Mr. Logan had spoken in her defense, and the matter hopefully was settled. But while she watched from the foyer, she had noticed something perhaps the others had not discerned. Though Ashton had given every indication that he would protect her to the death against the mob of men, he had seemed somehow reluctant to have the gray-haired attendant see her, as if he himself suffered nagging doubts concerning her identity.
She spread her trembling hands upon her lap and stared with fixed gaze at the thin fingers and the plain, golden band until a flash of pain made her close her eyes. Slowly she rubbed her brow with her fingertips, trying to massage away the ache, and behind her eyelids a vision began to form, that of a hand clasping a long, slim poker with a spike at its head. The iron was raised high, then it came slashing cruelly downward, again and again. Of a sudden her mind was filled with a twisted mask that progressively evolved into the face of a man. The visage was contorted by a gaping maw and terror-filled eyes that bore into her very soul. Cringing away from the horrible phantasm, she mewled in fear, wanting to be rid of these fantasies that kept tormenting her.
Lierin came to her feet with a strangled cry as a hand was laid on her shoulder. In a desperate attempt at freedom, she lunged away from the tall form, but an arm reached out, catching her about the waist and drawing her back against a solid chest.
“Lierin?” Ashton gave her a light shake as she tried to fight him, bringing her back to her senses. “Lierin, what’s wrong?”
Staring up at him with wide, frightened eyes, she pressed a hand over her quivering mouth and shook her head. “I don’t know, Ashton,” she choked. “I keep seeing something…or remembering.” She averted her face, hiding it from his worried gaze, and spoke through her tears. “I see a hand raised, and it keeps on hitting…hitting.” Her shoulders trembled as she began to sob. “I wonder if I might have hurt someone. Perhaps you should have let them take me! Maybe I am the one they want, and Mr. Logan lied!”
“Foolishness!” Ashton took her by the shoulders and stared intently into the deep, tear-wet pools of emerald, as if compelling her to believe him. “There’s nothing wrong with you but a simple loss of memory. You’ve had a shock, and you can’t remember. You’re letting the accusations of those churlish louts become your memory.”
“Nooo!” she moaned. “You don’t understand. I had a similar vision before those men ever came out here.”
Ashton brought her close against him, enfolding her in his arms as he brushed his lips against her temple. “It’s probably only a dream you’ve had and nothing to be taken seriously.”
“I wish I could believe that.” Lierin leaned her forehead against the side of his neck where she could feel the strong, slowly drumming beat of his pulse. Security seemed an almost tangible substance in his arms, and somewhere deep within her a yearning grew. As if her soul commanded her to speak, her thoughts came unbidden to her tongue. “I want so much to believe that the nightmare never happened. I…really want to believe I am your wife, Ashton. I…want to be a part of you and your family, to know with certainty that I belong here in your home. I have to know what the truth is.”
Unfaltering in his effort to soothe her, Ashton gently cupped her face in his hands and probed the dark, translucent depths that were open to his gaze. “Then believe, Lierin,” he urged in a whisper. “Accept what I say as fact and trust me. I mean you no hurt. If you knew how much I loved you, you’d not be afraid.”
With deliberate care, his mouth lowered and covered hers in a slowly stirring kiss that continued unrelentingly until her fears were banished to the farthermost region of her consciousness. His lips moved upon hers, parting and playing and, with subtle persistence, demanding a response. Sleeping embers were fanned aflame, warming her and turning her mind slowly inside out. Her hands crept up his back, and she yielded her lips to his ardor. It was bliss. Heaven come down to earth. A sweet nectar that only lovers could taste. A potion to be savored leisurely and to its fullest, which indeed it might have been had the distant approach of clattering heels not warned them. Ashton raised his head, and the hazel eyes burned into hers, branding her with an unspoken promise. He stepped away and strode from the room, leaving her warmly flushed and totally unnerved. It was not a state she wished to be found in. Lifting her skirts, she followed Ashton’s exit through the dining room and into the far hall, then blushed in confusion as he paused farther down the corridor to look back. His gaze seemed to touch her everywhere, stripping the pale body bare and snatching her breath with the boldness of his stare. His eyes flared as they plunged to the core of her being, and the evidence that he accurately assessed her condition became brazenly visible in those shining hazel orbs. With purposeful intent, he began to retrace his steps. Over the pounding of her heart, she could hear the chatter of the elder ladies as they entered the parlor, and she realized the way through the main hall was now clear. She fled, knowing that if she allowed him to touch her again, all reason would be swept away.
Breathless, she raced up the stairs and sought what safety her room afforded. She locked the door and, curling on the chaise longue, stared at the bleached wood portal, while her ears strained to catch the leisured stride of booted heels. They came unswervingly to her door and paused there as knuckles were lightly applied to the panel. She chewed her lip as she waited for the second summons to come. It was followed by a third. The knob was briefly tested, and finally the footsteps moved away. She might have breathed a sigh of relief, but a feeling of disappointment rose within her, displacing any small sense of victory she might have experienced.
Chilling winds swept in from the north, bringing with them a roiling mass of black clouds that snuffed the last rosy glow from the western horizon. Droplets began to fall, first in a light sprinkling that washed the dust from the air and brought the sweet scent of rain into the house. Then, as the lightning pranced closer in a flashing, sizzling display of the storm’s power, a torrential downpour marched across the fields of Belle Chêne. Servants hastened to close windows and rekindle fires that had been allowed to die in the warmth of the day. Amusing speculations were made about the possible plight of Mr. Titch and his band of stalwarts. Everyone agreed that Hickory had sense enough to find shelter from the storm, but whether the rest could spend the night cooped up together in a barn without an outright war being waged seemed highly unlikely.
Willabelle came to help her young mistress dress for dinner, and though Lierin would have preferred to act the coward and keep herself hidden in her room, she gave herself over to the woman’s care. The choice of gowns was simple since a journey to the dressmaker’s had not yet been made, and the emerald green was the last of the evening creations to be worn. The garment was beautiful, temptingly so, but the neckline bared her shoulders above the full sleeves and swooped low over her bosom, while at the same time the stays of the corset pressed the higher curves of her breasts into view. For one who had been persuaded by the merits of caution, Lierin had to muse on the possible hazards of wearing such a gown in Ashton’s presence. The décolletage was perhaps more modest than the gown Marelda had worn, but considering there was a riper fullness to be displayed, she could hardly claim to present a prudish illusion. The threat seemed well tempered, however, for it appeared unlikely that Ashton would make advances while they were chaperoned by his kin.
Her confidence rallied further when she descended the stairs and heard a soft, rich melody drifting from the parlor. She would be safe enough from those knee-weakening stares and casually bestowed caresses while Ashton played the cello, she thought. Indeed, while he was involved with the music, she would have the opportunity to observe him at her leisure.
The room was softly lighted by tiny flames that danced on the tips of a dozen tapers or more. On the hearth a cheery fire burned, adding its warmth and flickering light to the tasteful interior. Beyond the windows the lightning continued to frolic across the night sky as wild and chaotic winds swirled around the corners of the house, rattling the limbs of trees and shrubs t
hat closely hugged the structure. Ashton sat with his back to the door as he played, and her gaze did not venture beyond the man as she approached. Even with only a view of his back, she could tell that he was impeccably garbed, which of course was not surprising. He seemed to have a flair for selecting clothes that were stylish and flawlessly tailored. Such was the case with the deep blue coat he was currently wearing. The garment was a superb fit, for the lines passed smoothly from wide shoulders to lean waist without a hint of an unsightly bulge to mar the styling. The merit was not confined solely to the garment, however, for his height and muscular slenderness complemented even the old riding breeches he was wont to wear while working his horses.
Not wishing to intrude, she had taken care to soften her footsteps, but as she drew near the music stopped, and Ashton came to his feet. Putting aside the instrument, he stepped around the chair and, with a widening smile, came toward her. His gaze savored the richness of her beauty and paused in obvious appreciation on the swelling bosom. Taking her hands into his, he lowered his head to capture her lips with his open mouth, immediately startling her with the light stroke of his tongue. She had hardly expected to be greeted with such a wanton kiss in the presence of the ladies. Unnerved, she pulled away.
“You’ll shock your grandmother….” she protested breathlessly.
A lazy grin curved Ashton’s lips as his eyes caressed the delicate visage. “Tell me, madam, how I might do that when she’s not here?”
“Not here?” Her gaze went past his arm to the pair of empty chairs where the ladies usually sat, then lifted to search his smiling face. “Where…?”
“She and Aunt Jenny were invited to a neighbor’s house for dinner.” He shrugged casually. “The invitation was extended to us as well, but I made our excuses.”
“Then…” She cast a worried glance about the room, and a blinding flash of lightning seemed to bring the truth home. “We’re here alone?”
“Except for the servants.” He raised a dubious brow. “Does that distress you, my love?”
Lierin answered with a slow and hesitant nod. “You’ve been very devious, Mr. Wingate.”
Ashton laughed as he drew her to the sideboard where the crystal decanters sparkled beneath the gleaming tapers. He splashed a small draft of sherry in a glass, added a dash of water, and handed it to her. “What do you expect me to do?”
She sipped from the goblet and released a long, wavering sigh before she made her reply. “I think you intend to seduce me.”
His white teeth flashed in a wicked grin. “The difference between seduction and rape, my love, is the simple word no. All you have to do is say it.”
Lierin could find no adequate response. That particular word was much like caution, which was slowly losing its flavor and hardening into a dry, tasteless crust that gave her no pleasure. Though indeed simple, it was a word that was becoming increasingly difficult to use with him.
Ashton’s gaze lowered to the swelling fullness above her gown, making her breath halt. His head came down, and her heart trembled as he dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder.
“You’re very appetizing this evening, madam…quite a delectable morsel to savor….” His tongue briefly touched her skin, drawing a shocked gasp from her and sending the pulse leaping through her veins again. He smiled into her astonished, sidelong regard and watched the flush of color spread downward into her pale breasts. “One taste is hardly enough,” he murmured and bent lower to stroke his tongue lightly against the higher curve of that tempting roundness.
“Ashton!” She jumped as the wind scraped a branch against the window, and pressed a restraining hand upon his chest, whispering in shaky, urgent appeal, “The servants!”
Ashton chuckled as he straightened and bestowed a more proper kiss to her temple, greatly heartened by the fact that she had not denied him. “Ah, love, I’m so famished for the full feast, it’s hard to restrain myself even with so many people in this house. I yearn to take you back to New Orleans, to that same room where we once made love, where we can be alone together.”
A door slammed in the back of the house, and they moved apart as Willabelle came puffing into the dining room. “Lawsy, dat wind gonna blow dis house away if’n it gets any stronger.” She cackled as she shook her head. “Why, it jes’ mighta blown Mr. Titch clear into Natchez. Bet he ain’t had such a bath in a month o’ Sundays. Course, he be in need of it if he climbed into dat wagon. Ah jes’ wish Ah could see him right now. Humph, he musta been a li’l tetched to think we gonna hand over de missus like she was some poor white trash or somepin. Yo sho’ showed him, massa. Yassuh! Yassuh!”
The housekeeper chortled again before she turned to contemplate the table setting. She busied herself moving one place setting from the end to a position close to the head; then with a satisfied nod she bustled from the room. In a moment Willis appeared and decorously announced that dinner was about to be served. As the servant returned to the kitchen, Ashton presented his arm to his young wife and led her to the place Willabelle had rearranged, which, when they were seated, would bring her under his close scrutiny. His hand lightly stroked along her ribs as she stepped forward to take the chair, and when she glanced back inquiringly, their eyes held for a long, eternal moment.
Ashton was not a man to ignore an opportunity, and once more his lips found hers. When he raised his head again it was to probe the translucent green depths. Lierin felt as if she were being mesmerized by the hypnotic strength of his stare, and she was only distantly aware of his fingers gliding from her throat over her collarbone and then tracing downward. Her lips were parted with her rapid breathing as his mouth began a similar descent, and her senses swirled in a wild and giddy torrent. With casual ease his hand slipped down to cup her breast, but the scalding caress was enough to startle Lierin into full consciousness. Trembling, she moved away from his touch and settled into the chair, and when he had also taken his place, her eyes lifted to search his in worried appeal. She could not utter the words she wanted to say, the pleas that would caution him to take care with her emotions. She wanted love, but it was all going too swiftly. How could she clearly discern right from wrong when she had no sure knowledge of who she was?
During the meal Ashton’s gaze never wandered far from the one who whetted his appetite, and it was not for that which was placed before them. As for Lierin, the sherry had been effective in subduing her qualms, and she began to enjoy the intimate dinner and the soft touch of his hand as it came to rest now and then upon her arm.
When they ventured back to the parlor, Ashton closed the french doors behind them, shutting off the dining room and securing their privacy. Lierin wandered back to the harpsichord and sought to plumb the depths of her memory as her fingers moved over the keyboard. Ashton stood close beside her, sometimes supplying the missing notes when she paused in confusion, but mostly admiring the delectable view of bare shoulders and soft bosom. She smiled up at him with glowing eyes as he brushed his knuckles along her nape and lost herself in the pleasure of his nearness. Her contentment diminished slightly as he moved away, but when he reached for the poker iron, a sudden horror seized her and her hands froze on the keys. A brief flash of an iron being brought down on a man’s head rudely snatched her mind from the tranquillity of the moment.
Ashton glanced around in surprise as the melody halted on a discordant note, and when he saw the expression of frantic fright on her face and the slender, shaking fingers pressed tightly against her temples, he dropped the iron into the stand and ran back to her. Knowing full well what was tormenting her, he pulled her to her feet and held her close against him as he murmured against her hair. “It’s all right, my love. It’s all right. Try not to think of it.”
“The poker iron…” Lierin shivered against him. “It’s the same! Over and over! A man being hit by an iron. Oh, Ashton, when will it ever stop?”
Ashton held her from him as he questioned, “Do you know who the man is or what he looks like? Have you ever seen him before??
??
“It’s all a blur.” Tears began to spill down her cheeks. “Oh, Ashton, I’m so afraid. I don’t know why I keep seeing such a thing…unless…unless I’m being tormented by a memory of something I’ve done. Are you sure Mr. Logan…?”
“You had nothing to do with that, Lierin,” Ashton insisted. “The man was stabbed with a knife, and he was large, fully twice your weight and more. Even with the poker iron, your best effort would not have been good enough. He’d have turned on you before you could have done him serious harm.”
“But the place on my back…you said it looked as if someone had hit me. Perhaps…”
Ashton stressed his words as he stared intently into the troubled green eyes. “Peter Logan said you were not the woman from the madhouse, Lierin. Accept that as fact. You’re not the one! You’re Lierin Wingate, my wife!”
His authoritative tone seemed to put matters in the proper perspective, and she took hold of her fears with a growing determination. If she was to survive this portion of her life with her sanity intact, she had to act with firm deliberation, refusing to be cindered beneath the weight of her trepidations. Calming herself by dint of will, she brushed the wetness from her cheek as Ashton stepped away to the sideboard and poured a glass of brandy.