Once at her goal she pushed the double layer of drapes aside and shielded her eyes against the glare as light poured through the crystal panes. The sun touched her like a warm, caring friend, and she felt its heat within her breast, momentarily putting her fears to flight. She rested her head against the shaded sill and let her gaze wander outward to the vast, neat lawn. High above the grounds, lofty branches formed huge airy canopies through which the warming sun penetrated. Though winter had stripped the limbs bare and sapped the verdant color from the lawn, it was immediately evident that great care went into maintaining the grounds. Neatly manicured brick walks meandered through a maze of trimmed shrubs and trailed around ivy-covered beds that had been formed around massive tree trunks. Only the upper part of an ornately roofed gazebo was visible behind carefully shaped evergreen foliage. Well protected from prying eyes, it was a place suited for lovers.

Carefully Lierin turned and braced a hand on the back of a nearby chair as she moved toward the bed. As she stepped free of the furnishing, a movement to her left caught her eye. Somewhat startled, she turned her head quickly, forgetting the sharp harrows that were ready to rake her brain. The piercing barbs of pain stabbed into her skull, making her pay dearly for her reckless movement. She grabbed for the chair with one hand and clasped the other tightly over her eyes until the tormenting spikes retreated and coherent thought was once more a possibility. When she could open her eyes again, she found herself staring at her own image reflected in a tall, standing mirror. Curiosity drew her toward the cheval glass, but the effort of further activity demanded more than she could cede. She relented to her growing fatigue and paused some distance away to consider her image, hoping she might glean some knowledge about herself that would encourage a return of her memory. She was not greatly impressed by what she saw. Indeed, she came to the conclusion that she looked as bad as she felt. What color there was in her cheeks was only on one side and that a light purplish blue. Her brow bore the same discoloration, only heavier, contrasting sharply with her fair skin. With her hair wildly tossed and her deep green eyes wide with worry, she looked very much like a bewildered waif. Although her mind gave her no hint of age, the body beneath the clinging flannel nightgown bore the curving shape and the upthrusting fullness of attained womanhood, while it also boasted of a slender firmness that bespoke of an active life.

Several languages came quickly to her tongue, and numbers flowed with ease through her thoughts, but the origins of both seemed almost mystical. She knew the proper setting of a table, the correct utensil to use, the form of a graceful curtsey, and the intricate steps of several dances, but it was beyond the capacity of her battered brain to identify the source from which she had received this knowledge.

“Lierin Wingate?” she breathed. “Are you truly the one I see?”

Her mind gave her no answer, but her dilemma ended when she became distracted by footsteps in the hall. When a light rap came upon the door, Lierin searched about for the nearest haven, having no wish to receive guests in her nightwear. Her throat was too constricted to issue more than a weak and raspy croak, making her attempt to call out ineffective. It was not enough to forestall intrusion, for the portal swung open without further ado. She came around with a gasp of surprise, but her sudden movement played havoc with her tenuous stability. The room dipped and through a hazy, swirling motion she saw Ashton halt in the doorway, no doubt surprised to see her up and about. She closed her eyes against the sickening erosion of balance, feeling as if she were teetering on the edge of a dark, bottomless crater that was drawing her down into its gaping maw. She stumbled, and the room swooped into a new, confusing orbit; then she became overpoweringly aware of strong arms closing about her and drawing her against a broad chest. They were alone in the room, and she realized her weakened condition made her extremely vulnerable to his whims. She tried to twist free, acutely conscious of the brush of his hardened thighs against her own and the manly feel of his body branding her through the light layer of her clothing, but he held her in a unrelenting vise of steel-thewed arms. His gentle but tenacious grasp put roots to her fear. She no longer questioned her sanity, but his! He was surely mad to accost her beneath the noses of his kin!

She pushed at his chest with one hand and, straining away, feebly pummeled him with a fist. “No! Please! You cannot!”

Her puny resistance was as naught against his strength. Her feet swung free as she was lifted clear of the floor. The bed swam before her heavily lidded eyes, and she envisioned the struggles that would soon take place there and surely result in her rape. Roweling fear assailed her as she was lowered to the mattress. She clenched her eyes tightly and, catching her hands in the edge of the blanket, clutched them beneath her chin in desperation.

“If you take me, it will only be by dent of strength,” she ground out through clenched teeth. “I shall not yield myself to you, monster.”

She heard a distant chuckle and felt a cool hand brush the hair from her brow. Her eyes flew open, and she found herself gazing up into laughing hazel eyes. He smiled down at her and sat beside her on the bed.

“My dearest Lierin, ’tis my fondest fantasy that we might once more share the cup of passion. When it happens, it will not be a matter of taking. Until then, madam, I urge you to take better care of yourself. Your strength has not yet returned, and should you persist in this activity, you will at the very least delay your recovery.”

Sensing she had nothing to fear, she breathed a trembling sigh of relief. Ashton considered the pale features, noting the dark shadows around her eyes and the slight frown that hinted of a persistent ache. He dampened a cloth in the washbasin, waved it through the air to cool it, and placed it across her forehead. She sighed pleasurably as the pain abated, and for a long moment she enjoyed the comfort; then a thought came to her, and she opened her eyes to find him looking down at her with an expression so intensely loving and caring that she felt a softening in her heart toward him.

“When you spoke, you said, when it happens,” she murmured in wary questing. “Don’t you mean if?”

He raised the cloth and flipped a wet curl from her brow, then pointedly delayed his answer as his finger lazily traced her cheek and moved along her chin. He braced an arm on the other side of her and leaned slightly forward. Though his tone was light, she could see no humor in his face as he drawled a belated reply: “My dear madam, I am not given to a loose tongue, and I usually manage to say what I mean.”

Of a sudden her pallor became a crimson blush, and with an effort she took her eyes away from his steady gaze and made a valiant attempt to change the subject. “You were the one who brought me here?”

He nodded. “And laid you here as I did this moment past.”

She struggled to avoid making contact with that unrelenting regard. “What was I wearing when you brought me here?” Lamely she waved a hand about the room. “I see no other clothes.”

“Your gown was badly torn and muddy, so I bade them wash and fold it away, should you later want or have a need of it.”

She raised her brow prettily, then winced at the effort it cost her. “Gown?”

He reached his hand out and plucked at the sleeve of the flannel nightgown she wore, drawing her surprised attention.

“A nightgown?” she gasped in amazement. She pressed a hand over the simple yoke as she asked, “Like this one?”

His head moved from side to side, and a slow smile curved the corners of his mouth upward. “More…ah…shall we say, wifely…or rather…bridely…such as on the first night.”

Her consternation grew until it plowed a small furrow between her brows. “Bridely?”

With obvious relish, he went on to describe the garment in detail. “Much thinner. No sleeves and cut low here…and here….”

Her face darkened perceptively as her gaze followed the stroke of his finger. Though he did not touch her, the single digit came close enough to halt her breath.

“…With just a bit of lace here…and down on the sides here.”

She started to speak, but was forced to clear her throat before she was able to. “You…ah…bathed me?”

He stepped away from the bed and stood staring dreamily into the distance a moment before he answered with tongue in cheek. “No, sadly enough Willabelle came in and bade me leave before she performed the task.”

Lierin let out a long, slow breath to keep from sighing in loud relief. At least, she had kept some shred of dignity before this intrusive stranger.

He spoke over his shoulder as he crossed to the fireplace. “I’ll be away for several hours, but Willabelle will be here to see to things while I’m gone.” He took up the poker iron and began turning the logs in the fireplace. “If you need anything, just tell her.”

Lierin’s world turned suddenly sour. A bitter bile of fear rose in her throat as something dark and slender ripped through the back of her memory. Her mind was suddenly filled with chaotic visions, and rising to the fore of these was a face twisted by terror and forever frozen by a soundless scream. She mewled and cringed away, wanting to escape the nightmare that pressed down upon her.

Hearing the whimpering sounds, Ashton glanced around in wonder and found his wife braced against the headboard with fear-glazed eyes.

“Lierin?” He took a step toward her, but she shook her head frantically, unable to extract herself from the apparition.

“Go away!” she cried. “Please!”

“Lierin…what is it?” Completely confused, he advanced several more steps, but halted when he saw her scramble across the bed.

“Go away! Leave me alone!” she sobbed pleadingly. “Please go away….”

“It’s all right, Lierin.” Ashton retreated. “I’m leaving now.” He replaced the poker iron in its stand and, as she collapsed in exhausted relief upon the bed, made his way to the door. He was completely undone by her abrupt change of mood, for he could find no plausible explanation for it. Stepping into the hall, he closed the door behind him softly and let his breath out in a long, wavering sigh. Only then did he become aware of his wildly thumping heart and the feeling of cold dread in the pit of his stomach.

The house took on a midafternoon tranquillity as the ladies retired to their respective rooms for a nap. It was an excuse Marelda used to be alone so she could think through her dilemma. Her mind was left to its own devices for the seeking of a solution, for the small, leather-bound volume of poems that lay open on the bedside commode had given her no special insight. Indeed, at the moment her thoughts pawed through the lyric love notes like a raging bull through a flower bed. Gathering the shawl tightly about her shoulders, she paced the length of the thick, soft rug that accommodated the generous dimensions of the room and pivoted with mounting vexation at the limit of each circuit. Pausing by the bedside stand, she snatched up the book and riffled through the pages, reading a phrase or two here and there. Her ire peaked, and with gnashing teeth, she hurled the offending tome from her, flinging it to the far side of the room.

“A hoarded trump to cast upon thy queen of hearts,” she ground out through snarling lips. “What foolishness do poets thus impart!” She made another circuit of the room again as she fretted. “I placed too much store in the simperings of love-lost swains. Now I am forced to see reality for the cold and bitter vetch it is.” Her face became a harsh mask of hatred. “That little trollop has played her helpless scene so well she’s beguiled my Ashton into believing that she is his wife! If only I could design a scheme that brilliantly so he would see me as his one and only love.”

She paused and glared into the hissing fire that licked lazily at the remains of the oaken logs. The dwindling flames seemed to portray her hopes, once bright and burning strong, now failing and unnourished.

“Damn!” She resumed her agitated pacing. “That tart will have it all her way…unless…unless I can make them see the fallacy of her claim. How could the little snippet befuddle Ashton’s senses so quickly and so cleverly? Did she know Lierin and plan this from the moment of her death?”

Chewing her lip, she stared thoughtfully at the door of her room. It was just down the hall from the guest room where the other woman rested.