“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.
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.”
“Rest yer worries, mum,” Meghan soothed, taking the slender hands within her own. “I was in love once meself, so I understand what ye be feelin’.”
Lenore was still careful. “How much do you know about me?”
With a shrug the maid replied, “Oh, I’ve heard the men talkin’ an’ know about ye losin’ yer memory an’ maybe thinkin’ ye were married to someone else.” She paused as a realization dawned and looked at her mistress closely, meeting that one’s hesitant gaze. “It’s him, isn’t it? I mean, it’s that Mr. Wingate ye thought was yer husband?”
Lenore lowered her eyes from the other’s probing stare and could see no reason to lie when the woman read her so well. “Yes, and I love him, but I’m trying hard not to….”
“A real task ye’ve laid for yerself, mum. I can see that.”
A slow nod of agreement came from Lenore. To cease caring for him would be difficult indeed, if not totally impossible.
The small desk clock had struck the second hour in delicate tones, while the larger timepiece in the downstairs hall seemed to echo its refrain in the silent house. Lenore did not pause as she carefully molded the shape of the pillows beneath the sheet. A moment later she stood back to survey her handiwork. A silvery shaft of moonlight streamed in through the windows, casting enough light over the bed so that anyone who came to look would have a view of her form. Under casual inspection, the pillows would add to the deception that she was still asleep, granting her enough time to slip out of the house and carry word out to Ashton that he must not come ashore. Malcolm’s threats had taken on a more serious note at dinner, and uncertain as to what he might do, she had made the determination that Ashton had to be warned. The chore boy had left the small dinghy near the water’s edge when he had gone fishing the day before, and it would provide her a way out to the River Witch. At her request, Meghan had borrowed some of the lad’s clothing but had carefully refrained from asking why she might have need of them, preferring to remain ignorant of her intentions.
Lenore stuffed the long, softly curling mass of auburn hair beneath a cap and wrinkled her nose in distaste as she checked her appearance in the standing mirror. The clothes were hardly the sort a genteel lady would wear. The shirt had no buttons to speak of, and she had tied it in a knot at her waist to hold it secure, leaving a deeply plunging décolletage. The breeches fit well enough, but were worn thin by age and use. The placket had no other fastenings except the cord that drew the garment tight about her waist. In all, she presented quite a wanton sight, and if she were caught, she might be accused of blatantly inviting rape. Just to be safe, she added a worn canvas coat.