“You’re right, of course,” the sandy-haired man agreed, seeming to dismiss the matter with ease. He stepped to the table and began rewrapping the portrait, but halted when Ashton came to his side.
“That painting was in Judge Cassidy’s house not too long ago. How did you know it was there?”
“Does it make any difference?” Malcolm questioned caustically.
“Everything in that house belongs to Lierin or to me. You broke into it to take that painting.”
“If you’re trying to accuse me of thievery, this is the only thing I took. I knew it was there because Lenore had told me her father had given the two portraits to the judge. When I saw the other was missing, I assumed you had taken it.” With that, he lifted the object of their discussion and crossed the room, pausing in front of Lierin’s chair. “I don’t fully understand your memory loss, Lenore, but remember this, my dearest, I shall always love you.”
Turning, he strode from the room with Robert Somerton following in his wake. The sound of their booted heels striking the marble floor as they progressed across the hall echoed in the silence of the manse, and the unhesitating stride of Malcolm’s footfalls seemed to declare that he would meet whatever challenge was presented him.
Chapter Eight
THE sun lowered toward the western horizon where it was obscured by a gathering mass of dark clouds. As night draped the land with its blanketing cloak of blackness, lightning began to flicker in the distance and was followed by a low rumble of thunder. The storm advanced in slow degrees, grumbling and stamping its way across the leaden landscape and finally reaching its peak in the early hours of the morning. It seemed bent on thwarting Ashton’s attempt at sleep, but he could hardly blame his lack of slumber on the thundering crashes. He hated the small bed in the guest room where he had grudgingly agreed to stay until a judge could decide the matter of Lierin’s identity. Neither he nor Lierin had wanted the separation, but for the sake of appearances and to ease the minds of the elder ladies, they had thought it best to sleep apart. It had been a week of unparalleled torture for Ashton, for he had been haunted by the fear that he was about to lose Lierin all over again. He found no rest in his lonely bed. He missed her warmth and her softly curving form snuggled close against him; he missed reaching out and touching her in the middle of the night; he missed holding her in love.
The fury of the storm was mirrored in his mood as he tossed and turned in a tempest of his own. A blinding flash of lightning bleached the darkness from the night, setting the rain-drenched windows aglow. A sharp crack of thunder trod on its heels, bringing Ashton upright with a curse. His temper had reached its zenith, and he threw himself from the bed. With long, irate strides he crossed the floor to the bathing room and, quickly traversing the cubicle’s narrow width, entered the master bedroom. The play of streaking lights beyond the crystal panes lighted the chamber and showed him the slender, white-garbed figure sitting in the middle of the huge four-poster. Her arms were wrapped about her folded limbs, and her knees were tucked beneath her chin. Her gaze was unswerving as she watched him come forward, and when another bolt of blinding brightness seared a path across the ebony sky, her eyes flicked downward to his naked loins. She showed no alarm at the passion he displayed, but calmly waited until his knee came upon the bed and the mattress dipped beneath his weight. His hands slipped to the hem of her gown, and she lifted her arms as he drew the garment over her head. With a soft sigh she sank back beneath his encroaching weight, and their lips began a leisured search as they savored the bliss of their love. He cupped her face between his hands, staring down into her eyes through the darkness, and realized her hair was slightly damp.
“Where have you been?” he asked in wonder.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she whispered, “and I stepped out on the balcony.”
“In the rain?”
She nodded. “I was so lonely I hardly noticed.”
He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “You should have come to me.”
“I wasn’t sure you wanted me.”
“Good heavens, madam!” he responded, feeling rather astounded by her statement. “Have I been so lax in telling you how much I love you…and want you? How can I convince you of what my heart feels…?”
“Just show me,” she breathed.
His head lowered to her breast, and her mouth came open in a soundless cry as his tongue caressed a soft peak. His hands moved with unhesitating boldness over her body, while her own explored the familiar sinews that rippled beneath his warm flesh. He lifted her hips to his, and they merged as lovers who were bound to each other for all eternity. His hard-thrusting passion drove her beyond the flickering lights of the present world, took her to a haven where a myriad of images danced through her mind. Other flights of sensual pleasure flashed in twinkling rapidity through her consciousness, teasing her with brief glimpses of a naked man whose face and form eluded the grasping efforts of her concentration. Strive though she might, she could not bring the darkened visage into focus, but the man was as bold and lustful as the one who was with her now.
She came slowly to herself again, and the illusions disappeared in a vapor as she felt the thudding beat of Ashton’s heart against her breast.
“I was hoping you would come,” she sighed. “I’ve been so miserable this week, having this huge bed all to myself.”
Aston braced on an elbow and gazed down into the glistening sheen of her eyes. “I couldn’t stay away another moment.”
“What are we going to do now?” she asked quietly. “How can I ever stop thinking I’m your wife and accept the idea that I belong to Malcolm?”
“I’ll have difficulty with that myself,” he sighed and brushed his lips against her ear. “I’m not willing to let you go.”
“But you must…if I am Malcolm’s wife.”
“I can’t believe that you are,” he groaned and rolled onto his back. He rubbed a hand over his brow. “It’s too painful even to think of letting you go. I nearly ceased to function as a man when I thought you were dead, and now that I have you again, how can I possibly allow another man to take you?”
Lierin rose above him and lightly traced a finger over the scar on the side of his chest. “I feel safe here with you, as if it’s where I belong.”
His long fingers slipped beneath the weight of her hair and gently kneaded her nape. “We can go to Europe….”
She shook her head, and a long tress tumbled over his arm to fall in a thick curl upon his furred chest. “You’re not a man who runs from the truth, Ashton.”
His hand moved downward until it lay soft upon her breast. He could feel the warmth and smoothness of her flesh beneath his palm and was aware of the reawakening fires in his own body. He thought no more of losing her when loving her took hold of his mind. Her mouth came down to meet his, but the kiss was but a heartbeat away as a distant pounding intruded into the silence of the room.
Ashton glanced toward the mantel clock, but its blackened face gave no hint of the hour. “Who the devil…? It must be two or three in the morning.”
The summons came again, this time louder and more insistent. A voice called, and the words were faint but clear: “Massa, wake up! Yo warehouses are burnin’ in Natchez!”
“Damn!” The expletive exploded from Ashton as he leaped from the bed. He ran naked across the room, tore through the bathing room, and, hastily thrusting himself into a robe, flung open the far door. Willis stood before the portal with a nightcap sitting askew on his head and the neck of a nightshirt showing above a long, hastily donned robe. His eyes stared in wide-eyed alarm above the flickering flame of the candle he bore.
“Massa Ashton,” the butler addressed him in anxious tones. “Dere’s a man at de front door, sayin’ one o’ yo warehouses down by de waterfront done caught fire in de storm, an’ he say dat most likely by de time yo gets dere, de others be goin’ up in smoke, too.”