Ashton chuckled as he began to struggle with the tiny fastenings, then a moment later he sobered as the back of the gown fell apart, revealing an ugly welt. He spread the opening wider to get a better view of it, causing Lierin to catch her breath.
“Easy, love,” he reassured her in a serious tone. “I only want to examine this more carefully.” He held the lamp closer as he inspected the strip of bruised and scabbed flesh that crossed her back from her left shoulder almost to the lower middle. He frowned sharply when the memory of the switch-wielding matron came to mind, but something heavier than a willow branch had produced this. “I don’t think this was caused by any fall from a horse.”
Lierin was totally confounded by the idea that she might have suffered intentional abuse before the accident. She could not imagine such an event, much less recall the circumstances of it. She turned to discuss the matter further and suffered some shock as she found herself beneath the unswerving regard of those smoldering hazel eyes. His mood had obviously changed; his questing concern had been swept away by the onslaught of his raging desire, and he made it quite evident what he wanted. The muscles beneath the darkly bronzed visage had tensed, while his nostrils flared with his heavy breathing. She felt her heart lurch forward in a sudden frantic beating, and her senses came abruptly awake. The heat of his gaze set a flame burning within her, and yet she felt all shivery inside. She was afraid he would touch her and she would yield herself in trembling eagerness. Seeking escape from his unspoken seduction, she sprang to her feet and fled across the room, taking refuge behind the dressing screen.
It was a long painful moment before Ashton regained enough control to ask, “Do you want me to send Willabelle up to you?”
“No. I don’t think that will be necessary now.”
“Perhaps I should lend further assistance to loosening your gown,” he offered.
She laughed nervously, tugging the ties of her petticoats free and pushing the billowing folds down with the pink garment. “I think you have the heart of a rake, Mr. Wingate.”
Ashton chuckled as he meandered about the room. “That’s what you said three years ago.”
“Then I haven’t entirely lost my wits.”
He met her gaze above the screen. “You’re still as beautiful as ever.”
“Will you hand me my gown and robe from the armoire?” she requested, avoiding the path where his statement might lead.
Ashton selected garments that would more readily reveal her curves and draped them over the top of the screen. As he waited for her to emerge, he doffed his own double-breasted dress coat and loosened his vest and shirt, tossing the cravat over a chair atop the coat. When she stepped around the screen, his hungry gaze devoured her softly clad back and swaying hips as she went to the dressing table. He followed her, feeling much like a rutting swamp cat prowling after a mate. Lierin sensed his approach, and her whole body tensed as he laid a hand upon her arm. A flooding excitement washed through her body, and she could not subdue the quickening pace of her heart as she was turned to meet the full force of his hunger. He studied her reaction as he lowered his face to hers. The green eyes flickered with uncertainty, then just before his open mouth captured hers, the eyelids came slowly downward and almost haltingly she yielded her lips to his. The kiss began as a gentle questing, with his mouth moving slowly upon hers, but the fires ignited like dry kindling in a roaring blaze. Passion sparked and flared ever brighter beneath his torching demands, turning her mind inside out and uncovering a need in her that she had not known existed. His hand slipped downward over her buttock, pressing her to him as his mouth slanted crushingly across hers, and with a soft moan she rose against him, molding herself more intimately to his body.
A knock on the door jolted them back to reality. Ashton raised his head with a muttered curse and tossed a glare over his shoulder at the offending portal. Though he was tempted to ignore the summons, it came again, this time louder and more insistent. With a growl he stood away from Lierin and moved across the room to the windows where he flipped a catch and pushed out the crystal panes to allow the night air to cool his mind and body.
Lierin found she had to settle her own jangled emotions before she could call out with any semblance of calm. “Yes? Who is it?”
An all too familiar voice answered through the closed portal: “Marelda Rousse. May I come in?”
Angrily Ashton ran his fingers through his hair, muttering sourly, “I’ll wring that woman’s neck yet!”
“Just a moment, Marelda,” Lierin bade and, glancing back at him, waited for him to give a nod of approval before she went to open the door.
“I left a book of prose in here earlier this week,” Marelda bubbled hurriedly as she pushed into the room. “I’d like to read it before I go to bed. It does so help to relax me.” Her eyes quickly searched the room until she found the one she had come to fetch. “Oh! Ashton!” She managed to sound surprised in spite of her suspicions. She noted their relaxed attire, and though she kept her smile, her eyes grew cold. “I’m sorry if I…ah…interrupted anything, dahling.”
Ashton’s irritation had not eased as he returned her gaze with a frown.
“I’ll get the book,” she said, reading his annoyance. “I left it over there by the chair.” She swept across the room and picked up the volume that she had seen on the table when she first visited Lierin. Though she had concocted the lie out of desperation, knowing that Ashton would probably still be in the room, it had given her an excuse to get in and hopefully halt whatever amorous play might be taking place.
“Oh, Ashton…” Marelda paused at the door. “I thought I heard a ruckus in the stables before I came up. Do you suppose there’s any trouble with the horses? Should I send someone out there to see? Or will you be going out?”
“I’ll see to it,” Ashton growled, by now thoroughly incensed with the woman.
“Do you want me to stay with Lierin while you go?” she offered in the guise of sweetness.
Lierin answered for herself, somewhat stiffly. “That won’t be necessary, Marelda.”
“Well, good night then. Pleasant dreams.” Marelda fairly sang the words as she waltzed out of the room.
Ashton gnashed his teeth as he retrieved his coat from the chair and flung it over his shoulder. “She came in here on purpose.”
Lierin was in full agreement, but having no wish to set spurs to his anger, she refrained from voicing her opinion. “I hope there’s nothing wrong with the horses.”
“Marelda probably made that up, too,” Ashton replied. His mood softened as he brought Lierin close again. “It will be torture to leave you.”
“It will be torture if you stay,” she whispered back. “I’m not ready for this yet. Go,” she urged, “see about your horses, and give me time to think.”
Ashton glanced up from his ledgers as a soft rapping came upon his door. Almost in unison, the tinkling chimes of his desk clock began to herald the hour of eleven. He rose and stretched his arms over his head to release the knot that had formed between his shoulder blades. After he had been called out to the stables on a fool’s errand, he wondered what other crisis awaited him outside his chamber door. Alas, it was far more than he had expected. Marelda had come brazenly adorned in a loosely flowing peignoir that hung open over a diaphanous gown. The gossamer cloth held nothing from his regard. Indeed, it was hardly more than a transparent web over her body. Her hair fell in a dark torrent around her shoulders, and when she moved forward into the room, his senses were assailed by a heavy, liberally used fragrance. Smiling seductively, she closed the door behind her and leaned against it, thrusting out her small breasts until they strained against the sheer cloth. The invitation in her eyes was for him to reach out and accept all that she offered. When he made no such attempt, she advanced toward him with a slow, undulating motion that was meant to captivate her audience, forcing him to retreat before the imminent threat of contact.
Ashton’s brows twisted dubiously as he considered the wo
man. “I believe you’ve made a mistake, Marelda.”
“No mistake, Ashton.” Her red lips parted in a seductive smile as she slipped the peignoir from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. “I have grown tired of chasing you betwixt your marriage and your infatuations. I have come to offer myself so you can no longer mistake what I have to give you. No other woman can fulfill your needs and your desires as well as I…because I know you far better than those strangers whom you seek out. They are no more than passing fancies. You’ll grow tired of them eventually, but I shall always be here to love you.”
He shook his head, bemused by her persistence. If he had pursued her in a heated passion at any previous time, he might have been able to understand her refusal to let go. “Marelda, I’m sorry…I’m…not the man for you, and even if I were, I’m not free to accept what you offer.”
Not willing to yield the field, she cajoled in soft supplication: “You’re as free as you wish to be, Ashton, and I have come willingly to give myself to you. You know you love me. Why do you deny it?”
Ashton stared down at her for a moment, somewhat astounded by her reasoning; then he let out a long, slow breath and tried to soften his words with a halfhearted smile. “The mistake is yours, Marelda. Truly yours. You must understand that I love my wife.” He let his smile fade and then slowly, deliberately stressed his next words. “I love Lierin.”
The truth of his words finally penetrated, and the metamorphosis was swift. The silken sultry smile became a snarl of rage. The dark eyes flared and then glared, and she fairly hissed as she came at him with fingers curled, ready to claw his face.
“Calm down, Marelda,” he commanded sharply, catching her wrists and holding them away as she fought with wild-eyed fury. “This will do you no good.”
A growl came from Marelda’s throat as she jerked away. Snatching up her robe, she thrust her arms in the sleeves and wrapped the belt securely about her. The rouge and kohl stood out boldly on her rage-twisted face and made her resemble a rejected street hussy in amorous disarray. With quick, angry movements she knotted her long hair off her neck, and gave vent to several gutter-born epithets with a voice that was sharp and piercing. Ashton’s brow arched in some amusement as he heard a brief dissertation on possible aspects of his parentage, birth, and rearing. She ignored no phase in his life until she reached the recent past.
“You river-running scum! You tempt me with your damned tight breeches and twitching buttocks until I’m led to disgracing myself by coming here! I placed my tender heart as a helpless offering in your hands, but you rend it apart and cast me aside like a shred of half-eaten fruit; then you turn away, smug in your conceit, leaving me to find solace at some stranger’s whim.” She laid a hand upon the doorknob, but hurled more insults before she left. “You vile bastard! Rogue! Bah! Men! Fools to the last!”
The door was snatched open and slammed behind her with a vengeance. A moment later her own closed with echoing finality.
Chapter Five
MARELDA left Belle Chêne with all the outraged energy of a summer tempest. She gave minimal farewells to the elder ladies, who were somewhat dazed by her abrupt decision to be gone. Her large trunk was wrestled into the back of her landau, and when Ashton came to see her off, she gave him a curt nod, scorning his proffered hand before she turned to accept assistance from her driver. As the carriage departed, Amanda and Jennifer cast curious glances at Ashton, but neither gained any measure of understanding from his slowly widening grin.
Marelda seethed the entire distance to Natchez and mumbled curses against the master of Belle Chêne, hoping the earth would open up and devour him and his specious bride. As her rage and frustration mounted, she thought she would definitely revel in news of their mutual demise. Indeed, if such an announcement ever came to her ears concerning Lierin Wingate, she made a promise to herself that she would dance on the little tart’s grave. She had suffered far too much at the hands of that twit. It seemed her best efforts had been frustrated by the family’s willingness to be taken in by that feigned innocence, and she considered it highly unfair. She had been the one abused, not that chit!
The prior evening’s scene was repeated over and over in Marelda’s mind and did much to churn up animosities from the darkest pit of hell. Not only were the couple mentally cursed and castigated, but stripped and put on imaginary racks of torture, where she laid burning coals against their flesh for every offense they had caused her to suffer. She especially delighted in the idea of flogging the wench, while Ashton helplessly witnessed the torture. Thoughts of revenge only aggravated her hatred, and she began to conjure actual ways her venom could reach out and destroy them. Much to her sorrow, however, there seemed to be no successful way of escaping the backlash of her schemes. Justice would be blind to her reason, and whatever she set out to do she could only expect to feel the bite of her own fangs in the end. The threat of enduring reprisal dissuaded her from pursuing the matter further. Until she found a way to repay the pair without coming under condemnation herself, they would be safe from her plots.
The carriage rattled down a Natchez street and passed in front of a tavern where a group of men stood conversing on the boardwalk. Marelda gave no notice to the gathering until she recognized the short, stocky shape of M. Horace Titch on its outer fringe. The man bobbed up and down like a bird on his short legs as he maneuvered for a better position, but for the most part the other men seemed to ignore him. She had always considered him a rather comical character and had often made fun of him behind his back, but she had also noticed his adoring stares following her about. Perhaps she might be successful in persuading him to do her bidding with only a smile as a reward. She could hardly see how she could fail.
Marelda spoke a word to her driver, and the closed landau was brought to a halt beside the boardwalk. Leaning out the window, she waved her handkerchief to gain the squat little man’s attention. “Mr. Titch! Yahoo! Mr. Titch!”
Horace glanced around and, seeing who hailed him, beamed in sudden delight. Immediately excusing himself from his companions, he hurried toward her carriage with his short-legged duck walk and was nearly breathless with elation when he arrived. “My dear Miss Rousse! Ah’m delighted to see you!”
The stage had truly been deprived of a great artist when Marelda chose to pursue the pampered life of a wealthy heiress. Her greatest act was that of the properly demure lady. Of course, even if she had been less skilled with her performance, Horace would never have noticed as those dark eyes swept downward above a coy smile. “You’re very gallant, Mr. Titch. You make a lady seem so special.”
“But you are special, Miss Rousse,” he responded eagerly. “Very special.”
“Why, Mr. Titch. You say the nicest things. I must be careful not to let you turn my head with such sweet flattery.”
Horace was nearly bursting with enthusiasm. “Oh, it isn’t flattery in the least! You’re the finest lady in all of Natchez! And may I say the most beautiful?”
Marelda cast her eyes downward again and smiled, feigning nervous embarrassment. “I fear you’ll make me blush if you continue, Mr. Titch.”
Horace thrust out his rounded chest, threatening the buttons of his large checkered vest. Never before had he brought a heightened color to any woman’s cheeks, except of course by anger, and the idea that he could accomplish such a feat with the beauteous Marelda Rousse was an invigorating boost to his ego. As he bathed in this moment of bliss, the realization began to dawn on him slowly that a distressed frown had replaced her smile and that she had begun twisting her handkerchief between her hands in a distraught fashion. He finally remembered that she had summoned him and made a cautious inquiry. “Uh…may I assist you in some way, Miss Rousse?”
“Oh, Mr. Titch, I wouldn’t want to trouble you….”
“I assure you it would be my pleasure.”
“Well, if you’re sure it would not be too much of an imposition…”
“Certainly not, Miss Rousse!” he declared. “
Ask anything at all, and if it’s within my power, your wish will be granted.”
Marelda affected a reluctant guise as she concocted the lie: “I just don’t know where to turn. You see, my uncle is coming for a visit…and he has gotten into the habit of taking a toddy in the evening…for medicinal purposes, you understand.”
“Oh, of course!”
In an exaggerated drawl fairly dripping with honey and cream she continued: “I clearly forgot to ask the servants to purchase a bottle or two for the larder, and here he’ll be coming this very evening. I declare, with no man in the house to attend to such needs, I’m simply at a loss. The cupboard is bone dry, and if I don’t serve him a little something, my uncle is bound to think the very worst of my hospitality. I hesitate to venture into a tavern by myself. You understand, don’t you? It’s such manly territory. But if I send my driver, he must leave the carriage unattended.”
“Oh, please! Allow me, Miss Rousse.” Horace swallowed the bait with vigor.
“Oh, would you, Mr. Titch?” Marelda loosed the drawstring of her purse, and a few coins rattled on the bottom as she began digging inside. “If you’ll just wait a moment, sir, I have the money here.”
Astounded by the opportunity to serve this beautiful woman, Mr. Titch hastened to object: “I’ll not hear of it, Miss Rousse. I beg you to let me deliver this favor as a true gentleman of the first water. It’s the least I can do.”
Eagerly Horace set out on his errand, taking short, quick steps that were closely reminiscent of a duck crossing an icy pond. Intent upon this moment of glory, he reasoned as he went that if the lady would like one bottle, she might better appreciate two or even three.