She pushed at his chest with one hand and, straining away, feebly pummeled him with a fist. “No! Please! You cannot!”

Her puny resistance was as naught against his strength. Her feet swung free as she was lifted clear of the floor. The bed swam before her heavily lidded eyes, and she envisioned the struggles that would soon take place there and surely result in her rape. Roweling fear assailed her as she was lowered to the mattress. She clenched her eyes tightly and, catching her hands in the edge of the blanket, clutched them beneath her chin in desperation.

“If you take me, it will only be by dent of strength,” she ground out through clenched teeth. “I shall not yield myself to you, monster.”

She heard a distant chuckle and felt a cool hand brush the hair from her brow. Her eyes flew open, and she found herself gazing up into laughing hazel eyes. He smiled down at her and sat beside her on the bed.

“My dearest Lierin, ’tis my fondest fantasy that we might once more share the cup of passion. When it happens, it will not be a matter of taking. Until then, madam, I urge you to take better care of yourself. Your strength has not yet returned, and should you persist in this activity, you will at the very least delay your recovery.”

Sensing she had nothing to fear, she breathed a trembling sigh of relief. Ashton considered the pale features, noting the dark shadows around her eyes and the slight frown that hinted of a persistent ache. He dampened a cloth in the washbasin, waved it through the air to cool it, and placed it across her forehead. She sighed pleasurably as the pain abated, and for a long moment she enjoyed the comfort; then a thought came to her, and she opened her eyes to find him looking down at her with an expression so intensely loving and caring that she felt a softening in her heart toward him.

“When you spoke, you said, when it happens,” she murmured in wary questing. “Don’t you mean if?”

He raised the cloth and flipped a wet curl from her brow, then pointedly delayed his answer as his finger lazily traced her cheek and moved along her chin. He braced an arm on the other side of her and leaned slightly forward. Though his tone was light, she could see no humor in his face as he drawled a belated reply: “My dear madam, I am not given to a loose tongue, and I usually manage to say what I mean.”

Of a sudden her pallor became a crimson blush, and with an effort she took her eyes away from his steady gaze and made a valiant attempt to change the subject. “You were the one who brought me here?”

He nodded. “And laid you here as I did this moment past.”

She struggled to avoid making contact with that unrelenting regard. “What was I wearing when you brought me here?” Lamely she waved a hand about the room. “I see no other clothes.”

“Your gown was badly torn and muddy, so I bade them wash and fold it away, should you later want or have a need of it.”

She raised her brow prettily, then winced at the effort it cost her. “Gown?”

He reached his hand out and plucked at the sleeve of the flannel nightgown she wore, drawing her surprised attention.

“A nightgown?” she gasped in amazement. She pressed a hand over the simple yoke as she asked, “Like this one?”

His head moved from side to side, and a slow smile curved the corners of his mouth upward. “More…ah…shall we say, wifely…or rather…bridely…such as on the first night.”

Her consternation grew until it plowed a small furrow between her brows. “Bridely?”

With obvious relish, he went on to describe the garment in detail. “Much thinner. No sleeves and cut low here…and here….”

Her face darkened perceptively as her gaze followed the stroke of his finger. Though he did not touch her, the single digit came close enough to halt her breath.

“…With just a bit of lace here…and down on the sides here.”

She started to speak, but was forced to clear her throat before she was able to. “You…ah…bathed me?”

He stepped away from the bed and stood staring dreamily into the distance a moment before he answered with tongue in cheek. “No, sadly enough Willabelle came in and bade me leave before she performed the task.”

Lierin let out a long, slow breath to keep from sighing in loud relief. At least, she had kept some shred of dignity before this intrusive stranger.

He spoke over his shoulder as he crossed to the fireplace. “I’ll be away for several hours, but Willabelle will be here to see to things while I’m gone.” He took up the poker iron and began turning the logs in the fireplace. “If you need anything, just tell her.”

Lierin’s world turned suddenly sour. A bitter bile of fear rose in her throat as something dark and slender ripped through the back of her memory. Her mind was suddenly filled with chaotic visions, and rising to the fore of these was a face twisted by terror and forever frozen by a soundless scream. She mewled and cringed away, wanting to escape the nightmare that pressed down upon her.

Hearing the whimpering sounds, Ashton glanced around in wonder and found his wife braced against the headboard with fear-glazed eyes.

“Lierin?” He took a step toward her, but she shook her head frantically, unable to extract herself from the apparition.

“Go away!” she cried. “Please!”

“Lierin…what is it?” Completely confused, he advanced several more steps, but halted when he saw her scramble across the bed.

“Go away! Leave me alone!” she sobbed pleadingly. “Please go away….”

“It’s all right, Lierin.” Ashton retreated. “I’m leaving now.” He replaced the poker iron in its stand and, as she collapsed in exhausted relief upon the bed, made his way to the door. He was completely undone by her abrupt change of mood, for he could find no plausible explanation for it. Stepping into the hall, he closed the door behind him softly and let his breath out in a long, wavering sigh. Only then did he become aware of his wildly thumping heart and the feeling of cold dread in the pit of his stomach.

The house took on a midafternoon tranquillity as the ladies retired to their respective rooms for a nap. It was an excuse Marelda used to be alone so she could think through her dilemma. Her mind was left to its own devices for the seeking of a solution, for the small, leather-bound volume of poems that lay open on the bedside commode had given her no special insight. Indeed, at the moment her thoughts pawed through the lyric love notes like a raging bull through a flower bed. Gathering the shawl tightly about her shoulders, she paced the length of the thick, soft rug that accommodated the generous dimensions of the room and pivoted with mounting vexation at the limit of each circuit. Pausing by the bedside stand, she snatched up the book and riffled through the pages, reading a phrase or two here and there. Her ire peaked, and with gnashing teeth, she hurled the offending tome from her, flinging it to the far side of the room.

“A hoarded trump to cast upon thy queen of hearts,” she ground out through snarling lips. “What foolishness do poets thus impart!” She made another circuit of the room again as she fretted. “I placed too much store in the simperings of love-lost swains. Now I am forced to see reality for the cold and bitter vetch it is.” Her face became a harsh mask of hatred. “That little trollop has played her helpless scene so well she’s beguiled my Ashton into believing that she is his wife! If only I could design a scheme that brilliantly so he would see me as his one and only love.”

She paused and glared into the hissing fire that licked lazily at the remains of the oaken logs. The dwindling flames seemed to portray her hopes, once bright and burning strong, now failing and unnourished.

“Damn!” She resumed her agitated pacing. “That tart will have it all her way…unless…unless I can make them see the fallacy of her claim. How could the little snippet befuddle Ashton’s senses so quickly and so cleverly? Did she know Lierin and plan this from the moment of her death?”

Chewing her lip, she stared thoughtfully at the door of her room. It was just down the hall from the guest room where the other woman rested.

“Perhaps if I confronted her outright…” Her dark eyes harbored a gleam as the idea took deeper root. “It certainly can do no harm. I have nothing to lose, and it may be my only chance.”

Marelda eased the door open and listened for a moment. The house was quiet except for the distant sounds coming from the kitchen. She slipped from her room and hurried down the hall toward the far door. It stood slightly ajar, and when she pushed it open, Luella May rose from a chair near the window.

“What are you doing here?” Marelda demanded.

The girl was confused by the woman’s angry tone, and blinked several times before she found her voice. “Ah…Massa Ashton told me jes’ ’fore he left to come stay wid Miz Lierin whilst he was gone…jes’ in case she got scared or somepin.”

“I’ll watch for a while.” Marelda jerked her head sharply toward the door. “Go get something to drink. I’ll ring the bell if I need you.” The young servant nodded warily and crossed the room as the woman further bade her, “And close the door behind you.”

Marelda made herself comfortable in a chair across from the one Luella May had vacated and, propping her chin upon her knuckles, considered her adversary. Snidely she wondered if the other wove her schemes in her sleep, for the girl looked quite innocent amid the lace-edged pillows and satin quilt. A distant thought pushed to the fore of Marelda’s mind, and before she brushed it off as entirely insane she savored the idea of taking one of those fine pillows and smothering the life from the little fraud. No one would know, and even if it was really Lierin slumbering there, Marelda enjoyed the idea of being free of her forevermore.