Desire and Deception (14 page)

"You found them?" Jason urged gently when Burroughs remained silent.

"Jonathan and Mary . . . and Andrea.
Their . . . remains."

Jason's gaze flew to the portrait again, his mind reeling. For an instant before logic once again ruled, he focused on the possibility that Andrea Carlin was dead. Yet she couldn't have died . . . not unless her spirit had somehow returned to the flesh and she had—

Jason forcibly repressed his wild imaginings. But his grip on Burroughs's wrist was stronger than necessary and his voice had a hoarse ring when he demanded what had become of the Carlin family.

"Rafael . . . and his gang tortured them. I can't describe . . . God, there was so much blood. Vicious animals. . . ."

"But not the daughter.
The girl was spared," Jason said in an unrecognizable voice.

"I suppose you could say that. Andrea was . . . She had been . . ."

Jason's heart lurched. "Rafael raped her?" he demanded, momentarily forgetting the virginal stains upon Lila's sheets.

"No, just my . . . poor sister Mary.
And it was not Rafael," Burroughs replied. "He wasn't capable of such an act. Eunuchs are not . . . That was why he took such pleasure in . . . castrating Jonathan. Only he didn't stop there . . . Rafael only watched while his men, his followers, had Mary and then . . . took a knife to her. By the time they turned to Andrea, they were almost blind with drink. They slashed her thighs and arms, before she managed to escape by way of the tunnel beneath the house. She collapsed there, but Jonathan and Mary . . ."

Burroughs's words were almost whispered as he told how his sister and brother-in-law had died, but as he continued to
recite,
his tone became less emotional, almost dispassionate. Still, Jason thought he had never seen such horror in a man's eyes as he saw in George Burroughs's. Jason felt the horror himself. He had been exposed to the bloody ravages of war for a number of years, and thought himself inured to gruesomeness, but his stomach churned as he listened.

By the end of the tale, Burroughs's breathing became more normal. He stared at the portrait, as if willing himself to remember the
Carlins
as they had been in life. "We had the story from the two men we caught. Rafael . . . got away."

Jason swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat. His fists clenched in apprehension, though, when Burroughs again spoke of the girl. "We thought Andrea would die, for she contracted a raging fever. I nursed her myself, I and her governess, but we couldn't stop her from screaming. She had to be tied to her bed to keep her from doing herself further physical damage.

"I will never forget the day she finally looked at me with lucidity in her eyes. It was like . . . breathing again . . . like receiving the gift of life. We were shocked to discover that she remembered none of what had happened.
Nor who she was."

Burroughs slumped back on his settee, rubbing his hand wearily across his forehead. "Andrea had totally stricken the past from her mind. I engaged a doctor from London, then, who said that her reaction was normal, considering what she had endured. The trauma had been so great that her mind was unable to accept reality. He told us not to force her memory to come back, that it would when she was ready. I was only too willing to comply, so grateful was I that she didn't recall the horrors she had witnessed. Afterward she was sometimes awakened by nightmares, but there were no further consequences. Except for her loss of memory and her voice, it was as if nothing had happened."

"Her voice?"
Jason repeated, remembering the huskiness he had thought so seductive at the time.

"I think her throat was damaged somehow by her screaming. Or it could have been from the ropes. There was a noose around her neck when I found her. She was just a child."

A tear followed a grooved path down Burroughs's cheek as his head lolled back against the settee. There was total silence in the room for a time. When next he opened his eyes, he met the cold fury in Jason's.

"It became my life's goal to protect her," Burroughs continued. "I always feared Rafael would return for Andrea, but he was not my only concern. There was Regina Carlin, as well. She stood to inherit Jonathan's fortune and his share in the company, were anything to happen to Andrea. At first I didn't suspect that Regina had been involved in the murders, even though one of the pirates had confessed that a woman had helped arrange their entrance into Carlin House. But when Regina learned that Andrea had survived, she came to me and proposed a scheme that would result in her legal possession of Jonathan's holdings. She—I still find it hard to believe Jonathan's sister could be so vengeful—Regina wanted to declare Andrea insane, have her committed to an institution. When I refused, she did her best to make the world believe her lies about my ward."

"Which is how the rumors of Andrea's madness got started, I presume."

Burroughs nodded. "I threatened Regina then, thinking that would convince her to give up her plans. But I also insisted that Andrea be confined to the house. She was unhappy, of course. I fear I alienated her affections, even though I had the best possible motives. I did not think it would be necessary for long, just until we managed to capture Rafael. I hired men to guard her, to see that Rafael could never succeed with any plans he might still harbor."

"These were the same men who followed your ward to London?"

"The same.
I insisted there always be someone nearby to protect her." He didn't mention that Lauren had objected to his patrols even more than her half sister had. Sighing, Burroughs added absently, "I suppose I could have moved her somewhere else, but Carlin House is easily defended if one is prepared. Jonathan built it to last for centuries. He intended to be king of his castle, and he was, for a time. At any rate, I told Andrea I was protecting her from smugglers who roamed the area—which was partly true. For centuries the cove below the cliff had been used for illicit activities. Jonathan had even capitalized on the trade at one time. There are hidden caves that are ideal for storage. It was there that Rafael . . ."

Now, the bite of the wind made Jason recall his intention of exploring the caves below him. The receding tide was at its lowest ebb, he noted with satisfaction. Tossing his greatcoat and coat on a slab, he clamped his makeshift torch between his teeth and leapt down the first step onto the footpath.

The path's entrance was marked by two shoulder-high boulders that huddled on the
clifftop
like silent sentries. The exit at the bottom angled off toward a short strip of beach that would be nearly submerged at high tide. To his far left, across the cove, was an identical stretch of sand, and from there a wider path—almost a road, in fact—wound like a gliding serpent from the sea.

The recent storm had added
a freshness
to the tang of salt and pungent odor of marine life, but it had also rendered the hewn path that led down the face of the cliff even more treacherous. The unlevel, slanting steps were slippery with rain and strewn with rocks. The rock overhang was even more of a challenge, for Jason was required to crouch down while closely hugging the cliff. By the time he reached the short drop to the beach, his shirt and waistcoat were damp with both sweat and salt spray.

On the beach, however, he was sheltered from the wind by the large rock formations, and he could see the channel that ran parallel to the cliff. The wide expanse of water was relatively calm behind the natural barrier of rock—and deep as well, Jason guessed. It would easily harbor a small ship and still be invisible except from directly above.

He couldn't access the yawning gap in the cliff wall except by swimming, but as he moved closer, he spied an adjacent entrance in the rock. After pausing to fire his torch with a flint, Jason squeezed his way through the narrow crevice and found himself balancing precariously on a ledge. It was far quieter here. Below him was sea water, gently swelling and lapping, and he could see the high-water marks on the walls of the cave.

The ledge was the only path. About a foot wide, it led toward the back of the cave, but a rough handrail of hewn rock made walking easy.

The ledge widened gradually after some ten yards and spilled out onto an almost level floor. As before, the path seemed to end, but the light from his torch showed Jason the entrance to a passageway set at an angle in the wall. The passage burrowed into the cliff rock and was scored with chisel marks, an indication that the opening had been widened by human hands.

As he entered the tunnel, his flame flickered and was reflected eerily from the damp walls. It steadied as he passed through a small cavern. The air was cool there, and still. Jason could hear only his own footsteps and a faint rumble made by the surf.

The caverns were numerous, he discovered, but none were large enough to accommodate much cargo.
Except for the last.
The
Leucothea
could have fit in the giant chamber four times over. Entering the vast subterranean vault, Jason instantly felt the cold—a bone-deep chill that permeated the very marrow. His small flame didn't begin to light the whole, nor did it reach the high ceiling, but the light was adequate for inspection. Jason easily discovered the entrance to another tunnel, sealed now with mortar and stone. And he found also the blackened char on the walls and dark splotches on the floor.

The largest stain was in the very center. As he moved over the spot, an icy draft fanned his face, causing his flame to sputter. For a moment, Jason saw his own huge shadow dancing spiritedly upon the wall. Then his torch steadied and the image fled. He didn't need to be told that this was where the
Carlins
had died in such horrible agony. Rafael and his crew had butchered Jonathan first, leaving him barely alive but reviving him time and again, forcing him to watch as they had their sport with his wife and young daughter.

There was nothing else in the cave. It was swept bare. With a grim set to his jaw, Jason left the vast cavern and made his way back through the tunnels, stopping only once when he caught the faint echo of an anguished cry. It wasn't repeated, though, and he attributed the strange sound to the distorted screech of an animal.

When he once again stood in the fading light of the winter day, he took a deep breath. The roar of the sea was almost deafening after the ghostly stillness of the underground vault. And it seemed warmer in the daylight, as well, even though he was immediately drenched with spray and buffeted by cold wind as he began the long climb to the top.

He didn't doubt Burroughs's story. The man's distress over his ward had seemed genuine, and his subsequent actions had appeared to prove his altruism: the Carlin ships had been dropped into Jason's lap as a prize to be guarded.

That first day, Jason remembered, the conversation had turned to control of the company. "You have no idea where your ward could be?" Jason had asked. "She has no friends or relatives in the States?"

Burroughs sighed.
"No, none to my knowledge.
I have no idea where she might have gone."

When Burroughs then suggested the possibility that she might not have survived, Jason was unable to keep the accusation from his tone. "And you have no interest in finding her alive, I gather," he said sharply.

The older man's face flushed in anger. "I resent that remark, Captain Stuart. I have always been concerned for Jonathan's daughter, just as I have always done the best I could for her, given the circumstances."

Jason clamped his mouth shut, repressing an oath. You all but smothered her with your inept guardianship, he wanted to rail. But instead, he listened as Burroughs outlined his plan.

"I became a partner in the company," Burroughs said, "because I was able to provide capital when it was badly needed. The Carlin Line had phenomenal success when Jonathan first founded it, but two years of unavoidable disasters at sea and some unwise investments of Jonathan's brought the company to the verge of collapse. I own half interest now, besides being responsible for the operation.

"My heart is not strong, though. I have been told that I may not have long to live. I had arranged with your father for you to marry my ward so that she would have protection after my passing. In addition, I wanted to hand the company over to someone who would be worthy of the Line. I wanted you as my successor, Captain. I did not make that decision quickly or without justification. Suffice it to say that I have been kept well informed of your exploits and that I am content in my choice." When Jason's expression remained grim, Burroughs held up a hand. "Wait, hear me out, I beg you."