Desire and Deception (26 page)

"You can save your lies," Jason said between clenched teeth. "I've already agreed to pay. I'll meet your price willingly, without any strings attached. But hear me well, Lauren. The one thing I'll always demand from you is honesty.
Total and complete
honesty."

Taken aback by his sudden fierceness, Lauren stared at him. "You have no right to demand anything of me," she returned. "But I'm telling the truth. Felix isn't keeping me. I'm a seamstress at the casino, and occasionally I play the piano—nothing else. And I've known no man but you."

Jason's blue eyes narrowed to mere slits as he seized her shoulders. "You allow me to take you like a common trollop and then expect me to believe you?"

"You said I wasn't common."

She gasped as Jason's fingers bit into her skin. She thought he might shake her, for his powerful body had gone rigid and his handsome face was dark as thunder. "I'm telling . . . the truth!" she managed to say between breaths. "Madame
Gescard
. . . pays me to entertain . . . the guests by singing and playing. You're . . . hurting me," she protested when the pressure of his grip increased painfully.

He released her shoulders, but his teeth remained clenched. "Think yourself fortunate, sweetheart. I'm trying very hard not to wring your neck."

Before she could reply, Jason had flung himself from the bunk. Lauren shivered, immediately missing the warmth of his large body. Covering herself with the quilt, she lay curled on her side, watching him warily as he sifted through the garments strewn on the floor.

"Why . . . don't you believe me?" There was no answer. "Tell me," she challenged as his silence stung her, "do you treat all your women so violently? Lila never mentioned it."

Jason's gaze sliced to her as he pulled on his breeches, making Lauren aware that his anger hadn't abated one degree. He didn't reply, though, and his grim silence disturbed her. She couldn't understand what she had done to provoke him, but oddly
enough,
she preferred facing his wrath to being ignored.

She knew she was playing with fire when she smiled tauntingly, yet she did it to cover her own hurt. "Are the wages for a night's work always so generous, monsieur?" she asked, adopting Marguerite's French accent. "If so, I might consider a full-time position as your
chere
amie
.
Unless you mean to cover me with bruises, of course.
Please tell me. I should like to know what your paramour can expect."

Her inclusion of the accent had been calculated to wound, but she dropped it when she got no response. When Jason jerked open the lid to a large chest and selected a fresh shirt, Lauren offered hesitantly, "You said you wanted honesty. Very well, I thought your lovemaking . . . quite enjoyable."
Nothing.
Not even a glance.

"Perhaps I will accept the money you offered me tonight, after all. I could buy the satins and jewels you suggested. In spite of what you think, I'm not wealthy."

Still there was no answer. "Won't it help assuage your guilt if I take your money?" Lauren said in her most sarcastic tone. "I no longer feel such things as guilt, you see. I lost my heart long ago. George Burroughs saw to that."

That succeeded in getting Jason's attention for a moment. But then he stooped to pick up the bag of coins. He eyed the leather pouch intently before locking it away in the bureau. Then he proceeded to lock every cabinet and drawer in sight.

Lauren watched his actions, first with wariness, then with increasing alarm. "What are you doing?" she exclaimed, already regretting having taunted him.

"I'm securing the cabin."

"You can't mean to keep me here!" Lauren cried, her voice holding a definite trace of panic. He couldn't mean to make her a prisoner. He couldn't!

"I do," Jason admitted with tight-lipped control. "But please feel free to make yourself at home. I'll leave the lantern if you give me your promise not to set fire to the ship."

"Yes, but—"

"Have no fear that I'll lock you in to prevent you from running away. I can't trust you not to attempt an escape, but I expect that not even you would try to leave with only a quilt to hide your nakedness." He scooped up her gown and necklace and slippers, then strode to the door and jerked it open.

"But where are you going?" she nearly shouted.

Jason spared her one brief scowl. "I presume Lila can confirm your story? Well then, you have nothing at all to be worried about, do you?"

The reverberation seemed to echo loudly about the cabin as the door slammed shut behind him.

Lauren stared at the closed portal in disbelief. She had pushed Jason too far, she knew, but that didn't explain why he had been so angry to learn she wasn't a harlot. Nor did it excuse him for storming out like that, leaving her without any clothes, a virtual prisoner on his ship. And he had reneged on his last promise, as well. She had been willing to give him the night he demanded, but he hadn't allowed her to fulfill her part of the bargain and end his claim to her. But Jason Stuart had underestimated her if he thought he could keep her captive for long.

Gathering the quilt around her shoulders, Lauren went to the door and found that the handle turned easily under her hand. She peered out into the companionway. The darkness made her shudder—but at least no one was guarding the door. Shutting it once more, she turned to survey the cabin, noticing things she hadn't noticed before.

In addition to the bunk, desk, and chairs, the cabin was furnished with a large sea chest, an unlit brazier, and a shaving stand, while the mahogany-paneled bulkheads were lined with latticed cabinets. Through the leaded panes, she could see leather-bound books and various navigational instruments, including a sextant and spyglass, but she had no luck in opening the doors. She didn't see any usable weapons, either, for the pair of mounted pistols which hung behind the desk proved to be unloaded.

She decided to try the sea chest next, but as she passed the shaving stand, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Halting abruptly, she stared at her reflection in astonishment, hardly recognizing herself. She looked just like Veronique did after a night with an arduous lover. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips red and swollen from Jason's kisses, and her hair spilled over her shoulders in wild disarray. But her eyes seemed to have undergone the most change. They were bright and animated, not remote and shadowed. She felt different as well. Her skin was glowing with warmth, while her stomach fluttered with anticipation and excitement.

"My God!"
Lauren murmured as a new thought struck her. Even if she could have done so, she wouldn't have changed what had happened that evening. She was actually glad Jason Stuart had found her, despite the fact that he had virtually kidnapped her and imprisoned her on his ship. She couldn't guess what he intended to do with her. But even if she couldn't find a way to escape, she wouldn't worry yet. He would let her go after he saw Lila.

Lila! God, what would Lila think? Distractedly, Lauren pushed a lock of golden hair back from her face. She had had an excuse for letting Jason make love to her that long-ago night in London, but not by any stretch of the imagination could she be pardoned for this evening's revels. How could she explain the wanton way she had responded when he kissed her? She had wanted him to make love to her, had wanted his strength and warmth and passion.

And what of Lila herself?
What would Lila feel when her past lover suddenly appeared to disrupt their lives?
And Jean- Paul?
He was volatile enough to call out any man who threatened his honor.

Oh, why did Jason Stuart have to come to New Orleans just now, when she had managed to bury her past? And why was she so elated by his presence? There could never, never be anything between them, not as long as George Burroughs and Regina Carlin continued their deadly battle over the Carlin Line. She couldn't put Jason's life in danger by dragging him into her affairs.

Besides, he still thought she was someone else, and she couldn't risk telling him the truth, at least not yet. She didn't trust him enough yet to give him such a powerful weapon to hold over her head.

So why was she standing here like a fool waiting for him to return?

Tearing her gaze from the mirror, Lauren bent over the basin and quickly splashed water on her face, trying to remove the lingering traces of passion. She had no brush or comb, so she did the best she could with her tangled hair by using her fingers. Then she turned her attention once more to her escape.

First she had to find some clothes, she decided as she knelt before the chest that had contained Jason's shirt. With one of her hairpins, which she found on the floor, she set about trying to pry open the lock.

After a quarter of an hour and a broken fingernail, she gave up in frustration. The heavy lock proved impossible to budge, and she was shivering because the quilt kept slipping off her shoulders. Rubbing her arms, Lauren looked around the cabin again. The desk!
Of course.
She should have first searched the desk for the keys.

She managed to open the top drawer with the hairpin, but there were no keys among the various papers and rolled parchments. She was about to close the drawer and try another when she noticed a familiar handwriting on one of the letters. She froze, her gaze drawn to the scrawling signature. George Burroughs. The name leapt up at her like a rabid dog, snapping and snarling and dripping its poisonous venom.

For a long moment, she couldn't move, couldn't think. She simply knelt there, staring with cold fear, her pounding heartbeat echoing loudly in her ears. Finally she reached a trembling hand for the letter.

It was dated a few years earlier and concerned the sale of a ship—an East Indiaman in the Carlin Line—and it was addressed to Jason.

Lauren wasn't aware of the anguished denial that escaped her lips, or that her cry could be heard outside the cabin. She didn't want to believe that Jason was connected with her hated guardian. Yet here was irrefutable proof that he was taking orders from Burroughs.

Pain knifed through her as she realized the full impact of Jason's betrayal. He had lied to her! He had tricked her, just like Jonathan Carlin had tricked her mother, proposing to her, making love to her, when all he had wanted was the Carlin ships. What a stupid fool she had been! She had been so concerned with protecting him, yet he must have known about the deception all along. It was even possible that he had ordered those men to kill Matthew.

Lauren shuddered, realizing suddenly the danger she faced. If they needed "Andrea Carlin" alive in order to maintain control of the Carlin Line, then Jason probably meant to return her to England where she would again be in George Burroughs's power. And if they had found some way to do without her, they might consider it wiser to be rid of her altogether. Then no one would be able to expose the deception. Either way, her life was in danger.

The rapid pounding on the cabin door made Lauren jump. She looked around wildly for a place to hide or a weapon to arm
herself
, but Tim Sutter burst into the cabin before she could move.

"Crimes!" he breathed, drawing up short. He looked shocked to find her kneeling on the floor, the quilt slipping from her bare shoulders. And the deathly pallor of her face must have alarmed him, for he immediately grabbed the brandy decanter from the desk. "Lord, please don't swoon, ma'am," Tim pleaded, kneeling beside Lauren and holding a glass to her lips. "Here, drink this. You'll feel better."

"No, I don't want it. . . ."

In spite of her protests, he managed to force some of the liquor down her throat, which made Lauren choke and gasp for breath. The burning spirits revived her color, however, as well as her wits, and she realized she would have to overpower Tim Sutter if she hoped to escape the ship.

When her gaze fell on the decanter beside her, she knew she had the weapon she needed. Not giving herself time to change her mind, Lauren grasped the decanter with both hands, closed her eyes, and swung.