A sad, wistful look replaced Lenore’s smile as that girl-child of her dreams flickered back through her memory. “She’s dead.”

“Oh, I really am sorry, Mrs. Sinclair.” The man spoke softly in sympathy. “I didn’t know.” He shook his head sadly. “First your husband, and then your sister. I’ve got to admire your spirit for being so brave after such losses.”

She glanced up at him in wide curiosity. “My husband?”

Joseph looked at her strangely. “Why, yes. You were a widow when you first came here.” He scratched his head in bemusement. “At least, that’s what I thought you said, but I could be wrong. We really never talked much, only to pass the time of day now and then. Why, it was hardly a month or so ago that I actually learned about your marriage to Mr. Sinclair.”

Her head swam with a flurry of confused images. From the vague, featureless forms, she knew instinctively that one was her father. Though he remained hardly more than a shadow, he stood with outstretched arms, bidding her to come and be comforted. A phantomlike form moved beside her, seeming to urge her toward the elder man, and this one she knew was Malcolm.

“There you are!” The familiar voice came from behind her.

Blinking, she turned as Malcolm hurried toward her, and for a brief moment, she had trouble sorting reality from illusion. In her mind she saw him being clapped on the back by a sturdy male hand.

“I didn’t know you were going to leave the carriage,” Malcolm chided a bit crisply. “You worried me, leaving like that.”

“I’m sorry, Malcolm,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean to upset you, but it was very hot out there.”

Malcolm realized Mr. Blackwell was watching them in a curious manner and reluctantly explained, “My wife has been sick. I hope she hasn’t bothered you too much.” He ignored the startled glance his wife shot him. “She’s been a bit confused lately and can’t seem to remember too well.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Blackwell responded kindly.

Malcolm smiled stiffly. “If you don’t mind, we must be on our way now.” He made the appropriate apologies. “I’m sorry. I had arranged to meet her father at a certain time, and we’re late now. Good day to you, sir.”

Holding Lenore’s arm in an almost painful vise, he escorted her out and across the boardwalk, then handed her into the carriage. He frowned at her when he took the place beside her. “I told you not to leave.”

“It was hot out here,” she complained with rising ire. “And you were taking your own good time. I think the only reason you wanted me to come is because you were afraid of what Ashton would do while you were gone.”

“I’m not afraid of that bastard,” Malcolm muttered.

“I can’t see why you were so persistent about me staying here. I had a nice chat with Mr. Blackwell.”

“Oh?” His eyes were cold as they came upon her. “What did the old man have to say?”

“Something interesting.” A light frown touched the creamy visage. “Why didn’t you tell me I was a widow when you married me?”

Malcolm’s brows lowered in pique. “I thought it would only confuse you more if you knew. That’s one of the reasons I’ve been trying to shield you from the gossip in town. I just didn’t know what kind of trauma it would cause.” He seemed most inquisitive as he asked, “What else did your friendly storekeeper have to relate?”

“Nothing, really. From what he said, I gathered he didn’t know me too well. We didn’t have too much time to talk before you came in.”

Relaxing back in the seat, Malcolm lifted his hat and wiped a handkerchief across his brow. “It is hot,” he stated in a more pleasant tone. “I’m sorry I wasn’t more considerate. I just got tied up and couldn’t get away.”

Lenore’s curiosity had not yet been appeased, and she ventured, “Do you know anything about my first husband?”

The heavy shoulders lifted casually. “I think some kind of fever took him shortly after the two of you were married. Beyond that, I don’t remember too much of what you told me about him, except that he lived on an island in the Caribbean.”

“His name…do you know his name?” Lenore pressed.

Malcolm ran the handkerchief along the inside of the hatband and glanced at her askance as he replied, “Cameron Livingston.”

“Livingston…Livingston…” She rolled the name over and over on her tongue, finding that it had a familiar ring. “Yes, I think I’ve heard the name before.” The delicate brows came together as she tested her given name with it. “Lenore Livingston? Lenore…Livingston. Lenore Livingston! Yes! I know I’ve heard it before.” She laughed, pleased at her accomplishment. “Perhaps I’m beginning to remember again. Oh, that would be so nice if I could.”

The dark eyes turned to her above a wan smile. “It’s been some time now since your accident. I’m beginning to wonder if your memory will ever come back and if you’ll remember what we once meant to each other.”

“I remember more than I did when I came here,” she admitted. “It’s coming back slowly, but at least I’m making progress.”

Malcolm reached for the thin valise that he had tossed on the far seat. “There are some papers here your father wants you to sign. We’re going now to meet him. Are you up to it?”

“Do you suppose we can make it another day?” she asked. The intolerable heat had drained her. “I don’t feel up to reading right now.”

“You really don’t have to read anything, my dear. Your father has taken care of that for you.”

“My father brought me up better than that. He’ll expect me to heed his advice.” She canted her head, wondering where that notion had come from.

Malcolm sighed impatiently. “Really, Lenore. The documents are not important enough that they must be read over in detail.”

“I’d rather not attend to the matter just now, Malcolm,” she stated, rather firmly. She resented being pressured by him. “If my father wishes to bring the papers home, I’ll read them there. That is the most I will promise.”

He responded with a derisive snort. “You’ve gotten very high-minded lately, especially since that nigger lover has roosted on our front lawn. Don’t forget, madam, that I am your husband…not Ashton Wingate. You’ll give me the respect that is due me.”

Lenore’s amazement was complete. She saw no reason for him to fly into a temper over her delay in signing papers that he had said himself were not important. “Malcolm, I only ask to be allowed to read the papers.”

“Well, it’s almost an insult the way you insist. It sounds as if you don’t trust me…or your father. We’re only seeking what is best for you.”

“My father taught me long ago to look after my own interests.”

“To hell with your father!”

“Malcolm!” She stared at him in astonishment. “I see no reason for this display of temper.”

“I can!” he snapped. “I ask you to do one simple thing, but you refuse. I bet if your precious Mr. Wingate were here, you’d fall all over yourself doing what he asked.”

“Your jealousy is showing,” she said soberly.

“Isn’t it the truth?” His dark eyes fairly snapped as he threw the accusation at her. “If you had the chance, you’d take that bastard into your bed.”

“Malcolm, you’re going too far,” she warned.

“By doing what? Calling him a bastard or you a bitch?”

Lenore gasped in outrage and, now in a high-flown temper herself, rapped the handle of her parasol crisply on the small door behind the driver. “Henry, you may let me off here, please,” she requested when the tiny portal came open. “I have some further shopping to do.”

“You’re not getting out!” Malcolm protested as the servant brought the conveyance to a halt. “I’m going to take you home.”

“Then you’ll have to kill me here and now, Malcolm, because if you don’t let me out of this carriage this instant, I’m going to create such a scene that you won’t be able to stay in this town another day.” The words were slowly and carefully enunciated and the determination in the emerald eyes convinced him that she meant everything she had said. If he did not use caution and let her go, he could expect to take the consequences.

“If you get out, then you’ll have to walk home,” he threatened.

“Gladly!” Lenore glared at him. “Just move out of my way.”

Her face was flushed and angry as she pushed open the door. Without a backward glance, she descended to the rutted thoroughfare and, snapping open her parasol, marched toward the boardwalk, heedless of the activity on the road. To an oncoming team and wagon, she gave little regard except a brief, cold-eyed glare that might have done much to shrivel the pride of the stout team. They had made large men scurry out of the way, but this trim lass did not display a flicker of fear. The team’s driver sawed hard on the reins, turning the pair aside and shouting as he passed her. “Are you crazy, lady? You almost got yourself killed!”

Lenore mumbled beneath her breath. “Rude despicable lout! God only knows why I ever married him! I wish I had never seen him.”

She stepped onto the boardwalk and walked briskly past several shops. A tall, nice-looking man who was leaning on a storefront ahead of her saw her coming and, with a sudden gleam of admiration in his eye, gallantly swept off his tall, beaver hat.

“Good morning, miss. Can I be of assistance?”

Ignoring him, she stalked past, and with a hurried twist of his body, the roué fell in behind. He ogled the shapely back as if the stylish clothes did not hinder his view of the slender body they covered and smiled broadly when she tossed a glower over her shoulder. She passed another doorway and drew a long, slow whistle from the barber, who was plying his razor to the well-lathered face of a customer.

“She’s a redhead, all right,” he commented in appreciation. “Hotter’n some of them peppers the Cajuns grow in Louisiana.”

The one he attended raised his head to view this sight, and even with a hurried glimpse of her profile through the window, Ashton could not mistake that fair face.

“Lierin!” He threw himself from the chair, and, snatching the towel from his neck, used it to wipe the soap from his face. He dodged several chairs and men on the way out, causing one to start when he dropped the soapy linen in his lap.

“Your coat, sir!” the barber called after him. “You’re leaving your coat!”

“I’ll come back for it!” Ashton flung over his shoulder. He ran after the sprightly stepping woman, gaining the attention of the man who was following closely in her wake. That one frowned and set his arms akimbo in obvious vexation when Ashton ran past him.

When a hand came upon her arm, Lenore came around, ready to jab the pointed end of the parasol into the one who boldly accosted her until she looked up and recognized the handsome face that grinned down at her.

“Ashton! What are you doing here?”

“I followed you and Malcolm into town,” he admitted, “and then when I saw you get in the carriage, I decided I’d get myself a shave.”

She laughed as she rubbed a streak of soap from his cheek. “I don’t think you waited for the barber to finish.”

Ashton scraped a hand over his bristly chin. “Forgive my appearance, madam. I left in a hurry this morning.” He tossed a glance up and down the street. “What are you doing here? Where’s your carriage?”

Lenore lifted her slim nose into the air, still miffed at the one who had caused her anger. “I sent Malcolm and our carriage on their way.”

A sparkle of interest began to gleam in Ashton’s eyes. “Malcolm left you here alone?”

“I suppose my father is still here somewhere.” She gave a flippant shrug. “Though I really don’t care one way or the other.”

Stepping aside, Ashton laid a hand behind her shoulder and swept an arm before them. “If you’d allow me time to get my coat, madam, I’ll be more than happy to escort you wherever you desire to go.”

The handsome roué stood stock-still in the middle of the boardwalk, his feet braced apart and his hands set low on his hips. He might have been slow with his approach, but this wench was clearly one to squabble over. He made no move to step out of their way. Ashton met his challenging gaze with hardening eyes, then lightly handed the lady past the man. When she was securely beyond all danger, Ashton came back with his arm, sharply jabbing an elbow into the man’s chest, right below the rib cage. The fellow staggered back, surprised at the tenacity of this one who had whisked the lady right from under his nose.

“Begone with you if you have a care for your hide,” Ashton growled low. He was not about to endure another man’s interference. “This one is mine.”

The man regained his breath and caught Ashton’s shoulder, ready to make a protest. “I saw her first…”

The frilly parasol was snapped shut in a second, and the pointed end quickly found a tender spot in the roués ribs. He yelped in sudden pain and, deciding the pair were too much for him, stepped into a stance of surrender.