Malcolm shook a large fist before the other’s nose threateningly. “She’s mine!”
Ashton scoffed: “I say not, and if you care to, we can settle the matter tonight.”
In a quick movement Malcolm slid his hand inside his coat and snatched forth a small derringer. Ignoring Lenore’s startled gasp, he shoved it beneath Ashton’s chin. “Don’t think you can make her a widow so soon, my friend.”
He had hoped to arouse at least the same show of concern he had seen in Ashton’s face on the beach, but this time the tolerant smile remained. Distantly Malcolm wondered if the icy rivers of the North coursed through his adversary’s veins. He craved to shake that unperturbed confidence just once and see the man grovel for mercy at his feet. He hated that unruffled composure almost as much as the man himself. “Go ahead. Move one muscle,” he urged. “I’d like to blow your head off. It wouldn’t distress me in the least to feed your carcass to the fish.”
“You have a witness,” Ashton calmly reminded him, “unless you intend to do away with her as well.”
“I’m sure she’ll be happy to be rid of you,” the younger man sneered.
“Malcolm, stop it!” Lenore was not as casual about the threat as the one who was being menaced. “Please! Put that thing away before you hurt someone!” Her fear mounted as he ignored her request, and her panic drove her to be forceful. “Put it away, Malcolm, or by all that’s holy, I’ll go to Ashton’s cabin and forget that I ever had anything to do with you!”
Ashton’s brows rose in heightened interest, and he taunted the man with a lopsided grin: “Well, what should the lady do?”
“Ashton!” Lenore cried, aghast at his careless disregard of the danger he was in. “He will kill you!”
The tiny derringer prodded Ashton under the chin as Malcolm’s fingers tightened convulsively on the ivory handle. He wanted so desperately to have the man out of his hair, but there was much he would lose, and he did not consider himself a fool when it came to what was important. Still, he trembled at the sheer temptation of what was at hand…until there was a loud clatch and something small and hard probed into his belly. Warily Malcolm’s eyes descended and then widened as he saw the bore of a somewhat larger pistol pressed into his midsection.
“I’ve had enough of your threats; now I have one of my own to give.”
Malcolm stared in rapt attention as Ashton’s words thudded into him like fists pounding against his chest. Or was it his heart that thumped so hard against the inner cavity?
“I’m going to start counting,” Ashton informed him, “and if you don’t kill me before I reach three, you won’t get another chance.” He stretched out his free hand and pushed Lenore gently away, ignoring her frantic pleas for them both to be reasonable. “One…” His eyes glittered as he felt the pistol shake against his throat. “Two…”
The weapon was jerked away with an angry curse, and Malcolm ground his teeth as he met the mockery in those hazel eyes. As he stepped back, Ashton slid his own pistol beneath his coat and, in its stead, pulled out a long cheroot, which he leisurely puffed alight.
“I suggest you take care with your threats from now on, Malcolm,” he said. “Someone might take offense and blow your fool head off.”
Malcolm did not appreciate the advice. “We’ll see what comes of all this, Mister Wingate.” Taking Lenore’s arm, he marched her along the deck, putting Ashton far behind him in a short amount of time.
Ashton followed at a slower pace, wishing he had Lierin’s approval to dismiss Malcolm from her life. Until he had it, he could do nauht but watch them from afar, and it was no easy or pleasant task.
Malcolm paused outside the gaming room to adjust his clothing and glared at his wife as he smoothed the lapels of his coat.
“Your cravat is gone,” she reminded him calmly and asked offhandedly, “Did Marelda enjoy her view of the ceiling? Or could she see much in that short a time? Indeed, you must have just completed the swiftest seduction ever performed.”
“Youuuu!” Malcolm growled. “Right when…” He searched about for the proper words and found none he could tell his wife. “Then it struck me, and all I could see was you…with him…having your fun with him!”
“Marelda was probably disappointed that you couldn’t finish what you had started.” Lenore lifted a brow to a lofty height as he pushed his face close and gnashed his teeth at her. “I’m truly sorry, Malcolm, that I disturbed your moment of conquest. If I see the matter correctly, you were only thwarted by your reluctance to have me do the same thing you were doing, and I find that rather amusing.”
His hand caught her arm again, none too gently, and gritting out a smile, he entered the ballroom and swept her into a waltz. They moved with stilted motion, each annoyed with the other, each angry, and each aware of the attention they had gained. It vexed Malcolm that the dance lacked the fluid grace of another he had been witness to, and that was the one when the Wingate man had led her in a swirling motion around the pavilion. Absent, too, were the appreciative comments made by the guests.
“Have I told you how divine you look this evening, madam?” he asked, trying to break the ice that encased her and held her reserved from him. “You’re the most beautiful woman here.”
Lenore caught a glimpse of Marelda coming into the room, and by the woman’s reddened countenance and the glare she tossed at Malcolm, Lenore decided the woman was none too pleased. “Marelda is back,” she informed him coolly. “And she’s looking slightly enraged. Don’t you want to go to her and make your amends?”
“She doesn’t matter to me,” he scoffed. “She’s only someone to relieve myself with until you yield to me.”
Lenore stared at him in amazement. “How can you even think of me yielding myself when you act like a rutting tomcat? And certainly not after you’ve been with Marelda.”
“Are you jealous?” He smiled, amused by the idea.
“Fear would better explain my reasons to avoid going to bed with you, Malcolm. I might catch something I don’t want.”
Malcolm’s ego was seriously deflated. “You’re a cold woman, Lenore Sinclair.”
She averted her face, remembering a time when she had played chase with Ashton through the master suite at Belle Chêne. Giggling and dropping pieces of her clothing in his path, she had fled before him, and it had seemed at the time that he had purposely delayed catching her until the last garment had followed the descent of the others; then with a long arm he had reached out and brought her close to him. There in his embrace she had teased him with a wanton kiss, then had pulled away and danced against him in a manner that Salome had never dreamed of. Was she truly cold? Or just particular about the man she was with?
She stiffened as Malcolm’s arm tightened about her narrow waist and brought her closer to him. He bent to drop a light kiss on the pale shoulder, now aware that Ashton had entered the room. He knew the other closely observed them, and his spirits soared as he thought how he could torment the man. His warm breath sighed close to her ear. “If your Mr. Wingate insists upon sniffing after you, my dear, then I think I should make him suffer.”
“What do you mean?” Worry was evident in the lovely visage as Lenore lifted her gaze to him again.
Malcolm loosened his embrace, allowing her to move back a step. His expression was almost cocky as he led her around the floor. “It’s obvious the scum wants to get into you, but since you belong to me, I shall remind him of that fact.” His fingers dallied at the small of her back, and he gave her a warning glare when she turned a bit rigid. “Be careful, my love. If you do not allow me this moment, I’ll make you pay dearly.”
“Pay?” She repeated the word with growing trepidation. “What is it that you’re trying to do?”