“Pardon me, missus, but did I overhear Mr. Wingate say that you’re his wife?”
Lierin nodded hesitantly. “Yes.”
The innkeeper scratched his head, seeming bemused. “I guess I was mistaken. I thought you might have been that lady Mr. Sinclair was looking for.”
“Mr. Sinclair?” Lierin repeated in a questioning tone.
“Yes’m, Mr. Sinclair said his wife had been kidnapped from their home and brought here by the man who had taken her, but I guess you’re not her, being Mr. Wingate’s wife and all.”
“I don’t believe I even know a Mr. Sinclair,” Lierin murmured quietly, feeling somewhat unsettled. “Why did you think I was the one?”
“Oh, she come in here, and I got to see her from a distance. She was a fine slip of a woman, just like yourself, ma’am. At first, I thought the man she come in with was her coachman, ’cause he was driving her carriage, but then, he got himself a room next to hers and they kept kind o’ secluded while they were here. She seemed powerful upset about something, but I never got to talk with her or see her up close. Whatever was goin’ on, it had to be somethin’ strange, ’cause they both seemed sorta nervous. He weren’t much to look at, but that Mr. Sinclair is a right nice-lookin’ dandy, he is. Anyway, when Mr. Sinclair showed up, the other man skedaddled out o’ sight, taking her with him, I suppose. Mr. Sinclair searched for the pair of them for a while, then loaded his wife’s trunks in her coach, hired a man to drive it, and left. I seen him in here a time or two since then, but he ain’t from around these parts, an’ he don’t talk much.”
“When did all this happen?” Ashton queried.
The innkeeper scraped a hand over his bristly chin as he mused on the matter. “Seems like it were shortly ’fore the madhouse burned.” He thought a moment longer and then gave a decisive nod. “Yep, that’s about it.”
A nervous fluttering attacked Lierin’s stomach. Though she kept telling herself the man had mistaken her for someone he had not clearly seen and she was really and truly Lierin Wingate, she was assailed by sudden doubts. If she did not bear some resemblance to this unknown woman, why had he made the inquiry? On the other hand, the portrait had given incontestable proof that she was precisely the one Ashton claimed her to be. Holding on tenaciously to that thought, Lierin regained her composure and thrust aside her qualms.
Ashton had watched her with gentle concern throughout the meal and was greatly heartened to see her cheerfulness return. He was presented evidence of this when they emerged from the inn, and she halted him on the vine-draped gallery. With a delicious grin, she slipped her arms about his neck and pulled his head down to press parted lips upon his. He was more than willing to cooperate and delayed the moment by lengthening the kiss into a more passionate play of mouth and tongue.
A sudden gasp startled them, and pulling apart, they turned to face a tall, sandy-haired man who stared at them in wide-eyed surprise. He seemed frozen with shock as he gaped at one and then the other. With an embarrassed giggle, Lierin ran past the intruder and Ashton followed with a grin and a murmured apology. Rushing to the thoroughfare, he beckoned to Hiram, and soon they were exchanging laughing comments about the astonished, dapperly attired young man in the privacy of their carriage.
That same gentleman was still on the veranda when a brief moment later Horace Titch strolled past with Marelda on his arm. The woman had seen the flight of the Wingate couple and was sharing her complaints with her escort as they neared the man.
“I simply don’t know how that woman convinced Ashton she was Lierin Wingate, when all the time she’s been claiming a complete loss of memory. Why, she said she can’t even remember who she is or where she came from, and who knows if she’ll ever remember again. I still say she’s from the madhouse.”
“But, sweetie, Mr. Logan swore that she wasn’t,” Horace dared to argue.
“Well, considering what Ashton did for the man, don’t you think Mr. Logan said that only because he didn’t want to upset Ashton? While you were out there with all those men, you should have insisted that she be taken in for the murder of that attendant, but, no, you let Ashton make a fool of you.”
Horace clenched his pudgy hands into tight fists as he mumbled, “I’ll never forgive him for that, and I swear someday I’ll have my revenge.”
“You’d better have a large army with you the next time you face Ashton Wingate,” Marelda advised dryly. “He seems to thrive on gaining the advantage in such situations.”
Marelda’s eyes settled on the tall man and flared in bold admiration. Though younger and somewhat heavier than Ashton, there was something about the stranger that reminded her of the other. It was easy to surmise from the cut of his clothes that he enjoyed at least a reasonable wealth, but even without that added attraction, he was definitely more appealing to her senses than the company she was presently keeping.
The tall man tipped his hat to her, but his neatly clipped mustache barely twitched as he gave her a bland smile. Marelda was disappointed by his lack of response and wondered if some great problem of the world rested on his shoulders. She was accustomed to more zealous reactions to her flirtations and her sultry look of promise.
Chapter Seven
NEW ORLEANS! Crescent City. Gateway to the Mississippi. Lustrous pearl of the Delta. A city loved by saint and sinner alike, a place of lazy days and sultry nights, a rich and ever-expanding boomtown with a unique mixture of customs and cultures. A paradise where one could seek his own, a place of revelries, of sweet bliss captured in the darkest hours and nurtured beneath the warming sun, where time passed as effortlessly as the wide, muddy river that lapped at its banks. The sights and sounds gave flavor to the metropolis, while the aromas, both zesty and sweet, stirred the senses of all who strolled the streets. Sweet shrubs added a heady fragrance to the air, while azalea bushes provided a mass of riotous color across spacious lawns and behind closed gardens, wherever one was wont to look. It was surely an Eden for lovers.
From the time of the Wingates’ disembarking, it became an adventure that produced memories rather than brought them to mind. The floating palaces were docked three deep along the city’s levee, and as the River Witch nudged its way through to the quay, the drum of excitement began to beat with quickening rhythm in Lierin’s heart. The whistle blew high above her head, adding to the exhilaration of the moment, while the tall smokestacks belched in satisfied relief. Eagerly Lierin searched the waterfront and could find no spot where the pace was leisured. Everywhere she looked there was some sort of frenzied activity. Straining teams of mules pulled away wagons heaped high with cotton bales or hogsheads of molasses and such, while stevedores hustled across planks and captains barked orders to their crews.
Whisked down the plank on the capable arm of her husband and handed into the open barouche of a hired livery, Lierin felt as if she were soaring as high as the sea birds that shrieked overhead. Glancing about with the enthusiasm of a child, she espied a small group of colorfully dressed quadroons waiting in a nearby carriage. They were quite elegant in their silken finery and lovely beyond the common meaning of the word. Their unusual attire and appearance fascinated her until she noticed their flirtatious smiles and glowing eyes directed toward Ashton; then she began to understand some of the jealousies provoked by these women. Ashton laughed as she snuggled closer, and accommodated her desire to show possession by laying an arm about her shoulders.