As she prepared to leave, she paused beside the hall door and held an ear against the panel to listen. From the loud snores emerging from her father’s room, she could suppose that Malcolm’s chastening had convinced him that he should stay home for the night. That of course left only Malcolm to be wary of, but he was the one she feared most. He would not accept lame excuses. If she was caught, he would know immediately where she was bound.
Taking up a pair of string sandals, she slipped out onto the veranda and paused in the shadows to watch for any warning signs of movement. None were seen, and she continued her careful flight, easing down the stairs one slow step at a time. The bottom tread creaked slightly as her weight came upon it, and with bated breath she waited for a commanding shout to halt her flight. When none came and the flow of life returned to her fear-numbed body, she sprinted across the lower porch and hurried down the steps. She paused on the last to slip her feet into the sandals, then took off again across the lawn. The dinghy had been pulled up on the sand, and she placed the oars in the oarlocks and, with a fierce determination, dragged the heavy boat into the softly lapping waves.
Several lanterns had been lighted on the decks of the steamer, and the windows of Ashton’s quarters showed a faint glow. Turning her back on those directing beacons, she began to row out, now and then casting a glance over her shoulder to check her direction. It soon became apparent that she had misjudged the distance between the shore and the stern-wheeler. It was not long before her arms began to tremble and ache from the unaccustomed labor, and when she reached the craft, she rested over the oars, letting the dinghy bob against the side of the steamer while she waited for her strength to return. The tremor would not leave her arms, and it seemed only an effort of will would overcome her lagging energy. Gathering what she could from that source, she chose a dark spot near the stern to make her ascent, just in case Malcolm or Robert glanced toward the steamer, and with painter in hand pulled herself up, climbing over the planks that protected the lower deck. The difficult feat of boarding accomplished, she knotted the rope around a post and sagged against the deck to let some of the tension ease from her arms.
There were no lanterns nearby to reveal an approaching form, and she was not quite sure when she began to sense someone standing over her, but when the full realization struck, she rolled with a startled gasp, trying to avoid the hands that reached down to seize her. One grabbed her knee, while another the collar of the loose coat. Her panic was spurred on by the painful grasp, and she gave no thought to explaining her presence as she struggled frantically to free herself. Like a slippery eel she slithered out of the garment, leaving it in the man’s hand. She fell forward with a grimace as he tightened his hold on her leg, then his free hand dipped down to catch the back of her shirt, and her eyes widened in sudden dismay as she felt the knot come free. The armholes bit into her skin as the shirt caught, and then there was a long, rending tear as the garment split and made its departure. With a muffled cry she ducked and gathered her arms close over her naked bosom, trying to twist away before her modesty was completely savaged. The man growled a low curse and caught her again, this time by the arm while he hooked his other hand inside her belt. He snatched her up, nearly jerking the breath from her as the rope bit into her waist, and gave her a harsh shake.
“Who sent you out here, boy?” the man barked in her ear.
“Ashton!” Her gasp was one of relief as she recognized the deep voice. Never in her limited recall had she heard such a beautiful sound.
“What the…” The hard fingers relaxed their grip immediately. “Lierin?”
Even with the covering of darkness she could feel his closely peering perusal. A blush warmed her cheeks as his gaze dipped to her bosom, and timidly she hugged her arms across her chest.
Ashton knew not what miracle had brought reality to his dream, and though he was most appreciative of her apparel, or the lack of it, there was a need for haste. “For whatever reason you’ve come, my love, I’m deeply grateful,” he murmured huskily, “but I think we should adjourn to my quarters, considering the man on watch will be making his rounds along this deck any moment now.”
Lenore was spurred to action at the idea of being caught in such disarray and made an abbreviated plea as she hurried toward his cabin. “My shirt…”
Ashton swept up the garments and followed, stepping close behind her when she halted at the door and fumbled with the knob. His arm came around in front of her to perform the service, and Lenore closed her eyes and shivered with suppressed longings as his hard, furred chest pressed against her bare back. The contact was no less explosive for Ashton. It sent the hot blood rushing into his loins, and somewhere between the opening and closing of the door, her coat and shirt left his other hand. Her pale shoulders gleamed in the golden glow of the cabin lamp, inflaming his mind with the sight. His arm curled about her, gathering her close, and a low moan slipped from Lenore as his hands began a questing search of her soft breasts. The cap tumbled to the floor as she leaned her head back against his shoulder and the loosely curling tresses spilled free, filling his head with a heady fragrance. The thin breeches gave her little protection from the burning heat of his arousal or the hand that stroked beneath them. This was not what she had come for, but every nerve and fiber of her being cried out for him to take her, to make her his own again. It was agony to think of denying him.
“We mustn’t…” she pleaded in a frail, weak whisper. “Ashton, please…we cannot do this thing now.”
“We must,” he breathed against her ear and pressed fevered kisses upon her throat. To have her close again fulfilled every notion of what was right for him. “We must…”
He bent and lifted her in his arms. In two long strides he was to the bed, that same haven wherein they had in times past enjoyed the full tide of rapturous bliss. He laid her down, and his burning gaze swept her in a longing caress; then he was there beside her, taking her in his arms again. Lenore placed a hand upon his naked chest and turned her face aside, trying to avoid his heady kisses before they besotted her mind. “I only came here to warn you, Ashton.” Her tone was one of desperation. “Malcolm will try to kill you if you come ashore. You must go away.”
Ashton lifted his head and stared down at her with hungering hazel eyes. Sometimes love could come and go like the errant winds that were wont to sweep the shore; then again, it could be a timeless thing that distance, years, and hardships could not defeat. For Ashton it had been around for more than a trio of years, and she was rooted at the very core of his life. The note she had left was meant to convince him that she was Lenore and that she was doing the right thing, but how could he agree when she had taken his heart with her? “Forget Malcolm and all he’s tried to tell you. Stay with me, Lierin, and I will leave here. If need be, I’ll take you to the ends of the earth.”
Tears began to course down her cheeks. “Oh, Ashton, can’t you see? You want her and not me.”
“I want you!”
“I’m not the woman you think I am, Ashton. I’m Lenore, not Lierin.”
“Your memory…” he began hesitantly, almost fearfully. “Has it returned?”
“No.” She did not dare meet his gaze. “But I must be Lenore. My own father has said I am.”
“Your father hated me, remember. He has cause to hold us apart if he can.”
“He wouldn’t go that far,” she argued.
Ashton let his breath out in a long sigh. “If you insist, I’ll call you Lenore, but it changes nothing. In my heart you’re still my wife…you’re still part of me.”