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.

In abrupt reaction Lenore pushed away his arm and, feeling suddenly closed in, moved quickly in the opposite direction until she sat at the far end of the cushion. She stole a wary glance at him, unable to explain her sudden panic even to herself, and found him staring back at her in surprise. She forced a weak smile. “I’d rather sit here if you don’t mind, Malcolm. I get dizzy when I lie down.” She could probably lay the blame for this recent malady on her fatigue, but it seemed an appropriate excuse to use to avoid being confined to an area in close proximity to him.

Malcolm dropped into his chair again and regarded her for a long moment, seeming completely bewildered. “Are you afraid of me, Lenore?”

“Do I have reason to be?” she asked quietly.

He ran his fingers through his tousled hair. “I can’t think of one, but you seem so…so distant.”

Remaining aloof, she returned his gaze without giving him the benefit of a reply. Beneath her steadfast stare, Malcolm sighed and glanced around, feeling at a loss.

“You’ve always intrigued me, Lenore,” he murmured, searching for the appropriate words that would draw her from her shell. “I am indeed fortunate to have such a beautiful wife. I remember the first time I saw you, you were wearing green…the same color as your eyes. I stopped and stared, but you were with another man, and I couldn’t intrude….”

“Who was the man?”

“An older man.” His broad shoulders lifted casually. “A cousin, perhaps. I really can’t say. I was too involved with watching you to pay much attention to your escort.” He closed his eyes and smiled in dreamy reflection as he leaned his head back against the chair. “I can still remember how your skin gleamed beneath the lamplight and how tantalizing the curves of your breasts were beneath your gown….”

Lenore lifted a palmetto fan from a table near the chaise and leisurely applied its function toward the cooling of her cheeks, prompting Malcolm to open one eye and peer at her with a confident smile. She averted her face from his amused regard, irked that he should find any pleasure in her blush.

“If it was a cousin of mine, then we must have been in England. I don’t have any kin here in America anymore.” She issued the statements as if she were reading a humdrum report, and then glanced up at him with an inquiry, fervently hoping to find some gap in his story. “Can you describe the interior of the manor house in England?”

He placed the fingertips of both hands together as he delved into reflections. “I was there only briefly as a guest, so I didn’t see all the rooms, but there was a large central room…or, as your father called it, a great hall. Next to that was a long room with a huge hearth and stone stairs.”

“Do you remember if there was anything on the wall?”

He paused a long moment in deep thought. “Portraits of your ancestors, I think, and some shields and crests.” He canted his head as another memory came to mind. “There were also two other portraits hanging there, one of you and the other of your sister…larger replicas of the ones your father gave Judge Cassidy.”

Lenore shivered inside as his words struck a familiar chord within her. She could almost see the pair of paintings mounted side by side above the hearth. “Where did you say they were?”

“Above the fireplace, I think.” He nodded after a thoughtful search of his memory. “Yes, that’s where they were.”

Her hopes sank to a dismal level with his affirmation, and she felt drained and listless as she continued the interrogation: “You undoubtedly knew my portrait was at my grandfather’s house, but I’ve been wondering how you came by that information. Were you there before?”

“We went there together, my love. Don’t you remember?”

Lenore frowned as she failed to recall the event. “No, I don’t.”

He seemed amazed that she should forget. “Don’t you recall how upset you were when you learned of your grandfather’s death? The house was closed up by then, and you kept blaming yourself for having left him as you did.”

Lenore raised her head in alert attention. “How did we get there? I mean, did we walk…?”

“We took a barouche, and you were sobbing so much I wondered if I’d have to find a doctor to give you some laudanum.”

The piece fit neatly into the puzzle, but it gave her no pleasure to know that it was Malcolm who had comforted her in that faraway memory. She was earnestly trying to assimilate this latest bit of information when another question came to haunt her: “Where did you say we were married?”

“Here in Biloxi,” he replied easily. “I came to live here, and it was not very long after that that you decided to move from England and also take up residence here.” He gave her a slow grin. “I like to think you made that choice because of me.” He detected a small, puzzled quirk in her frown and let a long sigh slip from his lips as he lifted his gaze toward the ceiling. “We’ve known each other for some time now…three or so years, I guess. I keep thinking, all the years…forgotten. It seems like such a waste.”

“I’m sorry if my condition distresses you, Malcolm.” Her tone held no emotion. “It distresses me even more.”

“I’m sure it does, my love,” he murmured softly, lowering his head to stare at her. “But there’s no reason why we can’t renew some of those memories.”

Lenore took a warning from his warming smile. His eyes had grown dark and now smoldered with a light that made her fearful of what the next moments would bring. Flicking downward in one bold caress, his gaze seemed to strip her bare, and there was almost a leer lifting the corner of his lips when he raised his eyes to meet hers again. “There are times when a man needs to be reassured, and it’s been some time since we’ve made love….”

By some inner strength Lenore subdued her quaking and attempted to appear casual as she deliberately misread his meaning. “What assurances do you need, Malcolm? If you still have any qualms about Ashton, I told you that he was very polite while I was there.” She lifted her shoulders in a shrug and for his consideration put forth several conjectures that would hopefully ease the impact of her rejection: “I don’t know, but it’s possible that Dr. Page said something to Ashton about the delicacy of my condition and persuaded him to treat me gently. It’s difficult to say how I might have reacted had I been forced. Surely the shock would have caused me to suffer serious trauma. Even now, whenever I’m upset, I start to have strange visions. I even imagine a man being beaten and murdered….”

Malcolm’s eyebrows came up in surprise. “Murdered?”

“Oh, I know how strange it sounds, Malcolm, but during moments of stress, I begin to hallucinate. I really can’t say whether I begin to recall, in visions, events I’ve actually experienced or if it’s just my imagination creating horrible illusions. Whatever the case, it’s very disturbing.” She hoped fervently that a small part of her father’s talent for acting had rubbed off on her and that she was being successful in convincing Malcolm of her frailty. It would ease her mind considerably if she could live in the house without fear of rape. “Can you understand how I might have been affected if I had been coerced?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” He seemed almost eager to placate her fears. “I wouldn’t want you to be upset about anything, my dear. I want you to get well as quickly as possible.”