Desire and Deception

by Nicole Jordan

  The look he directed at her was lengthy and penetrating, and she fought the urge to squirm under his brilliant blue gaze. When at last he rose and came to her, she found it difficult not to shrink from him.

  But surprisingly, he didn't chastise her. Bending slightly, Jason cupped her face in his hands, tilting it upward, his eyes flicking over her features. "You are tired," he observed quietly. "And angry. I've come to know that little furrow that appears between your brows." As he spoke, his thumbs smoothed the tiny crease, then traced gentle semicircles beneath her eyes.

  Lauren found she had forgotten completely what she had meant to say. Jason's nearness was having a shattering effect on her senses. Her lips parted in breathless anticipation as she returned his gaze.

  He didn't kiss her as she expected. Instead his hands moved gently downward, sweeping the column of her throat before coming to rest on her shoulders. His fingers began to work, then, kneading gently the taut muscles in her neck, massaging her stiff shoulders and arms. Lauren closed her eyes. A delicious languor was spreading throughout her body, draining away her tension and anger. She sank back in her chair, relaxing under his skilled ministrations.

  Sometime later, his hands stopped working their magic, and she heard Jason speak as if from a great distance. "Now what is all this about?" he asked softly.

  Her gold-tipped lashes lifted slowly. Jason was half sitting, half leaning against the desk, his arms crossed in front of his broad chest. His jaw was set in a stern line, but there was a faintly humorous gleam in his blue eyes.

  The suspicion that she had been neatly outmaneuvered occurred to Lauren, but she couldn't summon the will to fight. "I . . ." she began, only to pause, trying to remember what she had meant to say. "Are you going to the casino this evening?" she finally murmured. Now why had she said that? She hadn't intended to ask, but merely to inform Jason that she herself was going out.

  Jason tilted his head to one side as he considered her question. "I hadn't planned on it, no. Actually, I had thought to spend a quiet evening at home."

  "Well, I mean to go. It isn't fair that I should have to languish at Bellefleur while you amuse yourself in town. That wasn't part of our bargain."

  Lauren returned Jason's gaze defiantly, daring him to forbid her. She didn't truly want to go to the gaming house, but neither did she intend to let Jason carouse with a woman like Desiree Chaudier. It had nothing to do with jealousy, of course. She merely wanted to protect Jason from the clutches of a scheming, greedy witch.

  Jason didn't seem troubled with her announcement, though. "I regret your decision, Cat-eyes," he replied lightly. "Especially since I had arranged an alternate entertainment for you. . . . But perhaps you aren't interested?"

  "Interested?"

  Repressing a smile, Jason shrugged his broad shoulders. "In accompanying me to the theater one evening next week. I found someone willing to loan us their box. The play will be in French, but I thought you might enjoy it. Besides, you deserve to be rewarded for all the work you've done. I had planned a late supper afterward, but if you don't care to come . . ." Jason let the words trail off as he pushed himself away from the desk and retrieved his coat from a hook on the wall.

  As he silently donned it, Lauren struggled against the urge to tell Jason just what she thought of his underhanded methods. Damn him! Again he was giving her a choice—in the form of a bribe! She could go to the gaming house this evening, in which case he would withdraw his invitation for the play. Or she could do as he wished and enjoy an acceptable form of entertainment. But she truly wanted to go to the theater, for she had never been before. Not very graciously, Lauren nodded her acquiescence.

  When Jason didn't even acknowledge her acceptance, she realized he had known all along what her decision would be. With rising anger, she watched as he cleared the desk and put away the papers. One day, Lauren promised herself, she wouldn't allow herself to be so easily managed.

  "Incidentally," Jason said, "I've found a ship for sale that should meet your needs. If you don't have anything pressing this afternoon, I'd like you to take a look at it."

  Wondering if this were another part of his plan to secure her obedience, Lauren eyed him warily. "What is the cost? You've convinced me it's smart business to accept Jean-Paul's loan, but I don't want to be indebted to him for life."

  "You can afford it. The owner came down a bit on his original asking price after I talked to him."

  "Is there no one you cannot manipulate?" Lauren remarked bitterly.

  At first it seemed that Jason would ignore her waspish comment. "Unless you direct otherwise," he continued easily, going to the cabin door and holding it open for Lauren, "I intend to complete the deal." As Lauren rose, however, Jason gave her a mocking little bow. "Of course I do not wish to be thanked for performing so insignificant a service for such a charming lady. It is, after all, in my best interest to convince the world that my partner is not the selfish child she so often resembles."

  Lifting her chin militantly, Lauren glared up at him. "You think me a selfish child?"

  Jason's lips curved in a wry smile. "Quite frequently. But I have hopes that you will grow up one day. I expect you'll make quite a woman when you do. Shall we go?" he added with a laconic lift of his brows.

  Since Lauren could think of no appropriate retort, she swept past him with an angry rustle of skirts.

  Her anger dissipated, however, the moment she saw the ship Jason had chosen for her. It was the kind of vessel she had always dreamed of possessing: a three-masted, schooner- rigged merchantman, tall and graceful, yet sturdy enough to carry tons of cargo across three or four thousand vast miles of ocean.

  The Kite rose high in the water, her holds empty, her raking masts bare of sail. Lauren watched silently as they rowed out to board her, not saying a word as Jason lifted her from the skiff to the Kite's boarding ladder.

  When she had somewhat awkwardly negotiated the climb and stood on deck, surveying the gleaming stretch of scrubbed- wood planking, a warm rush of feeling surged through Lauren. And as she gazed skyward at the endless intricate web of rigging, the thought crossed her mind that her obsession with ships was interwoven just as intricately with her past.

  How many times in Cornwall had she and Matthew talked about buying their own ship? How many times had she dreamed of sailing away with him and leaving her past behind? For that was what ships stood for: freedom, independence, control. And this, the purchase of the merchant ship Kite, was the fulfillment of a lifelong ambition. She felt a burden lifting from her heart. Slowly she mounted the quarterdeck and went to stand at the helm.

  From his position by the gunwale, Jason watched her, wondering at her thoughts. She reached out to touch the wheel, caressing the smooth wood, then turned to smile at him, her eyes bright as topaz and emeralds, making him catch his breath. If he hadn't given his heart to her long ago, it would have been stolen by that smile. When she looked away, he went to join her.

  "I want to call her the Matthew MacGregor," Lauren murmured when she felt Jason's presence, the huskiness of her voice betraying emotion that her cool features never would.

  Jason gazed down at her, his eyes caressing her face, taking in its haunting loveliness. "Matthew would be honored . . . any man would be. But Matthew is a man's name. Are you sure you want to flout convention so drastically?"

  Lauren looked up to find Jason watching her. His blue eyes were filled with tender amusement and a deeper smoldering light that made her heart skip a beat. "What's convention?" she replied, trying to ignore his burning look.

  Jason laughed and flicked her nose. "Something I've been doing my damndest to get you to acknowledge, Cat-eyes—although I don't seem to be having much success, what with your woefully neglected upbringing. Very well, call her the Matthew MacGregror if you like. But don't apply to me if you wind up with a mutiny on your hands."

  And so the Kite was to be rechristened the Matthew MacGregor. Lauren went to see the ship's namesake the very next day, intendi
ng to offer Matthew a position as captain.

  Since he didn't work for the Carlin Line on Saturday, she expected to find him at home, but when she drove up in the gig she had borrowed from Bellefleur, only Running Deer came out of the cypress-log cabin to greet her.

  Not attractive by any standards, the Choctaw woman had squat, olive-toned features and coarse ebony hair that hung to her waist. She was wearing a beaded doeskin tunic and moccasins, and her expression registered surprise. "Lauren, I not expect you," she said in her soft musical voice.

  "Probably because I've been frightfully negligent," Lauren replied with a smile. "I should have come to see you before now. But I have good news. Where is Matthew? I have to tell him about the ship we're going to buy."

  Oddly, a wary look crept into the luminous dark eyes. "He see to traps."

  "Does he mean to return soon? If not, I can go look for him."

  "No."

  Lauren's smile faded. Running Deer was standing at the foot of the cabin steps, twisting a fringe of her tunic and looking very much ill at ease. Lauren couldn't understand her lack of warmth, for generally she was as gentle as the forest animal whose name she carried. "Running Deer, are you angry with me for some reason? Have I done something wrong?"

  The Indian woman hesitated. "No."

  "Well then, what is it? You usually invite me to to tea."

  "Come in, Lauren. You welcome always." She turned to mount the stairs then, leaving a puzzled Lauren to stare after her.

  Lauren tied the reins of the gig to the porch rail and followed, entering the two-room cabin in time to see Running Deer hanging a rifle above the fireplace. "Something is wrong," she challenged. "You never greet visitors with a gun."

  Running Deer shot her a nervous glance. "I make tea now."

  "Please, Running Deer, I don't want tea. I want to know why you have to keep a rifle loaded."

  Her dark eyes lowered. "Mat angry if I speak," she said softly.

  "Is he in trouble? For God's sake, he's my friend. You can tell me."

  "Matthew say you not to worry. You marry soon and be happy."

  "Marry—" Lauren realized then that Running Deer and Matthew must be expecting her to marry Jason, but she let that mistaken assumption pass in her concern for Matthew. "Running Deer, you might as well tell me. I won't let it rest until you do."

  She sighed softly. "He . . . he lose money. He play cards and lose."

  "How much money?"

  "Five thousand dollar."

  "Five thousand! I don't believe it! Matthew would never be so foolish as to gamble his life savings away."

  "He drink too much. And the man cheat."

  "What man?"

  "Duvo."

  "You mean Duval? Matthew was playing cards with Felix Duval?"

  Running Deer nodded, worry apparent on her dark features. "The man give one week to find money. He come soon. Mat not have, go to jail."

  Lauren stared at her, hardly believing. She had only seen Matthew briefly during the past week, and hadn't noticed any particular difference in his behavior. But then he wouldn't have wanted her to know he had gotten into debt. She couldn't understand, though, how he could have become mixed up with a man like Felix Duval. Felix usually patronized the higher- class gaming hells, where Matthew would never be invited. "Don't worry, Running Deer," Lauren said briskly. "Matthew isn't going to jail."

  The Indian woman gave her a grateful smile. "The man have vows. . . ."

  "Vowels? That's an I.O.U.—a promissory note showing the amount of the debt, but it doesn't matter. Vowels can be bought back. Where is Matthew now? I want to talk to him."

  When Running Deer said that he was trapping near the stream that ran through his small property, Lauren went in search of him. Before she was a hundred yards from the cabin, though, she saw the brawny flame-haired Scotsman coming out of the woods. He was dressed in fringed buckskin, and had half a dozen carcasses of small animals slung over his shoulder.

  His stride slowed as soon as he saw her, and his grim expression suggested he knew why she was there. "Go home, lass," he said quietly. "This isna yer battle."

  Meeting the gaze of the man who had been like a father to her, Lauren returned a look of affectionate exasperation. "That has to be the most absurd comment you've ever made. You saved my life four years ago. Do you think I wouldn't give my help if you needed it?"

  Matthew shook his head without replying, then strode past her, headed toward the curing shed in back of the cabin. Lauren followed, carefully picking up the skirts of her muslin walking dress as she entered the shed to avoid the clutter of stretching frames and dried furs. She had often visited Matthew there while he worked, and was familiar with the pungent odor, but even so, she tried not to breathe too deeply as she settled on a rough-hewn wooden bench.

  Matthew had dropped his load and set to work on a beaver carcass, peeling back the fur with deft strokes of a knife. Lauren watched him in silence for a moment, before saying, "Running Deer told me Felix cheated."

  "Aye, the cards were marked. And he had more inside his coat."

  "Can you prove it?"

  Matthew grunted in reply.

  "Then you'll have to pay back the debt."

  "I dunna have such a sum."

  "But together we have enough."

  "I canna let ye do it. Ye're to buy yer ship."

  Lauren didn't tell him that she had already found her ship, knowing it would make his refusal more adamant. "It doesn't matter. I'm not letting you go to jail. How much longer do you have?"

  "Till day after next. But I willna take yer money. 'Twas I who acted the fool. Ye'll no' pay for that."

  "Well, at least borrow the money from Jean-Paul if you won't take mine."

  "Nay, the mon cheated! I'll no' give him one penny."

  She could see she was wasting her breath. "Then what will you do?"

  "I dunna ken."

  Lauren rose then, brushing out her skirts. "Very well, Matthew. If that is how you feel, I won't argue." She had no intention of leaving it at that, certainly, but "she knew better than to tell Matthew what she was planning.

  He was too familiar with her ways, though, not to wonder at her meek capitulation. "Ye'll no' do something daft, lass?" he asked, giving her a suspicious glance.

  "Certainly not," she replied wryly, returning an innocent look. "I'm merely going to take tea with your wife. We have to plan what items to bring you when we visit you in jail!"

  Eight hours later, wearing her green satin gown, powdered wig, and mask, Lauren descended the sweeping staircase of the gaming house. The reticule hanging from her wrist contained five thousand dollars.

  She had had some difficulty persuading Monsieur Sauvinet to release so large a sum on such short notice, but it had been relatively easy for her to carry out the next part of her plan. First she sent a note to Felix Duval, requesting that he meet "Marguerite" that evening at the casino and allow her to redeem Matthew's vowels. Then after supper, she pleaded a headache and retired early to her room, avoiding Jason's penetrating glance and Lila's concerned one. When it grew dark enough, Lauren wrapped herself in a cloak, took a horse from the stables, and rode into town.

  Veronique was delighted to see her, but gave Lauren's plan only a lukewarm reception, saying that gambling debts were male matters and should be left for men to settle. Veronique did agree, however reluctantly, to lend her support by keeping any guests away from the smoking room when Felix arrived.

  He was already waiting when Lauren entered and carefully closed the door behind her. His dark face lit with a charming smile. "Chérie," he murmured as he moved toward her and took her hands. "How I have missed you."

  Lauren was relieved by his greeting, for she hadn't known if her message would reach him, or if he would agree to her request. As always, he looked quite handsome; his elegant, slender build adapted well to formal evening clothes, and his black hair contrasted with his starched white neckcloth. "Felix," she said in her French-accented voice, "I am gla
d to see you as well. Thank you for coming."

  When he carried her fingers to his lips, she had to control her impatience at his gallantry. "Did you bring Matthew's vowels? I have with me the amount he owes you."

  Duval hesitated, gazing at her with a faint smile. "It pains me to refuse you, ma belle, but I cannot take money from so lovely a woman."

  His answer startled her. She hadn't considered that he would refuse to accept the money. "But I am prepared to give you five thousand dollars. Are you saying you won't allow me to redeem Matthew's debt?"

  He chuckled. "The debt has served its purpose. I had hoped it would bring you out of hiding."

  "You had hoped—?" Lauren searched his face, wondering what he meant. Then quite suddenly she remembered an incident several months before, when Matthew had come to see her at the casino and she had introduced the two men. Afterward Felix had asked if Matthew was her lover, and she had laughed, claiming that his jealousy was unbecoming. She had shortly forgotten about it, but Felix obviously hadn't. That must be the reason he had sought out Matthew and cozened him into losing such an enormous sum. To get to her.

  She stared at Felix, realizing that the faint signs of dissipation etched on his features had deepened since she had last seen him. Realizing also that she had dropped out of her role of Marguerite, Lauren smiled the cool, seductive smile that never failed to set male hearts aflutter. "But how clever you are, Felix. And now that you have found me, what do you intend to do with me?"

  His dark eyes flashed with a gleam that she had no trouble recognizing as lust. "What do you think I intend, ma belle?" he asked huskily as he moved closer.

  When he slipped his arms around her waist and bent to kiss her, Lauren hastily averted her face. "You are very bold, m'sieur," she said somewhat desperately —which fortunately made her voice merely sound breathless. "And not very gallant, I fear. You have set the stakes and the rules, and not given me a fair opportunity to play."