Malcolm became more incensed at the sardonic gibe. “Damn you! You know whose wife she is!”

“Aye, I know,” Ashton replied easily, “and I’ve come to fetch her home where she belongs.”

“There’s no talking to you!” Malcolm complained angrily. “You’ve shut your mind to the facts!”

“Only to your whining, Malcolm.”

“You can’t even recognize the truth when you see it!”

“I’ve been called stubborn, but I’m always willing to review the truth. Thus far, I haven’t been convinced that you’re right in claiming Lierin….”

“Lenore!”

A light chuckle shook Ashton’s shoulders. “We shall see, Malcolm. We shall see.” He placed a foot on the carriage step, but paused a moment to look back at the enraged man. “Even if she were Lenore, you wouldn’t deserve her.”

He climbed into the landau and, closing the door, settled back into the seat to await the next moment or two when Hickory would again halt the team, this time in front of the tent.

Wherever Lenore wandered, Ashton was sure to follow. It was a caustic taunt that Malcolm frequently used when he once again realized Ashton was hounding their heels. If Lenore stayed at home, then Ashton remained near his tent and was ever watchful of any opportunity that might bring them together while Malcolm was away. If she left with Malcolm, he moved behind them like a shadow, keeping a close surveillance.

While Ashton’s nearness grated on Malcolm’s nerves, it seemed to amuse everybody else. Behind her employer’s back, Meghan mutely cheered the Natchez man on, and her eyes sparkled with glee whenever she saw him ride out after the mistress’s carriage or when his own landau swung onto the road behind them. The only time she was a bit unnerved by his presence in the area was when he took a swim in the ocean. At such times she kept her gaze carefully averted, not wanting anyone to accuse her of secretly admiring such a magnificent manly form.

Even Robert Somerton began to take Ashton’s proximity in stride. He ceased to rage when he saw the younger man stroll out for a swim wearing naught but a skimpy loincloth, and on a few occasions he wandered over to share a libation or two with Ashton, though generally it was only coffee the latter imbibed.

Lenore enjoyed it all. His closeness. His unswerving tenacity. The sight of his brown body gleaming beneath the sun. It seemed quite an unladylike desire, but she yearned to feel again those flexing buttocks beneath her hands, to stroke those hard thighs, and to rouse him with her touch. With each passing day, her battle for control slipped another degree, and she realized she was completely abandoning her attempt to think of Malcolm as her husband.

It was during this time that the River Witch slid out of view. Malcolm was confused but elated. It appeared that Ashton’s men had deserted him; then bright and early on the morrow Malcolm’s spiraling hopes were dashed upon the rocks of despair again. There, anchored where the steamer had been, was an oceangoing vessel. This new ship which had come to haunt him was the Gray Eagle, and from it, a dinghy was launched, bringing ashore the captain, the men to row it, and a woman. Malcolm’s interest perked up as he watched the latter come ashore. Hoping she might be pretty enough to stir Lenore’s suspicions and perhaps endanger her fondness for the other man, he observed the visitor carefully as the captain escorted her toward Ashton’s tent, but from a distance he had to conclude that she was just another employee. Her dull red hair was pulled back into a severe knot at the nape of her neck, and the dark gray gown hung from thin shoulders. She had no bosom to speak of, and though she was neat in appearance, she was not of a quality that would give another woman cause to worry. Still, he was curious. She seemed slightly familiar, and yet he could not place her. He rarely wasted a second glance on a woman who looked as old and worn as she did, and he quickly decided it was not important if he knew her or not.

Ashton came out to greet his guests and accepted the account books Sarah handed to him.

“All of your journals are in order, Mr. Wingate,” she reported, pleased by her accomplishment.

“Excellent, Sarah. You’ve proved your value beyond anything I had ever imagined.”

She blushed with pleasure at the compliment. “I enjoy the work, sir. It helps me forget.”

Ashton smiled wryly. “Some strive hard to remember, others to forget. I await the day when Lierin remembers.”

“And I await the day when I totally forget…and perhaps forgive, though I don’t think I’ll ever do that.”

Captain Meyers offered the wisdom he had gained in his advancing years: “Forgiveness is the secret of a contented life, Sarah. You’ll only hurt yourself by carrying hatred in your heart.”

Ashton frowned slightly, realizing he had a problem of his own in that respect. His head lifted, and his eyes grew cold as he fixed his gaze on the one who roused that ire. “It doesn’t help me when I see the foe so often.”

Sarah followed his stare to the man who stood on the distant porch; then she frowned, wondering what mirage the morning heat had conjured up. She shook her head, dispelling the possibility, and turned back to the men.

Ashton indicated his not-so-humble dwelling as he presented an invitation to the pair. “Would you care to come in and look around? I borrowed the cabin boy from the River Witch, and he’s made some tea and coffee. There are some sweet cakes, too, if you care for them.”

They passed through the open tent flap, and for both, it was like entering a world of make-believe where sheikhs were plentiful and flamboyance was proof of success. The somewhat bedazzled captain chortled merrily as he was shown about, and Sarah followed, much agog. The sumptuous bed had been created from several feather ticks and was extravagantly covered and draped with black silk patterned with gold leaves, the same sort an Arab prince might envy. The sheerest gold silk hung from a round frame high above the bed, forming a mosquito netting that was possibly without equal, at least anywhere in Mississippi. Rich pillows were plentiful and formed a luxurious headrest for the mattress. The opulence they saw was hardly in keeping with the excellent and subtle tastes of their employer, but it was amusing to see such a setting in the local territory.

“When they told me you were living in a tent, Ashton, I never dreamed it would be anything like this,” Captain Meyers exclaimed. “I had visions of you huddling under a tiny piece of canvas and trying to find comfort on a narrow pallet. Did you design these lavish appointments yourself?”

Ashton chuckled over the rim of his coffee cup. “It’s for effect, Charles. Malcolm Sinclair seems to like everything gaudy when he’s away from home, if you can understand my meaning.” He had seen clear evidence of this in the company of harlots the man was wont to entertain. For all of their attempts at grandeur, none of them could come close to matching the elegance Lierin had in her little finger. “I thought I’d make Malcolm feel right at home, should he ever decide to saunter down this way and have a look-see.”

Captain Meyers’s eyes gleamed as he wiped a hand across his mouth. “The man likes his women, eh?”

“You might say that,” Ashton replied dryly.

“Malcolm Sinclair?” Sarah repeated the name in a tentative query. “Who is he?”

Ashton jerked his head toward the house. “He lives up there…with Lierin. Except he claims she’s Lenore.”

“My husband’s mother was a Sinclair,” Sarah stated distantly as she wandered to the open flap of the tent. She peered out, but the man on the porch was gone. With a sigh, she came back to sit upon the soft cushions and, taking her cup and saucer in hand, sipped the tea before directing a statement to Ashton: “You might be interested in hearing that Horace Titch was down at the river looking over that new stern-wheeler you recently purchased. While he was there, he also looked around your warehouses and seemed most curious about the one that burned. I didn’t know what to do, so I thought it would be wise if the sheriff knew about it. Sheriff Dobbs said he’d keep an eye on the man.”

“Horace was here,” Ashton stated as he went to refill his cup from the silver coffeepot. “He might still be, for all I know. Harvey asked him some questions, but there’s no real proof that he had anything to do with setting the fire. I thought of putting out some men to watch over the house, just to make sure nothing happens to Lierin while he’s here.” Ashton laughed in wry amusement. “But Malcolm has put out some rather unsightly pawns to perform a similar service…mainly to keep me away from her.”

“Pawns?” Charles frowned thoughtfully at the characterization. “Are you playing some kind of game here, Ashton?”

“Aye, Charles. A game of chess, except my heart is caught up in this one.”

Now that Ashton had visitors, Malcolm saw a chance to whisk his young wife into Biloxi without the other man being aware of it. When he strolled down the hall to her room, he gave no heed to the fact that Meghan had not yet awakened her. The door was locked, but his insistent knock brought Lenore stumbling sleepily to the door. She groaned in mute agony when she saw him dressed and ready to be about his affairs, which she hoped had nothing to do with her. As he pushed his way into the chamber, she returned to her bed and pulled the sheet high over her head, wishing she could dismiss him from the room as easily as she had banished him from sight.

“I have some business to attend to in Biloxi this morning, madam, and I would delight in your company. If you can extract yourself posthaste from the comfort of your bed and get dressed, I would greatly appreciate it.”

“Oh, Malcolm,” she moaned. “Please go without me today. I am truly sick, and I don’t relish the idea of waiting in the carriage for you when I’m feeling this way.”