“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 Robert 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.”