She was beginning to sense there was some underlying quality about each man that reminded her of the other, but as yet she could not quite decide what it was, whether it was something in their physical appearance, their mannerisms, or their personalities. Ashton was sensual and hot-blooded, but his appeal was more refined than the other man’s. Perhaps his age accounted for his suavity, but with only a trace of a smile and a look from beneath those magnificent brows, he could emit waves of masculine attraction, yet at the same time catch her heart with a subtle essence of boyish charm. With his aristocratic features and princely bearing he was certainly the more handsome and appealing of the two.
Malcolm, however, was not without charm. He was good-looking, and at times she suspected it was something in his visage that stirred a memory of Ashton, yet when she studied his broader cheeks and full, sensual lips she gained no insight into the illusive mystery. She had no doubt that he had instigated many a carnal thought in the minds of women. It seemed exactly what he solicited by his cocky manner. There was a sternness in him too, which she glimpsed when her father imbibed too much or was wont to be effusive or to spill Shakespearean phrases in his cups. There was no big outward show of this, only a hardening in his eyes and around his mouth whenever he looked at the elder man. His irritation could be understood; Robert could test the patience of a saint at times, and she was not without her moments of sensitivity. Whenever the elder man maligned Ashton’s character, she felt tempted to shred apart the concept of parental honor and give him a lambasting he would not soon forget. If he thought he was of such perfect reputation that he could defame the Wingate man, then he needed a clearer insight into his own flaws.
The thunderous approach of horses’ hooves jarred Lenore from her musing and brought her flying to the french doors just in time to see the carriage careen up the drive and come to a skidding halt in front of the house. She knew the signature of Malcolm’s reckless arrivals, for he was the only one who urged the driver to such a headlong pace. Although the height of his excitement or agitation was usually indicated by his haste, he needed no excuse to whip the horses into a frenzy. He seemed to thrive on speed, and the faster the race, the better he liked it.
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.