Come Love a Stranger

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  Moving steathily to the door of her adversary’s room, she pressed an ear to the smooth panels and listened for any sign of stirring from within. Willabelle’s voice was heard, but her tone was low and muted, making the words inaudible. It hardly mattered. Marelda had not expected the lazy twit to raise herself from her bed and join them for dinner. She had not made the effort all week, seeming rather to dote on the idea of her frailty.

  The fool! Marelda smirked. While she languishes weak and pallid amid her lace pillows, I shall have my way with Ashton. He will surely have second thoughts about claiming her as his long-lost wife.

  Marelda hummed gaily as she descended the stairs. She was feeling light of spirit with Ashton so close within her grasp. After all, she was quite a beautiful woman, and she was not unknowledgeable about seduction, having used it on other men at her whim. Though she had not been without certain pleasures, she had always been careful to maintain her virginity, gaining for herself the reputation of a tease. It was not that she was averse to yielding herself to such amorous adventures, but knowing the perils of total submission, she had been reluctant to endanger her chances of becoming Ashton’s wife.

  Wanting the surprise to be complete, Marelda softened her footsteps upon nearing the parlor and gained a vantage point at the door without being noticed. Amanda and Aunt Jennifer sat in a pair of chairs near the fireplace and were concentrating on their needlework as they listened to the music. Ashton sat closer to the entry and seemed equally absorbed in his effort. The slightly wistful expression that flitted across his profile hinted of some deep, hidden yearning, which she could not fully fathom. She was half-afraid it had something to do with the woman upstairs. That could not be allowed!

  “Good evening,” she bade warmly from the doorway and immediately gained the attention she sought. Ashton looked around, and the music stopped abruptly, causing the two siblings to glance up in wonder. Aunt Jennifer’s eyes went to the door and widened, then narrowed with a sudden grimace as the needle pricked her finger. Sucking the abused digit, she stared at the younger woman with a disturbed frown.

  “Good heavens,” Amanda exclaimed beneath her breath and pressed a hand to her throat as she sagged back in her chair.

  Only Ashton took their guest’s entry in stride and rose to his feet with a smile of mild amusement. “Good evening, Marelda.”

  The brunette indicated the harpsichord. “Do you mind if I join you?”

  “Please do,” Ashton replied, lifting his own hand toward the piece in polite response. He waited until she had seated herself, then settled into his chair again. She ran her fingers over the keys in light practice, then paused, giving him a nod to begin. The entrancing melody began anew, filling the house with haunting refrains. Then the keys of the harpsichord intruded, and the flowing strains were quickly overwhelmed by the loud twanging notes that seemed either half a beat behind or ahead of the cello. Aunt Jennifer cringed as Marelda attacked the keys, and though she tried to concentrate on the tapestry she was creating, her effort won her several more jabs from the sharp needle. Amanda kept her pained frown averted, but her inclination to nod her head in a subconscious effort to urge Marelda into a more timely pace drew Ashton’s notice. He subdued a smile and showed mercy on the two aging siblings by bringing the piece to a graceful end. For a moment he adjusted and tested the strings, feigning dissatisfaction with his own performance. As she waited for him to continue, Marelda left her bench and approached the sideboard where a set of crystal decanters resided on a silver tray. Keeping her back to Ashton, she took up a wineglass and poured herself a liberal brandy, then returned to stand before the man who consumed her interest.

  Amanda glanced apprehensively toward their guest and found Marelda’s bosom straining over the top of her gown. Her own cheeks grew warm at the immodest display of a magenta peak rising above the woman’s gown. The huge grandfather clock chimed out the hour, and the elder woman gratefully consulted its face for a diversion. “Wherever is Willabelle? She’s usually been in and out several times by now, fretting about the table or fussing about the slowness of the kitchen help.”

  Ashton answered without bothering to lift his gaze. “She’s probably out there now, stirring Bertha into a nervous frenzy.”

  Here was a topic that had long roused Marelda’s irritation. “You allow your people far too much latitude, Ashton. Willabelle runs the house as if it were her own.”

  Deliberately Ashton made the cello screech, driving the harping woman back a step, and then seeming intent upon his task, he bent closer to lend a careful ear to the tuning of the strings.

  Marelda was not willing to dismiss the subject. “You pamper your servants far too much. Why, anyone would think they were family, the way you coddle them.”

  “I don’t coddle them, Marelda,” he stated quietly but firmly, “but I did lay out a goodly sum of money to purchase them, and I see no reason to devalue my investments by mistreatment.”

  “I’ve heard it rumored that you even allow them a credit for their services, and that after several years they have the chance to buy their freedom. Are you aware of the laws concerning the freeing of slaves?”

  Slowly Ashton raised his gaze, briefly noting her display as his eyes traveled upward. He showed neither shock nor interest as he calmly considered her. “Any slave who wants his freedom above everything else ceases to be valuable to me, Marelda. At the first chance he gets, he’s going to run away, and chains would make him useless. If any are set on going, I let them work off their worth, and then I ship them to safety. It’s as simple as that, and I break no laws.”

  “It’s a wonder you have anyone working for you.”

  “I believe we’ve already discussed the success of Belle Chêne. I see no reason to belabor the point.” Halting further debate, he again stroked the strings with the bow, making them sing. He involved himself in a delicate air, soothing his irritation by slow degrees, while he filled his mind with thoughts of Lierin. He had paused at her door before coming down, only to be told by Willabelle that his wife was indisposed. He had felt a need to see her and, after his failure, had grown pensive, wondering how long she would hide from him and if she would ever accept the fact of their marriage.

  He glanced around, and for a moment, he thought he was imagining the vision that had come to stand in the doorway. His hands paused and his breath slowed as the last trembling note of a plucked string slowly died in the sudden silent parlor. It was a sight the likes of which he had formed in his mind many times in the past three years, but now, it was very wonderfully real.

  “Lierin!” Did he speak or only think the word?

  Marelda swished around in surprise, sloshing the brandy over the rim of the goblet onto her wide skirts. She stared at the one in the doorway, and her mind moaned and roiled in abject frustration.

  Just behind Lierin and alert to lend a hand or assistance, stood a grinning Willabelle, obviously proud of this creation and her own part in it. The housekeeper had settled the matter of Lierin’s identity in her own mind, accepting her as mistress without reservation, and wanted to aid in her advancement to that position in whatever fashion she could.

  Ashton came to his feet and could feel the quickening thud of his heart as he savored every detail of his wife’s beauty. Her red hair had been gathered on top of her head in a loose swirl and formed soft waves where it had been brushed up and away from her face. The effect was as alluring as her gown, which seemed to float around her in a pale pink cloud. The long, voluminous sleeves were made of sheer silk and were bound at the wrists with satin cuffs that matched the band about her neck. A high, frothy ruff rose from the narrow collar and seemed prim to a fault, but he knew that the fullness beneath the bodice was all woman. Though pale from the exertion of reaching the parlor, she was a living portrait of feminine beauty. All thought of Marelda fled his mind. Indeed, it was as if only two people were in the room. Their eyes met and held, and all he could see was a lovely face with twin green vortices that threate
ned to engulf him.

  A worried smile tugged at her lips, but her gaze never wavered from his, though she addressed them all. “Willabelle said it would be all right if I came down to join you for the evening meal,” she murmured in half-apology. “I don’t wish to impose, so if you’ve planned otherwise, I can dine in my room.”

  “I will not hear of it!” Ashton’s words were almost an explosion as he set the cello aside and stepped forward to take her hand. Tucking her arm safely through his, he spoke past her: “Willabelle, see that another place is set.”

  “No need, Massa Ashton.” The woman chuckled as she saw her charge delivered into another’s care, and she shuffled off, continuing over her shoulder, “It already been took care of. Yassuh! Yassuh!”

  “Please.” Leirin lifted her gaze to the warmth of his. “I heard you playing. Will you continue?”

  “If you will join me,” he murmured.

  “Join you?” Lierin suffered through a moment of confusion until he indicated the harpsichord; then she hurried to deny the possibility. “Oh, but I can’t…or at least, I don’t think I can….”

  “We’ll see if it comes back to you.” Ashton led her to the instrument and picked out a brief, brisk tune on the keyboard as she sank to the tapestry-covered bench. Tentatively she placed her fingers where his had been and ran through the same ditty. She laughed at her accomplishment and glanced up at him. With a growing smile, he played a longer portion, and she repeated it with rising enthusiasm. When he brushed her skirts aside, she quickly slid over on the bench, allowing him more room as he sat beside her. They played a short duet together, Lierin’s pale fingers flicking over the higher keyboard, while Ashton dealt with the lower. Much to her own surprise, an amusing verse came to mind, and she sang it in a lilting voice, shrugging in amazement as the words seemed to flow unbidden from some unknown source. At its conclusion, they dissolved in laughter, and when his arm came around her and brought her close, it seemed a natural reaction to relax against him.

  “That was most delightful, madam. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure, sir,” she responded brightly.

  Marelda ground her teeth as she saw her plans for the evening tumbling in a wasted effort around her heels. Listening to the sounds of their gaiety while she had to watch the two of them nuzzling each other almost made her nauseated. It was extremely humiliating to be sitting with her bosom overflowing her gown while she was ignored and all but forgotten by the same man whose eyes brazenly devoured the auburn-haired wench. If not for her pride, she would have risen to her feet and stalked out of the room.

  Marelda’s repugnance was not shared by all. Amanda was grateful for Lierin’s presence, for the young woman had lifted her spirits as much as she had Ashton’s. When Amanda considered the pair and how well they complemented the other, Marelda’s attire faded from mind. Lierin was as beautiful and feminine as Ashton was handsome and masculine, and the good looks of each were enhanced by the contrast with the other. Truly, the match seemed without flaw.

  Amanda exchanged a pleased smile with her sister, and no words were needed to communicate their mutual satisfaction. Their only regret was that it had taken so long for them to meet this delightful addition to the family, this Lierin.

  Dinner was announced, and Ashton escorted his wife to the place reserved for the mistress of the house, at the opposite end from where he sat. Marelda was left to make her way unattended into the dining hall, and following them, she suffered several jabs from the sharp horns of jealousy as she noted the way Ashton’s hand lingered on the narrow waist and lightly stroked above it. Petulantly waving away Willis’s help, Marelda waited beside her chair for Ashton to lend her aid. When he finally turned to give assistance, she let her handkerchief fall to the floor in the guise of carelessness and deliberately waited until he had stepped forward to pick up the cloth before reaching for it herself, thereby allowing him an unrestricted view of her bosom. The two older ladies were just entering the room and missed the exhibition, but Lierin saw the ploy for what it was. She realized Willabelle had spoken the truth concerning Marelda. The brunette was out to snare Ashton, and apparently she had no reservations about the tactics she employed.

  Ashton’s gaze did not waver as it passed the magenta-crested breasts and dropped to the handkerchief. Retrieving the delicate linen, he placed it beside Marelda’s plate, then looked back to see Lierin’s reaction. At her wondering stare, he gave a quick shrug of his brows, knowing of no other way to reassure her while they were in the other’s presence.

  “It’s certainly good to have you with us, my dear,” Amanda said as she paused at Lierin’s chair and patted her arm affectionately.

  “Oh, it is,” Aunt Jennifer agreed.

  Lierin was moved by their sincerity. She blinked back the sudden moisture that blurred her vision and smiled in gratitude. “Thank you.”

  During the meal Marelda found no relief from her anxieties. Even though she translated Lierin’s shyness and demureness into caution and coyness and observed her with the eagerness of a snake ready to devour its prey, she failed to find any definite flaw that she could point an accusing finger to. She was distressed by the thought that this would be the way things went henceforth, that she would forever see this usurper at the focal point of attention, while she looked on from a distance. She could hardly ignore the eagerness of family and servants to accept the red-haired woman as Ashton’s wife.

  When the meal was concluded, Lierin’s strength began to flag, and she begged to be excused, knowing how quickly total exhaustion could come upon her. Ashton asked the same for himself and, ignoring Marelda’s glare, carefully assisted his wife from the room. Lierin had grown stiff from sitting, and her gait was cautiously slow. Ashton noted her difficulty and paused in the hall to lift her in his arms. He was just as observant of the grimace that briefly touched her features.

  “I’m sorry.” His face was touched with concern. “Did I hurt you?”

  “It’s nothing, really,” she hastened to assure him. “Just a bruise on my back.” Her cheeks grew warm as she settled cautiously against him and slipped her arms around his neck. Whenever she touched him, her mind was overwhelmed with a searing awareness of his hardened frame and the manly virility he exuded. She was beginning to understand Marelda’s reluctance to give him up. In truth, the idea of being this man’s wife was beginning to settle in with a multitude of pleasing aspects.

  Ashton’s brows came together as he recalled Willabelle’s comments about the place on her back. “Do you know how you got the bruise?”

  Lierin replied with a small shrug. “From the accident, I suppose.”

  “Willabelle thought someone might have hit you. Can you recall anything happening like that?”

  “No, not at all. I can’t imagine why anybody would do such a thing.”

  “Would you be averse to showing me the place?” he asked. He met her surprised and somewhat wary gaze, and his eyes sparkled into hers. “Only to appease my curiosity, my dear.”

  Lierin smiled as she teased: “Though I cannot be sure, sir, I suspect I’ve heard better excuses from several unworthy knaves.”

  His grin grew slightly roguish. “I haven’t forgotten that you have a very nice back, madam, certainly one worthy of admiration. You can hardly blame me for finding an excuse to view it.” Arriving at her door, he pushed it open and bore her across the threshold. “In fact, I remember quite distinctly that every part of you is noteworthy.” His eyes dipped to caress her breast, halting her breath with his bold gaze. “You’re very soft and womanly….”

  Lierin hastened to redirect his attention to something less disturbing. “I fear I’ve become a burden this evening…taking you away from your family and guest.”

  “On the contrary, my love, I am indebted to you for providing me an excuse to escape.”

  She gave him a slanted glance and could not resist a gentle gibe. “I thought you might have enjoyed her game.”

  Ashton’s eyes took on a glow
ing sheen as they again touched her bosom. “I’ve seen better, especially when I’ve been privileged to entertain my present companion.”

  Her body tingled beneath his heated perusal, and she could not subdue a blush as a thrill rushed through her. Her voice was small as she reminded him, “I think you can put me down now….”

  Despite the gnawing ache in the pit of his stomach, Ashton resumed his jovial demeanor as he placed her on the downturned covers of the tester bed. “Delivered safe and sound to your bed, madam, and I judge, with no more bruises. Yet I would say you’ve a trifle overdressed for bed. Do you care for assistance?”

  She declined his offer with a soft chuckle of amusement. “I think I’ll wait for Willabelle to unfasten me.”

  “What? And ignore these willing hands? Madam, surely a husband can do such a service without tarnishing his wife’s good reputation.” His white teeth gleamed beneath a widening grin. “I promise to be a gentleman.”

  Lierin cocked a brow at him, conveying her distrust. “No doubt a married gentleman who takes his liberties seriously.”

  “Of course!” he teased. “How else should I take them?”

  She laughed. “I really don’t think I’m safe in here with you.”

  “Come now, madam. Will a man ravish his own wife?”

  “If he’s desperate enough,” she replied pertly.

  “I am that, madam,” he freely admitted, “but where does trust begin? If I can restrain myself while unfastening your gown, will you not, then, be reassured that my first concern is for you and your rapid recovery?”

  “I grow weary of the argument.” She resigned herself with far less reluctance than caution demanded. Indeed, she almost felt as if she were throwing reason and security to the wind. What was there about the man that made her so pliable with him? He was handsome; none could deny the fact, but there was a quality of manliness that very much appealed to her. “Mind well your words, sir. Trust is very important in anyone’s marriage.”