The fact that he was returning at this early hour could only mean that he had spent the night elsewhere, and although this did not grieve her, Lenore could only wonder where he had finally found a room or with whom he had stayed. He had ridden off shortly after her father left with the carriage the night before. Much later she had heard the elder man’s stumbling progress as he made his way to his room. In whatever fashion Robert had returned, it was without the benefit of the landau, and here was Malcolm coming home in it, with his horse tied behind.
She heard the thud of Malcolm’s boots across the porch, the slam of the front door, which rattled every window in the house, and then his racing climb up the stairs. She braced herself as he came down the hall, wondering what she had done to set him off. Much to her surprise, his footsteps halted at the door across from her own, and without so much as a knock for admittance or regard for the one who slept inside, slammed the portal wide and barged into Somerton’s room. If his entry did not wake the slumbering man, then his loud shout was meant to do just that. The men’s voices engaged and then lowered to a muffled drone, broken now and again by Malcolm’s angry bark. From somewhere deep within her Lenore sensed that her father of yesteryear would never have meekly submitted to such an attack, no matter the cause. It nettled her that he did not rouse himself from this subservient attitude and take firm hold of the argument. She was even more piqued at the cavalier manner with which Malcolm treated him. If her father was one to tolerate it, she was not.
Fastening the top frog of her dressing gown, she left her room and crossed the hall. At her knock the door was snatched open, and she found herself staring into Malcolm’s blazing eyes. It was clear the spurs of rage still goaded him, but as his gaze fell on her, his manner changed abruptly to a more pleasant mien. For a leisured moment his gaze swept the curves the dressing gown could not hide; then he stood back, sweeping an arm inward.
“Come in, my dear,” he bade with a smile. “I was just having a discussion with your father.”
“So I heard,” she rejoined dryly as she accepted his invitation.
Malcolm lifted a questioning brow at her disapproving tone. “Perhaps I should explain, madam. Your father made the rounds of all the taverns last night, forgetting where he had told the driver to wait. I not only wasted a whole night searching for him and the carriage, but at this early hour I have also heard some of the rumors this drunken braggart has invited upon us.”
Lenore glanced toward the bed where her father sat in much humbled dejection. His shoulders were slumped, and his head hung low in shame. She could not justify the sight in her mind. Indeed, it would have seemed more natural to her if he had thrown Malcolm out on his ear for having dared insult him. She could not grasp any reasoning for that particular impression, but one thing she could clearly discern from the situation, and that was something in her own character. Despite the recent times he had irritated her, she was still his daughter, and she felt a strong inclination to defend him, just as she would any of her kin.
“I would be pleased, Malcolm, if you would take into consideration that he is my father. This is my house, and until I have some recollection of you as my husband, I can only think of you as a guest here. I don’t care at the moment what rumors he has started, but I would greatly appreciate it if you would give him more respect, or at least stop abusing him in such a manner. If you cannot, you may leave…posthaste.”
The dark eyes hardened perceptively as Malcolm returned her stare, and he opened his mouth as if to retort, but immediately squelched the desire and responded with a stiff smile: “Forgive me, my dear. I shall try to be more respectful in the future. I was only concerned about our reputation here in Biloxi and how your father might have damaged it.”
Lenore smiled stiffly in response and, feeling a pang of pity for her father, considered his sorry state. He seemed bewildered by her defense and stared back at her with doleful eyes rimmed with red and bordered underneath with dark bags. His cheeks were limp and flaccid, much like the jowls of a hunting hound, and beneath a sagging chin his dewlap hung slack. A bristly stubble grayed the jaw, and the shirt he wore was soiled and rumpled, as if he had slept in his clothes. Growing restive beneath her regard, he tried to smooth the wrinkles from his vest and cast an anxious glance about for another container of that strong, amber liquid. To him, it was the restorer of joy in that it provided a blessed numbing for his conscience.
“I…ah…” He licked a mottled tongue over dry and cracked lips and cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean to create a disturbance, and I can surely understand Malcolm’s annoyance with me. No need for you to harp at him, girl. ’Twas all my fault. I should never have forgotten myself like that.”
She glanced at Malcolm to receive his gratified smile and felt a strange inclination to wipe the smirk from his face with some caustic retort. She disliked his arrogance and the confident leer that came into his eyes when his gaze dipped to her bosom. The question of whether or not he was seeing something there which might have warranted the lustful gleam prompted her to issue a vague excuse and depart their company. Much to her consternation, Malcolm followed a few, brief moments later, bringing a thin valise and her father to her room. The older man stumbled in and brought himself up before the writing desk where she sat. Beneath the mildly questioning frown that marred her smooth brow, he twisted his hands self-consciously and gave an explanation for their visit.
“I…uh…Malcolm has…ah…some affairs he wishes to discuss with you, my dear.” He swallowed heavily against the thickness in his throat, while his gaze roamed the room for the whiskey he had yet to find.
With the quill Lenore gestured toward the washstand. “There’s some cool water in the ewer if you’d like a drink.”
Somerton had difficulty subduing the tremor in his hands as he poured the liquid, and the lip of the pitcher rattled shakily against the rim of the glass. He could not suppress a shudder of distaste as he downed the unfermented draft, and when he glanced up, he was met with Malcolm’s disdaining sneer. His ruddy cheeks darkened, and sheepishly he lowered the glass to stare down at it in shame.
Malcolm’s displeasure took on a facade of gracious charm as he came to the desk. He bent to bestow a kiss upon his bride, but Lenore turned her face aside, and his lips fell upon her cheek. He cocked a wondering brow as she rose and moved to the other side of the desk.
“You had a matter you wished to discuss?” she probed.
Malcolm rested the thin valise on the table and removed from it a sheaf of formal papers. “I had a meeting with our attorneys in town this morning, and they informed me that these documents should be signed by you.”
Casually Lenore swept her hand to indicate the desk top. “Leave them there, and I’ll read through them sometime today.” She glanced up as Malcolm shuffled the papers awkwardly and cleared his throat. Wondering what disturbed him, she asked, “Is there something wrong with that?”
“Nothing except the lawyers wanted them back by this afternoon. Your father has examined them all and given his approval. It’s nothing too important, only some loose ends that need tying up.”
“If you’re in a hurry to return them, I can look them over now and let you take them back. It shouldn’t take too long.” She reached out a hand to receive them, but he frowned.
“Actually”—he returned the documents to the case—“I came back to get your father to sign them. We were both reluctant to leave you alone with just the servants here, and thought your signature might save us the trip.” He snapped the case closed with finality.
Robert had turned his back upon the couple and, stepping out onto the veranda, flinched when the sunlight struck him full in the face. Retreating quickly into the shadow of the overhang, he leaned against the outer wall, needing its sturdy support. He let his gaze sweep the broad expanse of gray-blue sea beyond the beach, and then suddenly he straightened in alert attention. “What the blazes is that?”
Malcolm seriously doubted the possibility of Rober
t seeing anything worthwhile in his condition. Tucking the valise under his arm, he crossed to the french doors and paused there to speak to the elder. “Come on, Robert, you’ll have to hurry and dress if we’re going into…” He glanced out toward the sea as the elder continued to stare, then threw the cigar aside and ran to the outside balustrade. “What the bloody hell!”
Wondering what strange malady had affected the men, Lenore joined them on the porch and looked out to where a plume of black smoke was being belched into the air through tall, twin stacks that perched atop a black, gold, and white edifice. The riverboat labored against the tossing waves, but even as Lenore watched, an anchor splashed off the bow and another was tossed from the stern, tethering the craft several hundred yards offshore and squarely in front of the beach house.
“The River Witch!” Her lips formed the words, but no sound issued forth. She had no need to read the letters on the side of the steamer to recognize that huge white bulk with its black-and-gold trim. A sheathing of boards and canvas had been added to the outside of the lower railing, no doubt to keep the waves from washing over the deck.
The paddle wheel stopped its churning, and the ship lay back gently against her anchor chains. A tall figure emerged from the pilot house and paced aft a few steps to stand and stare toward the house with hands braced low on narrow hips. The strength dissolved from her limbs, leaving her knees quivery and weak as she recognized the stance. It was one she had often admired with the lusting eyes of a woman in love. Her heart began to beat with an overwhelming intensity in her breast, and she had to breathe in small gasps, for the fragrant air of jubilation was far too rich to savor all at once.
“It’s him!” Malcolm showed his teeth in a savage snarl. “It’s that bastard Wingate!” He bent an accusing stare first on Robert, who shrugged lamely, then upon Lenore, and his eyes flared with jealous rage as he questioned her: “Did you know about this? Did you send for him?” His eyes swept inward to the small desk where she had been sitting, taking in the trimmed quills in the ink stand and the paper. “You wrote him!” he accused. “You told him where we were!”
“No!” Lenore shook her head and did not dare show the emotions she was experiencing. Joy. Excitement. Pleasure. They ran together and mingled with a wildly racing exhilaration. Ashton was near! Ashton was near! Her mind kept repeating the words over and over. He had come to show his colors boldly and make it known to all that he wanted her, that he would not give up the battle so easily.
“But how could he…?” Malcolm’s voice trailed off as he frowned in bemusement; then he glanced up at her sharply. “Did he know you had a house in Biloxi?”
Lenore shrugged and spread her hands to convey her innocence. “I didn’t have to tell him. He already knew.”
“I should have known he’d find out,” Malcolm muttered. “And that bastard found us, just like a hound smelling out a bitch in heat.” He swung his head back and forth like an raging bull. “I know why he’s come. He thinks to steal you back.” He flung out a threatening finger toward the vessel as he loudly declared, “But he won’t stay! I’ll see to that! I’ll get the sheriff and have him moved!”
Robert carefully lowered himself into a porch chair as he made comment: “I don’t think there’s anything you can do about it, Malcolm. The man’s well in his rights. This may be our property, and if he dares trespass, we can have him seized, but the open sea belongs to anyone bold enough to venture upon it.”
With irate strides Malcolm passed from the veranda and left the room, but in a moment he was back on the gallery with a twin-barreled hunting gun. “Just let him try coming ashore. I’ll have him shot before he can set foot to dry ground.”
Lenore’s elation was promptly smothered beneath Malcolm’s threats. There was no telling how far his hatred would push him, nor could she expect his anger to ebb before the two men met. Somehow she would have to warn Ashton not to come ashore, but how could she manage that?
“The only thing about firearms,” Somerton mumbled, “is that one can never be quite sure of the other man’s abilities. We heard that Wingate is a dangerous man to tangle with. If he’s as good a shot as they say, I’d advise you to take care.”
Lenore stared at her father in surprise, remembering the afternoon when he had come to Belle Chêne and boasted of Malcolm’s skill with firearms. Now here he was warning that same man of his rival’s reputation. What sort of game was he playing?
“He may be good,” Malcolm sneered, “but I think not good enough.” He looked smug as he caressed the barrel of the weapon. “The only way Wingate will be able to leave here without confronting me is to turn that damned boat around and go back to New Orleans.”
“Do you plan to watch the steamer all the time?” Somerton inquired in amazement.
Malcolm turned to glower over his shoulder, bestowing it on the elder man. “No, Papa, you’re going to help me.”
The winged brows shot up in surprise and then gathered in a disturbed frown. “I’ll watch for you, but I won’t touch that fowling piece. I don’t know the first thing about guns.”
Malcolm smiled blandly. “You won’t need to. I intend to keep that pleasure for myself.”
A strange, brooding uneasiness crept over Lenore and settled as a cold lump in the pit of her stomach. Something was wrong, but she was not quite sure what. She could only lay it to her concern for Ashton and expressed her worry in a timid question: “You wouldn’t really murder him, would you?”
Malcolm’s answer was cold and deliberate: “It won’t be murder, my dear. I have a right to protect what is mine, and it should be obvious to all of us what the man intends. He’s come to steal you away from me.”
“Perhaps if you let me talk with him,” she cajoled. “I’m sure he’ll leave if I explain that I’m here of my own free will.”
Malcolm tossed his head up with a short, jeering laugh. “I’ve heard about your precious Mr. Wingate. Nothing can deter him if he wants something badly enough.” He strode along the balustrade without taking his eyes off the distant vessel and slowly retraced his steps in the same manner. “The man has his gall, anchoring offshore like that, right there where he can spy on us.” Becoming more incensed, Malcolm threw a hand toward the steamer. “Look at him! He’s even gotten himself a glass!”
Somerton squinted bloodshot eyes toward the vessel, trying to focus on the one who provoked them. The long brass cylinder glinted beneath the sun as the other stared through it, making it easier for Somerton to spot it. “By jove, so he has.”
Lenore could hardly keep her own gaze from wandering to that tall figure. She could almost feel the touch of Ashton’s unswerving stare through the glass. Her cheeks were flushed, but it had naught to do with the morning heat.
“I wish I had a dozen cannons right now,” Malcolm ground through his teeth. “I’d blow that bloody fool out of the water just to see him come sailing down in tiny pieces.”
Lenore felt a desperate need to try again. “Would you let me send him a letter?”
“No!” Malcolm barked. “He can sit out there until I figure a way to get to him; then I’ll make sure he won’t bother us ever again. He’ll soon know which of us is the better man.”
Joy was as irresistible as the tide. It came sweeping back upon Lenore when the men left her to her thoughts. The knowledge that Ashton had cared enough to come after her made her almost giddy, and for a time she thrust aside the qualms that Malcolm’s threats had provoked and relented to the pleasure of knowing that Ashton was near. She pressed both hands to her mouth to squelch an insane giggle of sheer happiness, while her shoulders trembled with the effort to suppress the urge. Meghan was puttering about the room, readying her bath, and it seemed foolish to rouse the woman’s suspicions when she had found no cause to trust her. Still, it was difficult to contain her elation, especially when the maid would glance toward her as if she sensed some change. Finally curiosity had its way.
“Be ye feelin’ all right, mum?” Meghan inquired.
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Lenore nodded eagerly and tried to hide the threatening smile as she lowered her hands to her lap. “Yes.” She cleared her throat to disguise the laughter in her tone. “Why do you ask?”
Meghan pursed her mouth as she regarded her mistress. During these last weeks she had watched the young woman and been saddened by the way she had resigned herself to her fate and dutifully gone through the motions required of her while in the men’s presence, but in her chambers the girl had moped and stared wistfully out to sea as if longing for something more. Now the green eyes danced with a lively élan, and for the first time since coming to the house the mistress seemed really alive. Earlier the angry voices of the men had carried into the house from the veranda, and Meghan had found it hard to ignore them. They had declared there was a man on board the steamer who intended to take the lady, and as Meghan considered the transformation, she determined it would not be entirely by force.
“Ye needn’t be afraid o’ me, mum,” she assured her mistress. “I’ve formed no loyalties to Mr. Sinclair, if that’s what ye be thinkin’.”
Lenore stared at the maid, somewhat taken aback by her perception, and sought to hide behind a cloak of innocence, afraid to reveal the secrets of her heart. “Whatever are you talking about, Meghan?”
The woman folded her hands over her apron and inclined her head toward the stern-wheeler. “I know there’s a man out there who’s come here for ye, an’ by the shine on yer face, I’d say ye’re not too disappointed.”
Lenore’s eyes widened in alarm. She bounced from the bed and, rushing to Meghan, grasped her arm with an intense admonition: “You mustn’t tell anyone that I’m glad he’s here. Not anyone. Especially Mr. Sinclair or my father. Please. They both hate Mr. Wingate, and I don’t know what either of them will do.”
Come Love a Stranger Page 27