“What’s this I hear? Is it possible that you’re in love with the man?”
Lenore stared at her father while she fought the urge to cry out, “Yes…oh, yes! I love him!” She wanted to scream the declaration to the world at large, and her eyes filled with tears as she thought how her statement would be crushed beneath the stern heel of criticism.
Her father considered her with a lazy smile. “Malcolm had better not hear how you’ve fastened your fancies on another man. You know what will come of that?” He nodded as if he knew she understood. “That’s right. A duel.”
Of a sudden Lenore found herself running from the room. She had heard enough!
“Lenore!”
Her father’s cry only spurred her on. Her cheeks were hot with the flow of tears, and her chest ached as she struggled to contain the sobs. She fled across the hall, nearly colliding with Meghan, who was approaching with a tray of refreshments. She brushed past the maid, hardly caring that she had not partaken of a meal since daybreak, and flew up the stairs.
The journey had taken its toll, but this latest abuse nearly rent her soul. As she reached the upper landing, the sobs burst from her in a torrent of emotion, and she ran, giving no heed to her direction as she turned down the hall to her right and burst through an open doorway at the far end. Her gaze chased wildly about the room as she entered, and through a teary blur she saw a tall four-poster and other furnishings appropriate for a large bedchamber. The french doors and windows were open to catch the cooling breezes from off the ocean, and like the parlor below, the room was suffused with a light that now had begun to take on a pinkish cast. The delicately hued floral wallcovering seemed to glow with a soft sheen that was both inviting…and familiar. Smothering her sobs beneath a trembling hand, she stumbled across the room to the french doors and there leaned her head against a frame as she stared out with misty gaze upon the crashing surf. The burden in her breast seemed unbearable, and a ragged sigh did not ease the pain. Though the view could have been appeasing, she yearned to have the lush green lawns of Belle Chêne in sight and to know within her mind that she was Ashton’s beloved, no matter what name she bore.
Her chin lifted, and her heart quickened as she detected a man on horseback riding at a full canter toward the house. For a moment she held her breath, wanting it to be Ashton, but all the while knowing it could not be.
She fell further into despondency as the rider came nearer. The man’s body was too thick, and he rode without the skill of the other man. Recognizing Malcolm Sinclair, she waited with quaking heart as he dismounted and came into the house. Eons seemed to pass before she heard the scrape of his boot against the stairs. His footsteps came down the hall, pausing before each door as if he searched for her in the other rooms. A rising panic took hold of her as he drew near, and she cast her gaze about for someplace to hide, but she forced herself to remain where she was, knowing that reality had to be dealt with and that she would have to face the man sooner or later.
Malcolm paused at the door of her bedroom and cast a glance inward, then seeing her, entered with a rather sheepish smile. “I thought you might have forgotten which room was ours.” He spread his hands. “I’ve been waiting here, hoping your father would be successful in bringing you home and yet fearing that Ashton would not let you go.”
Lenore appraised him with a reserved air. He was as tall as Ashton, a stone or two heavier, and perhaps five or so years younger. He had to be considered handsome with his brown eyes and tawny hair. His mustache was neatly trimmed, lending him a rakish look. He was dressed in the height of fashion, and his riding apparel obviously had cost him a considerable amount, but he failed to do for them what Ashton did for his old riding garments. He did not carry himself with the same proud, straightforward stride of the other man. There was almost a careless swagger to the way he moved, a slight rolling of one shoulder or the other as he sauntered forward.
“I know this is my room.” She gathered her courage and forced herself to meet his gaze. “But I can’t recall sharing it with anyone.” She managed a meager smile. “I’m sorry, Malcolm, but I just can’t lay hold of any memory of you in my life.”
“That’s easily solved, my love.” He laughed softly and, laying his hands on her waist, tried to draw her near, but Lenore broke free as a sense of desperation filled her. She quickly stepped away, widening the distance between them as she moved across the room, conveniently taking a place behind a chair.
“I’ll need time to adjust, Malcolm,” she said firmly. She was even more serious now than she had been when she had pleaded with Ashton for the same consideration. “Even though I’ve been assured that you are my husband, I am unable to turn my thoughts around and accept the idea of our marriage right now.”
As if his mind could not fully grasp her meaning, he stared at her, and slowly lowered his arms to his sides. “Are you saying that I must find another bedroom for myself?”
“Not only a bedroom, Malcolm, but another house,” she stated boldly. “I only came here because my father assured me that you would not be living with us. He said you were willing to move out until I’ve had some time to adapt.”
A troubled frown came to his brow. “That will be difficult to do, Lenore.”
Some intuitive suspicion that she was being duped made her wary of his answers. There was no question in her mind that she would have stayed with Ashton if she had known she would be pressed to abide with this man. Her gaze was cool and unswerving as she inquired, “Why would it be difficult?”
Malcolm shrugged his broad shoulders and casually sauntered about the room, halting beside the chair she stood behind. “There’s just not another place in Biloxi where I can stay.”
“Surely you can find a room at the inn,” she argued.
His pleasant demeanor was momentarily transformed into an irate frown as he looked at her sharply. “Did you also insist upon living apart from Ashton Wingate? The two of you seemed cozy enough, what with your kissing him in broad daylight.”
His jealousy and hatred of the other man were apparent, and knowing full well that he could still challenge Ashton to a duel, she carefully avoided giving him any insight as to what really had happened at Belle Chêne. “I was put in a guest room after the accident, and while I was there, Ashton comported himself as a perfect gentleman. He never at any time forced me to accept the idea that I was his wife.”
Malcolm digested this a moment, but whether he accepted her answer or not could not be determined as he turned his back to her. Dropping into the chair, he stretched his legs out before him. “You say, Lenore, that you don’t remember anything about me. I am trying to understand, but it’s difficult when I remember how close we once were.” Leaning across the space where she stood, he patted the cushioned seat of a nearby chaise. “Sit, my love, and let’s talk about this for a while. I’m sure we’ll both gain some insight into this problem of yours if we can discuss it together.”
Lenore lowered a cool stare to the back of his tousled head, feeling no desire to comply with his request, but finding no polite way to avoid doing so. Reluctantly she moved between the two chairs and felt his scrutiny as she settled with stiff-backed caution on the edge of the chaise.
“Relax, my dear,” he cajoled. “I’m not a monster who will tear you to shreds.” He raised himself from his chair to fluff the silk pillows against the back of her chaise. “Come, lean back,” he urged, dropping a hand upon her shoulder.