Hickory drew back his lips to display his broad, white teeth in a wider grin. “Mr. Wingate, he’s gots some mighty nice ones, missus.”

She rubbed the steed’s silky nose as she glanced at the black. “You like the Natchez man, don’t you, Hickory?”

“Yas’m.” The black gave a definite nod and patted the mare’s neck. “Ah sho’ do.”

“I do, too,” she sighed. “And therein lies the problem.”

Hickory chuckled. “Ah kinda reckoned yo liked him, missus.”

His comment made her wonder if her feelings were a secret to anyone. Her voice turned wistful. “I do believe my sister made the better choice in husbands.”

A soft chuckle shook the man’s shoulders. “Like Massa Ashton say, Miz Wingate, we jes’ have to wait an’ see ’bout dat.”

The River Witch was pulled up close to the dock and bedecked with garlands and flowers, enough to cover the recent canvas and board additions along the rail and to fill the air with a fresh and fragrant essence as the guests came aboard. Men in formal attire and women in silk and satin gowns, with jewels twinkling at their throats and fingers, passed along the decks and entered the large gleaming halls, where in one an orchestra was playing or in another the cards were being shuffled and games of chance being waged.

Lenore entered the second on the arm of Malcolm, and heads turned to view the couple in wide curiosity. Those closely acquainted with the Natchez man had heard some of the rumors floating about and were anxious to see the lady who was causing such a stir. She was hardly a disappointment! Gowned in pearl pink satin with touches of ecru lace adorning the sleeves and narrow bodice, she looked as delectable as any confection that was available on the lavishly filled tables. Her auburn hair was swept up in a soft, elegant coiffure, and at each ear teardrops of pearl dangled prettily from clusters of diamond-wreathed rubies. Falling around the long, slender column at her throat were two carefully matched strands of the same opaque gems, brought together with a similar catch of ruby encircled with smaller diamonds. The jewels were a recent gift from Malcolm, who declared them a peace offering for the way he had lost his temper over Heart o’Mine. He was most anxious for her to know that he could be generous with her, too.

The décolletage bared her shoulders sublimely and dipped enticingly to reveal the higher curves of her creamy breasts. Malcolm seemed taken with the display of the jewels on such a beautiful setting, but eyed his gift far less than he did the tempting roundness that was pressed full and taut above her gown. There his gaze lingered with much admiration.

With her at his side, the tawny-haired man strutted like a proud peacock with his hen, except in this case the latter far outshone the male. His manner seemed tender and solicitous as he stroked his hand along her arm or squeezed her waist, bestowing his caresses most whenever others were around and she could not resist without drawing some notice. He seized upon this advantage when they stood at the gaming tables. There, under the guise of watching the fall of cards, he laid an arm about her shoulders and stroked her arm, now and then brushing his long fingers against her bosom. Lenore blushed beneath his careless caresses and cast a surreptitious glance about to see who might be watching. To her relief everyone seemed more interested in the game of cards and the high stakes that were being waged than in her; everyone, that is, but Marelda Rousse, who had come to stand beyond the players at the far side of the table. As always, Horace Titch was with her and seemed as nervous as ever as his eyes flitted about in search of the Natchez man, who had not yet made an appearance. Marelda was troubled by Malcolm’s display of affection, but she was amused by the distress it caused the younger woman. Any form of misery that came upon that one was bliss to her soul. She smirked as the green eyes clouded darkly beneath a disturbed frown, then raised a mocking brow when they found her and widened in surprise. Marelda offered a condescending smile and a meager nod of greeting. More than that might have indicated some slight forgiveness in her heart, and there was none.

Lenore’s evening took on a lighter, warmer sheen when Ashton stepped through the door. Unmindful of how Malcolm’s features tensed as he glowered at the other man, she filled her own gaze with the much-welcomed sight. Ashton was looking no less than magnificent in midnight-blue dress coat and trousers, gray silk vest, and blue-and-gray striped silk cravat. The usual crisp, white shirt struck a stark contrast to the bronze skin that had taken on a deeper, richer hue since his venturing to Biloxi. As he paused in the doorway, his gaze wandered searchingly through the guests, and when it touched her, his questing perusal ended. The green-brown eyes swept her with a slow, unhurried regard, then, lifting to meet hers, communicated a compliment with a warmth that was clearly unmistakable. If love was a substance to be seen and felt, then it was what she saw in his eyes and felt at that very moment. He wrapped her within its tender tendrils, and for a small space in time she reveled in her spiraling senses. She loved him; she could no more deny that fact than she could dismiss what he conveyed to her now.

At her side Malcolm sneered: “I suppose the fool thinks he can whisk you off to his cabin while you’re here aboard his ship. He’d like nothing better than to show you a lengthy view of the ceiling.”

Lenore coughed as she choked on her wine, and she turned her face away, delicately clearing her throat as a flush of color crept into her cheeks. She could not bring herself to tell Malcolm that she had already savored that view. Not only once, but on several different occasions.

An amused chuckle drew Lenore’s regard back to the man at her side. “Wingate has no doubt arranged this whole affair to bring about such an end, but I have no intention of letting that happen.” The dark eyes dropped to her. “You will stay by my side throughout the evening, madam. I have not forgotten the sight of you favoring the man with a kiss on the shore, and I wouldn’t want you to embarrass me by falling all over him here.”

“I don’t intend to fall all over anyone, Malcolm,” she stated crisply.

“Ah, my dove, I see I’ve ruffled your feathers.” He laughed without humor. “Well, ’twill be more than your feathers I’ll ruffle if I ever catch you with him, and I will start by gelding the man…before your eyes.”

Lenore stared at him in horror and dismay, dreading the day when she would have to tell him that she was carrying Ashton’s child. She shivered as his hand lightly caressed her arm and carefully lowered her eyes to hide her distaste.

Ashton sipped his drink as he watched the broad hand glide fondly over the arm of the one he loved. Unable to see her face at the moment, he could not tell how she was accepting this freely bestowed attention, but envy prodded him with cruel spikes, for it was strong in his mind that he should have been the one standing there claiming her as his wife. He noted Marelda nearing the couple and distantly wondered what mischief she was brewing.

The dark-haired woman halted before the pair and extended her hand to Malcolm, who immediately affected a gracious mien as he accepted it.

“I don’t think we’ve met, sir,” she murmured warmly. “I am Marelda Rousse….” She turned aside to indicate her escort of the evening: “And this is Mr. Horace Titch, a good friend of mine.”

Gallantly Malcolm brushed his lips against the thin fingers. “Malcolm Sinclair, at your service, my lady,” he vowed and, straightening, rested a hand on the small of Lenore’s back, feeling her stiffen as he did so. “And this is my wife, Lenore Sinclair.”

Marelda’s eyes briefly touched Lenore, and her smile grew slightly mocking. “I had the pleasure of meeting your wife while she was at Belle Chêne. Except that then, everyone…that is, almost everyone…thought she was Ashton’s wife.” She nodded in a curt acknowledgment of Lenore. “Your jewels are lovely, my dear. They remind me of some I’ve seen before, except those were lost…or stolen….” She tossed the subtle gibe down like a thrown gauntlet and, then dismissing Lenore, turned back to continue her conversation with Malcolm: “I, of course, realized at the time that it was impossible for a drowned woman to come back alive, but Ashton was clearly befuddled and insisted that she was his wife.”

“He can be a difficult man,” Malcolm replied, briefly directing a cool glance toward that one.

“I see that you’ve had some disagreement with him.” At his brief nod Marelda laughed gayly and shrugged. “Haven’t we all.” She bestowed a tight smile on Lenore. “With the possible exception of your wife, of course. The two of them seemed quite cozy there for a time. It’s a wonder that you and Ashton didn’t end up in a duel.”

Malcolm raised a wondering brow as he considered his wife. “I fear Mr. Wingate took unfair advantage while my wife was in his home, but she has quite dearly rejected all thoughts of being his wife now.” The dark eyes met the hesitant glance of the green ones. “It’s been enjoyable having her home where she belongs.”

“I’ve heard that Ashton is still pressing the matter.” Marelda glanced aside at Horace, who was eager to accept any attention she gave him. His dark, watery eyes glowed with warmth until she continued: “Someone should tell him he’s not welcome here.”

Horace opened his mouth to deny the possibility that he would be the bearer of such a declaration. He thought he would just as soon avoid any frontal clash with Ashton, but when Marelda’s eyes hardened, Horace felt the sweat pop from his pores, and he groaned within himself. Hadn’t he done enough for her already?