Lenore’s elation was promptly smothered beneath Malcolm’s threats. There was no telling how far his hatred would push him, nor could she expect his anger to ebb before the two men met. Somehow she would have to warn Ashton not to come ashore, but how could she manage that?

“The only thing about firearms,” Somerton mumbled, “is that one can never be quite sure of the other man’s abilities. We heard that Wingate is a dangerous man to tangle with. If he’s as good a shot as they say, I’d advise you to take care.”

Lenore stared at her father in surprise, remembering the afternoon when he had come to Belle Chêne and boasted of Malcolm’s skill with firearms. Now here he was warning that same man of his rival’s reputation. What sort of game was he playing?

“He may be good,” Malcolm sneered, “but I think not good enough.” He looked smug as he caressed the barrel of the weapon. “The only way Wingate will be able to leave here without confronting me is to turn that damned boat around and go back to New Orleans.”

“Do you plan to watch the steamer all the time?” Somerton inquired in amazement.

Malcolm turned to glower over his shoulder, bestowing it on the elder man. “No, Papa, you’re going to help me.”

The winged brows shot up in surprise and then gathered in a disturbed frown. “I’ll watch for you, but I won’t touch that fowling piece. I don’t know the first thing about guns.”

Malcolm smiled blandly. “You won’t need to. I intend to keep that pleasure for myself.”

A strange, brooding uneasiness crept over Lenore and settled as a cold lump in the pit of her stomach. Something was wrong, but she was not quite sure what. She could only lay it to her concern for Ashton and expressed her worry in a timid question: “You wouldn’t really murder him, would you?”

Malcolm’s answer was cold and deliberate: “It won’t be murder, my dear. I have a right to protect what is mine, and it should be obvious to all of us what the man intends. He’s come to steal you away from me.”

“Perhaps if you let me talk with him,” she cajoled. “I’m sure he’ll leave if I explain that I’m here of my own free will.”

Malcolm tossed his head up with a short, jeering laugh. “I’ve heard about your precious Mr. Wingate. Nothing can deter him if he wants something badly enough.” He strode along the balustrade without taking his eyes off the distant vessel and slowly retraced his steps in the same manner. “The man has his gall, anchoring offshore like that, right there where he can spy on us.” Becoming more incensed, Malcolm threw a hand toward the steamer. “Look at him! He’s even gotten himself a glass!”

Somerton squinted bloodshot eyes toward the vessel, trying to focus on the one who provoked them. The long brass cylinder glinted beneath the sun as the other stared through it, making it easier for Somerton to spot it. “By jove, so he has.”

Lenore could hardly keep her own gaze from wandering to that tall figure. She could almost feel the touch of Ashton’s unswerving stare through the glass. Her cheeks were flushed, but it had naught to do with the morning heat.

“I wish I had a dozen cannons right now,” Malcolm ground through his teeth. “I’d blow that bloody fool out of the water just to see him come sailing down in tiny pieces.”

Lenore felt a desperate need to try again. “Would you let me send him a letter?”

“No!” Malcolm barked. “He can sit out there until I figure a way to get to him; then I’ll make sure he won’t bother us ever again. He’ll soon know which of us is the better man.”

Joy was as irresistible as the tide. It came sweeping back upon Lenore when the men left her to her thoughts. The knowledge that Ashton had cared enough to come after her made her almost giddy, and for a time she thrust aside the qualms that Malcolm’s threats had provoked and relented to the pleasure of knowing that Ashton was near. She pressed both hands to her mouth to squelch an insane giggle of sheer happiness, while her shoulders trembled with the effort to suppress the urge. Meghan was puttering about the room, readying her bath, and it seemed foolish to rouse the woman’s suspicions when she had found no cause to trust her. Still, it was difficult to contain her elation, especially when the maid would glance toward her as if she sensed some change. Finally curiosity had its way.

“Be ye feelin’ all right, mum?” Meghan inquired.

Lenore nodded eagerly and tried to hide the threatening smile as she lowered her hands to her lap. “Yes.” She cleared her throat to disguise the laughter in her tone. “Why do you ask?”

Meghan pursed her mouth as she regarded her mistress. During these last weeks she had watched the young woman and been saddened by the way she had resigned herself to her fate and dutifully gone through the motions required of her while in the men’s presence, but in her chambers the girl had moped and stared wistfully out to sea as if longing for something more. Now the green eyes danced with a lively élan, and for the first time since coming to the house the mistress seemed really alive. Earlier the angry voices of the men had carried into the house from the veranda, and Meghan had found it hard to ignore them. They had declared there was a man on board the steamer who intended to take the lady, and as Meghan considered the transformation, she determined it would not be entirely by force.

“Ye needn’t be afraid o’ me, mum,” she assured her mistress. “I’ve formed no loyalties to Mr. Sinclair, if that’s what ye be thinkin’.”

Lenore stared at the maid, somewhat taken aback by her perception, and sought to hide behind a cloak of innocence, afraid to reveal the secrets of her heart. “Whatever are you talking about, Meghan?”

The woman folded her hands over her apron and inclined her head toward the stern-wheeler. “I know there’s a man out there who’s come here for ye, an’ by the shine on yer face, I’d say ye’re not too disappointed.”

Lenore’s eyes widened in alarm. She bounced from the bed and, rushing to Meghan, grasped her arm with an intense admonition: “You mustn’t tell anyone that I’m glad he’s here. Not anyone. Especially Mr. Sinclair or my father. Please. They both hate Mr. Wingate, and I don’t know what either of them will do.”

“Rest yer worries, mum,” Meghan soothed, taking the slender hands within her own. “I was in love once meself, so I understand what ye be feelin’.”

Lenore was still careful. “How much do you know about me?”

With a shrug the maid replied, “Oh, I’ve heard the men talkin’ an’ know about ye losin’ yer memory an’ maybe thinkin’ ye were married to someone else.” She paused as a realization dawned and looked at her mistress closely, meeting that one’s hesitant gaze. “It’s him, isn’t it? I mean, it’s that Mr. Wingate ye thought was yer husband?”

Lenore lowered her eyes from the other’s probing stare and could see no reason to lie when the woman read her so well. “Yes, and I love him, but I’m trying hard not to….”

“A real task ye’ve laid for yerself, mum. I can see that.”

A slow nod of agreement came from Lenore. To cease caring for him would be difficult indeed, if not totally impossible.

The small desk clock had struck the second hour in delicate tones, while the larger timepiece in the downstairs hall seemed to echo its refrain in the silent house. Lenore did not pause as she carefully molded the shape of the pillows beneath the sheet. A moment later she stood back to survey her handiwork. A silvery shaft of moonlight streamed in through the windows, casting enough light over the bed so that anyone who came to look would have a view of her form. Under casual inspection, the pillows would add to the deception that she was still asleep, granting her enough time to slip out of the house and carry word out to Ashton that he must not come ashore. Malcolm’s threats had taken on a more serious note at dinner, and uncertain as to what he might do, she had made the determination that Ashton had to be warned. The chore boy had left the small dinghy near the water’s edge when he had gone fishing the day before, and it would provide her a way out to the River Witch. At her request, Meghan had borrowed some of the lad’s clothing but had carefully refrained from asking why she might have need of them, preferring to remain ignorant of her intentions.

Lenore stuffed the long, softly curling mass of auburn hair beneath a cap and wrinkled her nose in distaste as she checked her appearance in the standing mirror. The clothes were hardly the sort a genteel lady would wear. The shirt had no buttons to speak of, and she had tied it in a knot at her waist to hold it secure, leaving a deeply plunging décolletage. The breeches fit well enough, but were worn thin by age and use. The placket had no other fastenings except the cord that drew the garment tight about her waist. In all, she presented quite a wanton sight, and if she were caught, she might be accused of blatantly inviting rape. Just to be safe, she added a worn canvas coat.

As she prepared to leave, she paused beside the hall door and held an ear against the panel to listen. From the loud snores emerging from her father’s room, she could suppose that Malcolm’s chastening had convinced him that he should stay home for the night. That of course left only Malcolm to be wary of, but he was the one she feared most. He would not accept lame excuses. If she was caught, he would know immediately where she was bound.

Taking up a pair of string sandals, she slipped out onto the veranda and paused in the shadows to watch for any warning signs of movement. None were seen, and she continued her careful flight, easing down the stairs one slow step at a time. The bottom tread creaked slightly as her weight came upon it, and with bated breath she waited for a commanding shout to halt her flight. When none came and the flow of life returned to her fear-numbed body, she sprinted across the lower porch and hurried down the steps. She paused on the last to slip her feet into the sandals, then took off again across the lawn. The dinghy had been pulled up on the sand, and she placed the oars in the oarlocks and, with a fierce determination, dragged the heavy boat into the softly lapping waves.

Several lanterns had been lighted on the decks of the steamer, and the windows of Ashton’s quarters showed a faint glow. Turning her back on those directing beacons, she began to row out, now and then casting a glance over her shoulder to check her direction. It soon became apparent that she had misjudged the distance between the shore and the stern-wheeler. It was not long before her arms began to tremble and ache from the unaccustomed labor, and when she reached the craft, she rested over the oars, letting the dinghy bob against the side of the steamer while she waited for her strength to return. The tremor would not leave her arms, and it seemed only an effort of will would overcome her lagging energy. Gathering what she could from that source, she chose a dark spot near the stern to make her ascent, just in case Malcolm or Robert glanced toward the steamer, and with painter in hand pulled herself up, climbing over the planks that protected the lower deck. The difficult feat of boarding accomplished, she knotted the rope around a post and sagged against the deck to let some of the tension ease from her arms.

There were no lanterns nearby to reveal an approaching form, and she was not quite sure when she began to sense someone standing over her, but when the full realization struck, she rolled with a startled gasp, trying to avoid the hands that reached down to seize her. One grabbed her knee, while another the collar of the loose coat. Her panic was spurred on by the painful grasp, and she gave no thought to explaining her presence as she struggled frantically to free herself. Like a slippery eel she slithered out of the garment, leaving it in the man’s hand. She fell forward with a grimace as he tightened his hold on her leg, then his free hand dipped down to catch the back of her shirt, and her eyes widened in sudden dismay as she felt the knot come free. The armholes bit into her skin as the shirt caught, and then there was a long, rending tear as the garment split and made its departure. With a muffled cry she ducked and gathered her arms close over her naked bosom, trying to twist away before her modesty was completely savaged. The man growled a low curse and caught her again, this time by the arm while he hooked his other hand inside her belt. He snatched her up, nearly jerking the breath from her as the rope bit into her waist, and gave her a harsh shake.

“Who sent you out here, boy?” the man barked in her ear.

“Ashton!” Her gasp was one of relief as she recognized the deep voice. Never in her limited recall had she heard such a beautiful sound.