Desire and Deception

by Nicole Jordan

  When he spread another blanket upon the grass and threw himself down, Lauren started talking in order to cover her nervousness. "You never did tell me how you rescued us from those Creek warriors. How ever did you manage it? Did you offer them a dozen scalps for our freedom, or did they recognize you for a fellow savage?"

  Jason reclined on his side, supporting himself on one elbow. "My, my, Howard has been filling your ears."

  "Actually he was quite impressed by your knowledge of the Shawnee, although he thinks they're almost as bad as the Creek. And he admired your courage for facing those warriors alone."

  "It wasn't courage, it was desperation. I wasn't about to leave you to their tender mercies."

  "What ever did you tell them to make them let us go?"

  Jason grinned at her. "You won't like it."

  "Please, you have piqued my 'vulgar curiosity'."

  "I told them you were my woman."

  Lauren felt warm color flood her cheeks at the possessive term. "And that was that? They gave you no argument?"

  "The Creek have always been allies of the Shawnee," he replied, plucking a blade of grass to chew on. When Lauren continued to regard him with that mixture of archness and expectation, though, Jason raised an eyebrow. "Are you really interested in hearing the details?"

  Lauren studied him for a moment, realizing that an affirmative answer would mean some sort of commitment on her part; she would be admitting that she wanted to know Jason better. But she did. "Yes," she said at last. "Yes, I am. I don't know any Indians but Running Deer." Lauren wondered if the gleam in Jason's eyes was one of satisfaction, but she soon forgot about it as he told her of the year he had spent trapping in what was now the Indiana Territory.

  "My partner's wife was Shawnee, and came from the tribe led by Chief Tecumseh. Tecumseh was one of the Shawnee's greatest leaders—but more to the point, I once brought down a bear who was attempting to maul one of his cousins. In gratitude, he gave me a rather valuable knife inscribed with the tribe's symbols. It was his name I invoked when I treated with the Creek braves."

  "You mean they let us go because you saved someone from another tribe?"

  "It isn't as farfetched as it sounds. Tecumseh was killed in the fighting a few years ago, but his name is still highly respected. For most of his life, he tried to organize a confederacy of tribes—including the Creek—against the white man."

  "You sound as if you approved of him."

  Jason shrugged. "He was only protecting his people. For years American treaties had been depriving the Shawnee of their homes and hunting grounds. And the British weren't much better. They provided political advisers to the Shawnee who actually encouraged hostilities, using Indian tribes as a buffer between America and Canada. The Shawnee are fighting for survival, just like the Creek who accosted you."

  "But you weren't involved in the fighting—you were a trapper. So what brought you to America in the first place?"

  "I expect for the same reason you want your own ship—I needed to control my own destiny. My father had certain ideas about what was expected of a marquess's son, which I disputed frequently. The life of a pampered aristocrat never appealed to me."

  Lauren regarded Jason curiously. She couldn't imagine him being under anyone's thumb, even a father as high-ranking as a marquess.

  "I suppose," Jason added, "that I also wanted to prove myself. The wilderness fascinated me, and so did the simplicity of the life-style. But it was challenging, both mentally and physically."

  "You sound as if you enjoyed it," Lauren observed quietly.

  Jason's gaze focused on some distant point beyond her shoulder. "It was one of the happiest times of my life."

  "Then why did you leave?"

  He didn't reply at once. A mockingbird trilled in the nearby willow, sounding loud in the silence. "Several reasons," he said at last. "Responsibilities. It wasn't my world. England is my home and always will be. And I had no wish to cut the ties with my own family." He didn't add that he hadn't found what he had been searching for—a feeling of completeness, of purpose—and so had moved on.

  His gaze settled on Lauren then, and Jason again resolved to be patient. Even wrapped as she was in shapeless dark wool, she was totally desirable. She had tucked her blanket under her arms, leaving her shoulders bare. Her slender white feet and ankles showed as well, since she had drawn her knees up to provide a rest for her chin. Her drying hair spilled down her back in a golden cascade. Jason could barely resist the urge to run his hands through the silken mass.

  Lauren felt the impact of his gaze like a caress. Determined to combat the effect it was having on her pulse, she changed the subject. "Those buckskin clothes of yours, is that what Shawnee braves wear?"

  Amusement glimmered in his eyes. "A slightly more civilized version. Normally men wear only breechclouts in warm weather, with leggings to ward off the cold in winter. I had to give Little Eagle an extra horse to make breeches for me in place of the traditional clothing."

  "She made your clothes?" Lauren's eyes widened as she wondered what else the Indian woman had done for the handsome man lounging at her feet.

  "It certainly wasn't work for a man," he replied, his tone warm and teasing. "The Shawnee woman handles tasks like curing hides and making clothes. She's also responsible for the harvest and for raising the children—at least until the boys reach a certain age and are ready to test their manhood."

  "The women are treated as mere slaves, then," Lauren remarked derisively.

  Jason lay back on the blanket, lacing his hands behind his head. "You might be surprised to realize how much power they wield. The wife has complete control of the home—it is her word that is law. The husband's main responsibility is to provide protection for his family, but if he wants something as simple as an ear of corn for his own purposes, he must offer his wife a gift in exchange. And the Shawnee don't consider females mindless idiots as so many of our countrymen do. She can have a considerable influence on the decisions of the tribal council, and can even rule as chief of her village if she gains the respect of her people as a leader."

  Lauren looked pensive. "And what must she do to gain this respect? Must she fight her enemies?"

  "Certainly she must prove her abilities, but it's rarely in battle. There are any number of other ways to show bravery, courage, wisdom. But enough about the Shawnee." Jason turned his head to glance at Lauren. "We should be discussing your future. Tell me, besides having the freedom to chase skirts, what do you want to do with your life?"

  "Must we talk about it now?" she protested, not wanting to spoil the magic of the afternoon. Stretching lazily, she lay back with her arms over her head and looked up at the sky. The blue had changed to soft hues of crimson and gold, heralding the setting sun and the day's fend.

  "You haven't considered what you will do when we get back to New Orleans?"

  Lauren closed her eyes and sighed, feeling languor creep into her limbs. "It's so peaceful here," she murmured drowsily. "Maybe I won't go back."

  Jason rolled on his side again, raising himself up on one elbow. His breath caught in his lungs as he took in the sight Lauren presented. Her hair was splayed over the grass in glorious profusion, while her ivory skin was bathed in a warm, golden glow. Jason's eyes moved from her face, down her smooth throat, to the beginning swells of her breasts as they rose and fell softly. How he wanted to free those lush white mounds from their imprisoning cocoon. . . . "Well, then"— he couldn't rid his voice of its sudden huskiness—"where would you like to live?"

  Lauren's eyes flew open. She was startled by his question, and by the intensity of Jason's blue gaze when she saw the long, searching look he was giving her. "I plan to stay in New Orleans. Why do you ask?"

  "Because the legalities of transferring the bulk of your inheritance will have to betaken care of in England. Of course, if you mean to stay in New Orleans for any length of time, I can handle the whole. But it will only be a few more months before you have charge of the Carli
n Line."

  "But I don't want it. I have everything I want right now."

  "Everything? What about the ship you intend to buy?"

  Lauren absently pressed a hand to her temple, thinking how ironic it was that she was refusing a fortune in ships. Once she had been willing to give ten years of her life to have what he was holding out to her. "That's different. That will be my own business."

  "Yet even if you can afford a vessel, you'll need to know how to choose a worthy one. And you'll need to know about buying and selling the goods she'll carry."

  "I plan to employ an able captain."

  "And you have the experience to hire one?"

  "No, but I'll manage. And I won't take the Carlin Line."

  Jason's brows drew together. "Would you like to tell me why?"

  "I didn't earn it," she said lamely, feeling a prick of guilt at all the half-truths she would be forced to tell in order to maintain the charade.

  There was a long silence while Jason stared down at her. Lauren endured his contemplation in silence, wondering uncomfortably if he could somehow read her mind. At last he said softly, "You don't earn an inheritance, Lauren. It is left to you. Your father meant for you to have his fortune. He stated so in his will. And Burroughs left you his share of the Carlin Line."

  "I don't want it," she returned just as softly. "If you insist, I'll give it all to some worthy charity."

  He paused, then shook his head. "As your trustee I would have to object. No charity would be set up to run the Carlin Line, nor would they have the expertise. Lauren . . ."

  As if unable to prevent himself, he leaned closer. His face was only inches from hers, and she could feel his warm breath softly caressing her face. "Lauren," he breathed in barely a whisper, his intimate tone arousing a flickering heat in her. "I want your trust, Lauren. Your love." His hand came up, his fingertips gently brushing her cheek. "I want to share mine with you. Marry me, sweetheart."

  Lauren's lashes fluttered down to cover her eyes, hiding her tormented thoughts. What he was suggesting was impossible. Even if she could forget her mother's hitter experience, even if she could convince herself that Jason wanted her rather than the Carlin ships, she couldn't accept his proposal without confessing who she really was. And she wasn't ready to trust him that much.

  Besides, there was the factor of her illegitimacy. What would Jason say if he knew she was a bastard? He might be a renegade, but he was still a nobleman's son. Her origins would prevent her from making a respectable marriage with a man of his station.

  Carefully, she forced all emotion from her reply. "I can't marry you, Jason."

  "Why not?"

  "Please . . . I just can't."

  His thumb moved slowly over her lips, tracing the soft outline. "You don't trust me, do you?"

  Trapped by his tender gaze, Lauren gazed back at him in anguish. She didn't want to trust him. How often had she heard her mother warning her about men who would use her, then leave her? "I don't know," she admitted hoarsely.

  "Lauren"—his velvet-edged voice caressed and soothed— "you are both more and less than the woman I thought you would be. But unless you've given your heart to someone else, you still have it. You're just not prepared to give it to me."

  Lauren shut her eyes tightly. She wanted . . . But it didn't matter what she wanted. "No, I . . . I can't," she murmured.

  Jason's sigh was audible, but then he shrugged and drew away. As if he had never deviated from the subject, he went on. "I'd like to feel confident you can handle the responsibility when I turn over the Carlin Line to you. Therefore, I'm going to take advantage of your penchant for bargaining and suggest another one. I mean to set up an office in New Orleans for the Line, but I'll need the support of your friend Beauvais in particular to establish a successful distributorship. That's where you can be of help to me. If you'll apply yourself to learning about the shipping industry so you can aid me, I'll find a merchantman for you to buy at a reasonable price and teach you how to ensure a profitable trade. Is that agreeable to you?"

  Lauren searched his face, his inscrutable expression, and wondered what he intended to gain by this new proposal.

  Jason gave her a brief smile. "Come now, you're not frightened by such a prospect, are you? The woman who traveled across the Atlantic at sixteen with only a hundred guineas in her pocket? The same one who helped hold off an attacking band of Creek braves? The one who can look a man straight in the eye and tell him to go to hell?"

  "No," Lauren lied. "I'm not afraid."

  "If it will help you make up your mind, I'll agree to stop pressuring you about marriage."

  That would be a relief, Lauren reflected wryly. And there were other advantages if she agreed to his bargain. She could learn a great deal from Jason, since he had experience sailing his own ships as well as running the Carlin Line. And at least his proposition offered her reprieve for a time, until she could find a better solution for what to do with the Carlin inheritance. If she could manage to control her attraction for Jason. . . . "Yes," she replied, determined to start at once with this last resolve.

  But it seemed Jason had other ideas. He took her hand and raised it with slow gallantry to his lips, making her heart beat faster. "Partners, then?"

  Feeling a surge of warmth, Lauren nervously pulled her fingers from his grasp. "Yes, partners."

  "Good." Jason smiled as he reached out to trace the delicate line of her jaw with one long forefinger. When Lauren shivered, his touch became even lighter, his fingertips skimming the outer rim of her ear. Then, giving in to the urge, he let his hand trail downward to brush the vulnerable hollow at her throat with a featherlight stroke.

  Lauren's gold-flecked eyes widened perceptively when Jason's caress slowly dropped lower. He meant to pay her back for taunting him earlier, she concluded. She tensed, preparing to withstand the sensuous assault that would be her punishment, determined not to give him the satisfaction of knowing how easily he could make her respond, even if her pulse was racing like she had run a great distance. But when Jason's fingers moved still lower to curve around the top edge of her blanket, Lauren couldn't pretend to be unaffected any longer. She clutched at Jason's hand. "No, enough, please!" she begged, wanting to end the game.

  Jason, however, had just started. "Relax," he warned, sounding amused. "This isn't a proposal." He gave a gentle tug, and when the folds of the blanket fell apart, his sharp intake of breath was audible. "God, you still have the most beautiful breasts I've ever seen." His voice was suddenly husky, his blue eyes as warm as the rays of golden sun that kissed her naked skin.

  Quivering, Lauren closed her eyes. Again that exquisite, melting weakness was assailing her, draining her of will. He drew a lazy finger along the silken valley between her breasts, a long, arousing passage that detoured to stroke the full, creamy undersides. Then he began a new pattern, rubbing light circles on her curving flesh, slow swirls that deliberately avoided the swollen, rose-hued nipples. When Lauren whimpered, Jason smiled, watching her start and shiver at his maddening caresses.

  "Please, Jason . . ." She faltered, not sure she had the strength to end his torment. Her nipples were aching with the desperate need to be touched.

  "Please what, Lauren?" His voice was a throaty, savoring rasp as he bent his head. "Don't arouse you? It's too late. You're as taut as a bowstring."

  His lips joined the sensual attack then, nuzzling her ear, the soft skin beneath her jaw, pressing beguiling kisses along her throat, while he filled his palms with her straining breasts. When his mouth at last claimed an engorged nipple, the moist heat shocked the breath from her.

  Dazed, her blood singing, she looked down and vaguely noted that one of her long tresses had brazenly draped itself over his shoulder; the gold of it glinted in the fading sunlight, mingling with the silver strands in his gilded chestnut hair.

  He attended the erect and aching nipples thoroughly, his lips pulling at their ripeness, tongue plying the pebble-hard buds to rigid arousal. Mindles
sly, Lauren clenched her hands, her fingers digging into the soft wool blanket, her breath coming in ragged spurts.

  When Jason pressed a knee between her thighs, she realized that it wasn't a game, that it never had been. He didn't mean to stop. His hand was stroking her stomach and moving lower, stirring her passion. "But . . . you . . . said . . ." she began a feeble protest.

  Shifting his position slightly, Jason let his lips follow the path of his hand. "What I have in mind doesn't result in children," he murmured, his breath whispering against her belly.

  Lauren gasped when he nuzzled at the cluster of blond curls between her thighs. "No, Jason. . . ."Frantically, she clutched at his hair, trying to make him lift his head. "No. What are you . . . doing?"

  "I'm giving you what you wanted last night."

  "I didn't . . ."

  "You did." His lips danced across the portal to her womanhood, showing her exactly what he had in mind. Then he looked up into her hot, pleading eyes. "Tell me you want me to stop, Lauren, and I will."

  "Oh, God." She closed her eyes, knowing she was already lost. "I can't."

  Jason laughed tenderly as he gently seized her hands. Pinning them at her side, he proceeded to claim her with soft quick strokes of his tongue.

  Lauren thought she would die from the piercing sweetness. She drew a long, sobbing breath, her hips arching upward uncontrollably as his tongue flicked like fire over the most intimate part of her body. She writhed, trying to escape, but Jason's hands slid under her hips, cupping her hot flesh, refusing to allow her to move. A guttural sound of satisfaction rippled from him as Lauren moaned.

  He went on savoring her, alternately, lapping at her with his tongue and then drawing at her with his lips, plundering, devouring. Lauren wanted to scream when the tip of his tongue penetrated her delicate warmth. Lances of pleasure shot upward through her, destroying the last of her sanity. Her head tossed wildly back and forth as she clung to Jason, her nails scoring his sleek, muscular shoulders. It wasn't long before a sharp spasm of ecstasy ripped through her, followed by another, then another.