver’s seat, and beneath the crack of a whip, the team plunged forward, setting themselves to a muddy, reckless race into Natchez.

  All the while Ashton dared to hope, and at the end of the trail, he found cause to be grateful for the rain that had thoroughly soaked them on the road, for the downpour had also confined the fire to the middle shed, leaving the adjacent buildings unscathed. He stood with Judd and the warehouse boss under the tin roof of an open-sided shelter and surveyed the thickly smoldering ruins.

  “Did we lose much?” Aston asked.

  “Enough, suh,” the manager answered above the steady drum of raindrops pelting the metal roof. “But it could’ve been a lot worse. So happens, a boat picked up a whole load of cotton just yesterday, so there were only thirty or so bales on hand, maybe a dozen bales of flax, a few barrels o’ molasses, and some odds and ends. That’s about it. If it weren’t for the fact that lightning probably started it, you can consider yourself a lucky man, ’cause without the rain everythin’ would’ve gone up in flames.”

  “Pardon me…” a gravelly voice intruded from behind them. “Any o’ you fellers Mistah Wingate?”


  They turned to find a short, straggly-haired beggar standing close. His clothes were wet and ragged, and he wore badly worn boots that turned up at the toes.

  “I’m Mr. Wingate,” Ashton replied.

  Sniffing, the vagrant rubbed a dirty sleeve across his nose and gestured toward the gutted warehouse. “If ye’ve got an extra coin in yer pocket, I can tell ye somethin’ ’bout how that there shed caught on fire.”

  Ashton patted his pockets and found them empty. His manager had a similar lack of luck in his search and shrugged as he apologized. “Guess I got dressed in a hurry.”

  “I’ll have to owe you,” Ashton pledged.

  “Seein’ as how it’s yerself doin’ the promisin’, Mistah Wingate, I’ll take yer word for it. I guess I owe ye that much.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The beggar shrugged and chortled. “For some time now, I’ve been beddin’ down in that there shed o’ yers. I always slipped in through a broken window in the back, an’ I’d find a cotton bale that weren’t too hard. It’s always been nice an’ dry in there, kinda cozy on a night like this….”

  “You said you could tell us how the fire started,” Ashton urged.

  “Yes, suh. I’m gettin’ to that. Ye see, I was tryin’ to catch a few winks when I thought I heard some voices right outside that there broken window. Well, it sorta startled me, an’ I sidled on up to the window to listen for a spell. Then it come to me. They were plannin’ on firin’ up the place. Well, the idea o’ bein’ caught inside scared me plum peaked. I nearly swallowed my tongue thinkin’ ’bout it, but how could I leave while they were there to catch me?”

  “How many men were there?” Aston probed.

  “Three or four maybe. I think I’ve seen at least one of ’em down at the Razorback Saloon a time or two, but I can’t be sure it was him. It was real dark outside until the lightnin’ began to move in, an’ that’s when I saw the biggest feller had two fingers missin’ from his left hand. Well, it reminded me o’ that mean ol’ bruiser I seen once down at the saloon.”