Desire and Deception

by Nicole Jordan

  When her struggles eventually ceased, Jason loosened his hold, but his lips continued moving tenderly over hers, then over her cheeks, her closed eyes.

  Lauren tried one last time to pull away, pushing weakly against Jason's chest, but he pressed his cheek against her hair, murmuring, "Don't, Lauren. Don't shut me out."

  For a long time, he held her, stroking her hair, soothing her trembling body, his touch gentle and patient.

  Lauren at last lay quietly in his arms, and her exhausted senses gradually focused. After the rough bristle of his beard, Jason's buckskin shirt felt soft against her cheek. It was saturated with his warmth and the musky, male scent of his body, and beneath thrummed the steady beat of his heart. Lauren gave a ragged, quivering sigh. "You . . . you were right. It was my fault that Matthew risked his life."

  His lips moved briefly against her hair. "You weren't entirely to blame. Burroughs's hirelings simply became over- zealous in obeying orders."

  Reminded again of Jason's treachery, Lauren stiffened and started to pull away, but his fingers closed over her chin, forcing her to look at him. "I want you to believe me, Lauren. I never lied to you about knowing Burroughs. No, don't speak."

  He pressed a finger against her lips. "Just listen for a moment. That night in London when I first met you, I had only just returned to England. You can check the Leucothea's log if you wish. I remained on board later than usual that night, or I would have missed seeing you entirely. I followed you simply because I didn't like the idea of a lone woman roaming the docks after dark. I didn't realize who you were then, and everything I knew about the Carlin ships was hearsay. I had only just learned about our betrothal. Earlier that day my father had told me of the arrangement he had made with your guardian for me to marry the Carlin heiress."

  Jason searched her face in the dawning light, trying to interpret her silence. "I intended to leave for Cornwall the next day to pay you a visit. To meet you and see if we could reach an understanding. I had never been enamored of arranged marriages, but the Carlin ships had always intrigued me. I couldn't turn down such an opportunity without investigating first. But when I met you, all thought of the Carlin fortune left my head. All I knew was that when you looked at me with those beautiful eyes of yours, I wanted you. For yourself, Lauren. I didn't know who you were, or what your background was, but I could see that you were in trouble. Damn it, you wouldn't even tell me your name! You were so very determined not to trust me. And when I guessed that you were really my intended bride, I started to believe in fate. I decided then that I couldn't let you leave, that you would have my protection whether you wanted it or not. I thought I was being clever, for I meant to compromise you and then present the evidence to your guardian as a fait accompli. You would have to marry me then, to save your reputation. Or so I thought."

  She was watching him. And she was listening. He took a deep breath and plunged on. "My ineptitude put me in such a rage that my men avoided me for weeks. And when I couldn't find you, I went to the Carlin offices. I nearly killed Burroughs, for I blamed him for your disappearance."

  "What did he tell you?" Lauren asked quietly.

  Jason let out his breath in relief, knowing he had at least penetrated the defensive barrier she had erected between them. "Burroughs told me he wouldn't live much longer. He knew when he tried to arrange our marriage that his heart was weak. But he thought he was providing for your future. He cared for you, Lauren, in his own way. If I hadn't known that for certain, I would never have agreed to help him find you. Do you believe me?"

  Her gaze was fixed on his face. There was still doubt in her eyes, but the terrible despair was gone from the green depths. "I don't know," she said gravely. "You still haven't told me why Burroughs would write you about the Carlin ships."

  "Here, Cat-eyes, sit beside me and I'll explain. Kneeling like this is getting rather painful." When Jason had settled himself into a more comfortable position, he drew Lauren against him, nestling her in the crook of his arm. "I shouldn't have left you to find that letter," he observed softly. "What you saw was Burroughs's agreement to the disposal of an East Indiaman. She was one of the first Carlin ships, long past her prime. I convinced Burroughs that she was no longer making a profit on overseas routes and later sold her to a merchant who planned to transport goods from Liverpool to London."

  Lauren shook her head. "That doesn't explain how you became involved with Burroughs."

  "Well, before he died, Burroughs took me on as a partner. I've been in charge of the Carlin Line almost since your disappearance. The other night, on board the Siren, I intended to tell you about it. But somehow I was distracted."

  "I thought . . . you had lied to me."

  "I could have guessed by your response. Who taught you to swear like that? Not Lila, I'll wager."

  When he received no answer, Jason tilted Lauren's face up to study her expression. He watched carefully as he told the story of how he had bought the Carlin ships for a hundred guineas. Lauren stared at him speechlessly during his entire explanation. "Now will you believe me," Jason said at the conclusion, "when I say I don't want you for your dowry? I already have it." His blue eyes were laughing gently, inviting her to share in his amusement. After a moment, his humor spread to the corners of his mouth and he grinned. "Regina nearly had an apoplectic fit when she realized the company was worthless."

  "Regina?" Lauren said with sudden breathlessness.

  "Your aunt, Regina Carlin. When you disappeared, she tried to take over the Carlin Line. She wanted to have you declared legally dead, but without proof of a body, the courts wouldn't act until an interval of seven years had passed."

  Lauren shuddered as she thought of her aunt's determination. Regina would still be intent on murdering her or locking her away in an insane asylum—unless she found out the Carlin heiress was an imposter. Then it would be prison and possibly the gallows. . . .

  Then Lauren realized what Jason hadn't said. Never once had he mentioned the deception or referred to her as anything other than the Carlin heiress. A shock rippled through her. He doesn't know, she thought. George Burroughs never told him I'm not Andrea Carlin.

  Lauren lowered her eyes, unsure whether to be relieved. Now the charade had to continue . . . unless she were to confess to Jason. . . .

  But she couldn't tell him. Even if she could forget the pain of his betrayal with Burroughs, there was always the possibility Jason was still lying to her because he wanted the Carlin ships. What kind of weapon would she be giving him to hold over her head? She would be giving him the power to send her to prison. No, there was no reason to tell Jason. Not yet. She would wait till she was certain.

  Jason bent his gaze to search her face. "What are you thinking?" he murmured as he traced her lower lip with a finger.

  "I . . . I was wondering about Burroughs," she equivocated. "He's really gone?"

  "Yes, he's gone."

  Lauren looked away, avoiding Jason's scrutiny. She had feared Burroughs, perhaps even hated him, and knowing he couldn't threaten her again raised an oppressive weight from her spirit.

  "Burroughs left you his share of the Carlin Line, incidentally. Added to Jonathan Carlin's half, it makes you a very rich young woman." That comment brought Lauren's gaze flying back to Jason's. She stared at him as he continued. "As your trustee, however, I intend to abide by the original terms of your father's will. You'll inherit the entire estate when you reach the age of twenty-one, or whenever you marry, whichever comes first."

  Lauren was too astonished to even protest that she didn't want the Carlin fortune, for she realized what Jason's revelation implied. "Do you mean to tell me," she asked incredulously, "that you are now my legal guardian?"

  "I'm afraid so, Cat-eyes. But I know your opinion of guardians, and I confess I've never particularly cherished the idea of having you for my ward." He gave her a grin, his blue eyes dancing. "As far as I'm concerned, you're old enough to be in charge of yourself. I do plan to retain control of your fortune for t
he time being, of course, but you needn't fear that I'll adopt any of Burroughs's methods of forcing your submission."

  When Lauren finally found her tongue, her own eyes were flashing with anger. "No, you have your own means, don't you? Like leaving me without any clothes."

  "Well"—Jason's grin broadened—"I was trying to be clever again. You can see how far it got me. And poor Tim Sutter is abed with a broken head."

  His reminder immediately deflated Lauren's ire. "Was . . . was he badly hurt?"

  "Not from the crack you gave him. But I imagine he's still smarting from my tongue-lashing. I would have discharged him if I hadn't had known from personal experience how slippery you are. Do you realize this is the first time I've even seen you in daylight?"

  "I . . . it doesn't seem possible."

  "No, it doesn't, does it?" Jason raised a gentle hand to brush a tendril back from her forehead, but dropped it when Lauren closed her eyes. "I think you need some time to take this all in," he observed. "Howard was right—you've sustained a shock, and you're physically exhausted. But it's unwise for us to linger here any longer. I wouldn't put it past that band who held you hostage to decide to follow us. You can rest tonight. There will be time later for us to talk on the trail . . . if you return to New Orleans. Will you come?"

  There, he was doing it again, Lauren thought. He was giving her a choice. But there really was no choice. She hadn't the stamina or skill to survive in the wilderness, and at the moment she was too tired to offer further resistance. Later, when she had regained her strength, she would decide what needed to be done.

  She nodded, knowing nothing had been settled.

  Jason got to his feet. "Come," he urged, reaching out a hand to her. "Howard will be waiting for us."

  Lauren hesitated, still not quite trusting Jason or his motives. But then he smiled and the tenderness in his blue eyes reassured her.

  She took his hand, for the moment giving herself into his care.

  Lauren spoke little the rest of the day, for keeping her weary body upright in the saddle required her full concentration. Jason had offered to take her up with him on his horse, but she declined. She didn't want to be that close to him while she sorted out her confused thoughts.

  That Jason was obviously a wizard at persuasion, she couldn't deny. One moment she had been screaming at him and throwing curses at his head, nearly determined to shoot him, and the next she was in his arms, allowing him to convince her that her suspicions were unfounded. She couldn't even say why she was inclined to believe him when she had so many reasons to doubt.

  Their party generally rode single file with Jason in the lead, though when the sparse forests gave way to level coastal meadows, Howard urged his horse up to ride abreast of Jason. The men's quiet laughter sometimes drifted back to Lauren, but in the sultry heat she didn't have the energy to wonder what the two of them were discussing.

  In a vague way she realized Jason was waiting for her to come to grips with the situation. Frequently he would glance over his shoulder and give her an encouraging smile that bolstered her flagging strength, but he was obviously determined to leave her alone. He made no move to approach her, even when they stopped to rest the horses.

  Lauren was grateful for his restraint. She was far too exhausted to keep her wits about her.

  That night when they made camp, she didn't even wait for supper before crawling gratefully beneath her blanket. She fell asleep at once, not waking until Howard shook her the next morning.

  She felt greatly refreshed by her long sleep and ate hungrily at breakfast, even managing a smile when Jason teased her about her appetite. It was a congenial group that broke camp, and Lauren occasionally made an effort to join in the men's conversation.

  That day, they stopped before dusk because Jason wanted fresh meat for their supper. He went hunting at once, which satisfied Lauren, for she wanted a private word with Ben Howard.

  They set up camp beside a stream flanked by cypress and cottonwood trees, and while Howard tended the horses, Lauren mechanically began to make preparations for the evening meal: placing dried beans in a pot to soak, putting coffee on to boil, arranging a spit for whatever game Jason brought back, and pressing moistened cornmeal into flat little cakes before wrapping them in leaves and laying them in coals to bake, the way Running Deer had taught her.

  When Lauren broached the subject of her previous outburst, however, Howard casually shrugged off her apologies. "I've been told to go to the devil more times than I can recall, Miss DeVries. Though maybe not by someone as . . . as ladylike as you." He flushed slightly when Lauren raised an eyebrow. "Maybe I shouldn't say this, ma'am, but I'm mighty glad things worked out the way they did. If it hadn't been for Stuart . . ."

  "I know," Lauren said softly. " 'One for you, one for me.' What happened that night?"

  "Not much. Stuart sent those Creek devils packing, and after you fainted, he came up. For a minute there, I think I wanted the savages back. He wasn't very happy about finding you unconscious with me holdin' you. But we got that cleared up. He thought it best we get the hell . . . not stick around. You rode double with him for a few hours. Then he decided to make a temporary camp 'cause you were whimpering in your sleep; You know the rest. But it's a good thing the Shawnee and Creek are friendly to each other."

  Lauren gave him a puzzled look.

  "The Shawnee live up north in the Ohio valley, but their tribes move around a lot. Some of 'em even get down this way to the Mississippi Territory. They have dealin's with the Creek, even share the same villages sometimes."

  "That still doesn't explain how Jason managed to send them away."

  "He used to trap near a tribe of Shawnee. Said his partner had a Shawnee wife and he learned some of their customs from her. I don't know quite what he said to those Creek warriors, but it was enough to rescue us—and our horses and packs, too."

  At the mention of their rescue, Lauren remembered the accusations Jason had made. He had said that she let fear rule her life and that she used people. Perhaps it was true. Certainly she had put Ben Howard in danger along with herself. He might have lost his life trying to help her, just as Matthew had nearly done.

  Lauren considered Howard thoughtfully. She hadn't even paid him the entire salary he had earned, having spent most of Veronique's money on horses and supplies for the trip.

  "Mr. Howard?" Lauren said quietly. "I'll pay you the rest of what I owe when I get back. I don't have quite the full amount with me at the moment."

  Howard shook his head. "That won't be necessary, ma'am."

  "But I insist."

  He ran his fingers through his hair as if he were suddenly uncomfortable. "Stuart's already taken care of that. More than generous, he was. Why don't you talk it over with him?"

  Lauren decided not to press further. "Perhaps I will," she replied before retreating into thoughtful silence once more.

  When Jason returned, she found her gaze continually straying to the stream where he was cleaning the rabbits he had brought back. Even though his features were shadowed by a golden-brown stubble, he looked nowhere near as unkempt as she felt. He wore the buckskin clothing of the native Americans with a natural grace, and appeared as much at ease in the wilderness as any warrior. Try as she might, though, she couldn't picture Jason—with his aristocratic blood, his vivid blue eyes, and almost fair hair—associating with Indians. The slashing dimples in his cheeks were prominent at the moment, for he was chuckling softly as he listened to something Howard was saying.

  Jason looked up then, meeting Lauren's gaze, and as she stared into azure eyes that were dancing with laughter, she suddenly decided she was wrong. Jason Stuart would be at home no matter where he was, enjoying whatever life he chose. And he would choose, she was certain. No buffeting by circumstances for him. He would be master of his own fate, whatever his situation. He had more than just physical power; one could almost feel his inner strength. He radiated confidence and control.

  Lauren felt inadequate a
nd insecure in contrast. And yet, when Jason quirked a brow at her serious expression, his look one of teasing concern, an unexpected warmth filled her, and she suddenly felt almost capable of conquering mountains, past and future.

  "What are you contemplating, Cat-eyes?"

  His question caught her off guard. Unwilling to admit she had been pondering the strange effect Jason had on her, Lauren prevaricated. "I was wondering how you managed to follow me from New Orleans."

  An amused grin curved Jason's mouth. "It wasn't easy. After finding you gone, I headed north toward Natchez and managed to catch up to Matthew and Running Deer on the River Road, only to discover they hadn't seen you. By the time I returned to New Orleans, though, Kyle Ramsey had picked up your trail. Your height is difficult to disguise, and the stableboy where you hired your horses remembered you."

  "Thank the Lord," Howard interjected.

  "Yes," Lauren added quietly. "Thank you for coming."

  "My pleasure. But I'd be grateful if in the future you would avoid situations that require me to rescue you. This last time scared ten years off my life, and I've only so many to waste."

  The teasing smile on Jason's lips invited her to share his laughter, but the challenging light in his blue eyes made Lauren aware that he was quite serious. Recalling the debt she owed him, she felt rather small. She was glad when Howard entered the conversation again and changed the subject.

  That night Howard's snoring woke Lauren from a restless sleep. A sliver of moon bathed the campsite with light, and as she sat up, she saw that Jason's bedroll was empty. Throwing off her blanket, she went in search of him.

  She found him a hundred yards upstream. He was sitting with his back against a cottonwood tree, one arm resting across his upraised knee, a rifle beside him. He watched her approach in silence.