As they neared the Place d'Armes, Lauren could see the large crowd gathered there. A man stood on the platform of a small scaffold which had been erected in the square, and Lauren wondered what he could be saying to so thoroughly hold the interest of the crowd. "May, will you see if you can find out what is happening?"
"Yes, ma'am," the girl replied, bobbing a curtsy. "There be ole Gabe yonder. He tell me."
"Here, let me have that, please." Lauren took the carefully wrapped parcel she had just purchased, then urged May to make haste. She didn't intend to linger at the square, for she had come to the Vieux Carre without Jason's knowledge and didn't want to risk his questions.
Her purpose for the visit had to do with Jason's imminent departure from New Orleans. Jason hadn't set a date yet, but June was fast approaching and Lauren knew he would soon sail out of her life. It was the one dark cloud that menaced her current happiness.
A bittersweet ache filled her whenever she thought of the future, and at times Lauren almost wished she had never met Jason. Yet she knew she would rather suffer that pain ten times over, rather than miss the sweet agony of loving him.
She was very much afraid, however, that when Jason returned to England he would forget all about her. Intending to give him something as a remembrance, she had commissioned an artist to paint a miniature of herself.
Until this morning, she had sat only once for a sketch. Jason had been sincere when he demanded they make the most of the time they had left, so Lauren found it difficult to get away from the attentions of her loving husband for any length of time. When Jason had announced that morning his intentions of inspecting the completed warehouse, she declined his invitation to accompany him, and as soon as he had left the house, she slipped away for another sitting, taking May with her for propriety's sake.
An hour later, Lauren left the artist's studio, well pleased with the progress on the small portrait. She was passing the silversmith's shop on her way home when an object in the window caught her eye: a small replica of a schooner, hammered in silver, its tiny sails spread to the wind. The proud little vessel reminded Lauren of the Siren and, of course, Jason. In an instant, she was inside the shop, asking to have "Siren" engraved on the sides of the silver ship. She also purchased a half-finished jewel box as a gift for Lila, though she would have to wait several days until the intricate details on the case were completed.
It was as she was leaving the smith's shop that Lauren was nearly run down by the hurrying couple. Curious, she followed them to the Place d'Armes and sent May to find out what was happening.
As May moved away, a man at Lauren's elbow muttered a remark under his breath. Lauren thought he must be an Arcadian, for he wore rough trousers and a homespun shirt under a loose tunic, and spoke in a French patois that was hard to follow. "An auction" was the most Lauren could decipher, but she was puzzled. Most public business was conducted in the rotunda of the St. Louis Hotel where slaves were bought and sold.
"What is being auctioned?" she asked the man.
He seemed surprised to be addressed by a strange beauty, one who was so obviously a lady, but he wasn't at all reluctant to strike up a conversation. He gave Lauren a large, gap- toothed grin, letting his eyes dwell on her bosom with an interest that made her uncomfortable. "Lafitte's property," he explained in English. "The American government thinks to sell the ships they stole from him. Hah, no one will buy! They know better than to risk the wrath of Jean Lafitte."
Even as he spoke, though, a murmur went through the crowd and the auctioneer made a sign. "Sacre!" the Arcadian exclaimed. "Someone has made an offer. There is a fool for you. He will not live long enough to enjoy his prize."
The Arcadian's voice seemed loud to Lauren, for an expectant hush had settled over the square. In the silence, Lauren could almost hear the crowd thinking: Would Lafitte somehow stop the purchase? Who was the daring man who had bid on the ship? Would the government be satisfied with such a low price since the bid was outrageously low?
Just then, the crowd parted and a space opened up before her. Lauren drew a sharp breath. She could see Jason clearly now, for he was a head taller than anyone else and he was standing alone. Realizing that the other spectators were giving him a wide berth, Lauren knew then who had offered to buy the ship. It was the kind of game Jason would enjoy, she reflected with dismay, for the element of danger would pique his interest. Lauren couldn't repress the stab of fear that went through her; Jean Lafitte was not a man to be crossed, even by a man as formidable as her husband.
The auctioneer tugged at his neckcloth as if it gave him great discomfort. Then bringing his gavel down, he proclaimed the tall gentleman the new owner of the three-masted bark Inferno. Jason nodded to confirm the purchase, seeming oblivious to the excited murmurs breaking out around him.
Instinctively, Lauren took a step toward him, intending to beg him to reconsider, but she froze when a dark-haired woman reached Jason's side and claimed his arm. Desiree! She must have been standing close to him all the while.
When Desiree smiled up at him seductively, Lauren's eyes narrowed with pure unadulterated jealousy. For a moment she was undecided whether to scratch the witch's eyes out or slap her husband's handsome face. Then Jason grinned down at the beautiful brunette and bent his head to whisper in her ear. Desiree said something in reply, before standing on tiptoe to loop her arms around his neck. Lauren watched, stunned, as Jason accepted without a qualm the fervent kiss Desiree gave him.
A taloned claw raked across Lauren's heart as her thoughts staggered from one conclusion to the next. Jason hadn't told her about the auction, but so little escaped his attention that he must have known about it. He hadn't told her he planned to buy one of Lafitte's ships, either, even though he generally made it a point to discuss such business decisions for her edification. Had he not told her about Desiree as well? How long had he been seeing the ebony-haired courtesan? Or had he ever stopped? Desiree was beautiful. She knew all the tricks of her trade, all the ways to lure a man's attention.
Lauren stared at the embracing couple in anguish, a dull roar in her ears shutting out the sounds of the crowd. Even though Jason had denied taking advantage of what had obviously been offered him, she had never quite believed his assurances. She had tried to excuse his indulgences before their marriage, though, knowing she had no claims on him. But had he forsaken his marriage vows already? In favor of that. . . that woman?
The ache rose in Lauren's throat and threatened to choke her. Perhaps, after all, Jason had only married her for the Carlin ships. Perhaps he had never loved her. Perhaps it was all a tremendous lie. The Arcadian called out something, but Lauren didn't hear; she was gazing blindly at her husband. Through her haze of pain she saw Jason turn and look directly at her, and for an instant, his expression registered surprise. When he took an involuntary step toward her, though, Lauren didn't wait to see what he would do. She couldn't face him. Not now. Not ever. She wanted to run and hide, to crawl up in some dark little corner and die. Turning, she stumbled into someone blocking her path, but she pushed on, not even knowing where she was going.
Jason called out to her, and when Lauren started to run, he swore under his breath. Beckoning to Monsieur Sauvinet, Jason issued some terse instructions to the banker, then set off in pursuit of his fleeing wife.
He had indeed been surprised to see Lauren in the public square; certainly he hadn't wanted her to find out what he was doing. But the discovery shouldn't have made her bolt like a startled doe.
Realizing she had somehow misconstrued his intentions, he cast his mind over the past few moments and recalled the kiss Desiree had pressed on his lips. That had been entirely too intimate a gesture for a wife to easily accept or forgive. But fiend seize it! Lauren was running from him again without even giving him a chance to explain. He shouted after her, but Lauren neither stopped nor paused to look over her shoulder.
Jason's anger grew as he chased her through the streets of the Vieux Carre. He had a decided advant
age in speed since his longer legs were unhampered by skirts, but Lauren had a head start of nearly a block. Jason had closed only half the distance between them when she disappeared into Madame Gescard's gaming house, and when he tried to follow, he was forced to slow his stride.
Kendricks stood there blocking the way, his legs spread wide in a belligerent stance. He wasn't at all pleased to see Jason, but neither was he averse to locking horns again. In fact, he had been relishing the thought of avenging his defeat of a few weeks before. One look at the snapping fury in the blue eyes, however, convinced Kendricks this wasn't an auspicious time to challenge the gentleman—or even to stand in his way. He fell back before the force of Jason's relentless advance.
"My wife, where is she?" Jason ground out, gripping the majordomo by the shirtfront.
"She has a room upstairs," Kendricks replied quickly. "Top floor, last door on the right. But I'll not swear that's where she is."
Jason aimed himself at the stairs and took them three at a time. When he reached Lauren's room, he didn't bother to knock but twisted the door handle. To his great amazement, he found the door locked. Knowing her fear of confinement, Jason wondered if he might have the wrong room. But only for an instant. He knew she was inside.
"Open the door, Lauren, before I knock it down!"
There was no reply to his bellowed command. The silence was shortly followed by the sound of splintering wood as Jason applied a sturdy shoulder to the offending portal. When the barrier crashed to the floor, he stumbled over the threshold.
Lauren stood by the open window, not moving, her complexion very paie. Considering the blazing glare her violent husband was directing at her, though, she faced him with remarkable composure. "Go away. I don't wish to see you."
"That is quite obvious!" Jason retorted as he surveyed the wreckage he had made of the door. "You even overcame your aversion to locks, I see, in your effort to avoid me."
Lauren lifted her chin regally. "I thought it the lesser of two evils."
Jason's jaw hardened, but he managed to keep his volume below a roar. "Why the hell are you running this time? Had you intended on saying good-bye first, or did you plan to leave without a word?" When she didn't answer, he swore violently. "Dammit, Lauren! I had your promise!"
She returned his regard coldly. "I don't mean to speak to you. Go away."
Jason spread his hands wide, as if pleading his innocence. "The least you could do is give me a chance to explain. I don't even know what crime I've been convicted of."
"It doesn't matter," Lauren declared in a chill voice. "You will be leaving in a few weeks. What difference does it make if we end this farce of a marriage a bit earlier than we planned?"
Jason drew in a deep breath. "I wasn't aware you considered it a farce." But as his eyes searched her face, he noted with despair Lauren's remoteness. Her silence now was different from the deaf-muteness she had affected when he had tricked her into becoming his wife. This was the same touch-me-never coldness he had once fought to overcome. Only this was far more serious; she had locked him out of her heart. The barrier was up between them again, as frozen and impenetrable as ever, and he couldn't storm it as easily as he could a wooden door.
"Just like that, you end it?" he demanded. "What we had together has ceased to exist?" When Lauren merely stared back at him, Jason's tone shifted to biting sarcasm. "I can see how deeply you are affected, sweetheart. You might be remarking about the weather instead of the dissolution of our marriage. Come to think of it, most people show more feeling when discussing the weather."
Lauren remained silent, forcing herself to steadily return his gaze. She couldn't explain that making herself numb inside was her only means of self-protection. And perhaps, after all, this was the best way to end their relationship. One swift cleaving stroke. Later she would grieve. Later she would feel. But for now she would be thankful for the deadening of her heart.
"Perhaps it is for the best," Jason echoed her thoughts. "I really have no interest in staying married to a child—one who runs at the first sign of trouble. Christ, you even see ghosts!" He missed Lauren's wince of pain as he bent to lift the fallen door. "Being saddled with a neurotic wife does have its disadvantages," Jason observed derisively as he leaned the wooden panel against the wall.
"Get out," Lauren breathed, her voice holding the barest hint of emotion.
Jason eyed her sardonically. "But then I got what I wanted. The Carlin Line."
Lauren shut her eyes against the wave of pain that assailed her. There, he had finally admitted it. But it shouldn't hurt so much to hear what she had known all along. She faced Jason again, although she was unable to keep a quiver from her voice when she spoke. "You have Desiree, as well. Why don't you go to her? I don't doubt she pleases you better than I."
Jason's mouth twisted in a mocking smile. "She certainly isn't as cold as you are."
Lauren clenched her fists as his words struck her. Not only was he not denying his relationship with Desiree, but he was taunting her about it as well! What a stupid fool she had been to listen to his passionate lies, to let him make love to her while he was playing the rutting stag behind her back.
Seething with humiliation and anger, Lauren hardly felt the nails digging into her palms. "Get out!" she hissed. "Go back to her before she misses you!"
Nonchalantly, Jason turned to leave. "Perhaps I will. At least she isn't a frozen excuse for a woman."
He had taken but two steps when a small parcel wrapped in tissue paper came flying past his head. Lauren had picked up the little ship and thrown it with all her might. "Take that with you!" she cried, dangerously close to losing control. "Consider it a farewell present from your loving wife!"
He turned to rake her with his gaze. "Loving?" he drawled contemptuously. "You don't know the meaning of the word, my sweet. I could almost pity you, but for the fact your ignorance suited my purpose. How easy it was to play the lovesick swain, to convince you and the rest of the world I married you for love. Now, of course, I am desolated by your repudiation." He swept her a mocking bow. "It should be the work of a moment to persuade all your dear friends that I have been grievously wronged. I doubt if any of them will protest very loudly when I walk away with your inheritance now."
Lauren's wide, pain-filled eyes contrasted starkly to her ashen face. "I hate you!" she whispered.
"Now, sweetheart, that's no way to look at it," Jason admonished. "You may have lost a fortune, but you've had a little pleasure along the way. And you know more about playing the whore now. Your new skills will come in handy, should you decide to remain here. Certainly you can enter the profession with complete confidence. You were quite an excellent pupil! In fact, if you would like, I'll supply you with references."
Lauren attacked him then, with a cry of wounded fury. Flailing blindly, she pounded at his chest and shoulders, wanting to hurt him as he had hurt her. Jason made no move to defend himself until Lauren attempted to rake his face with her nails, but even then he only held her wrists in a gentle grip, not speaking as she fought him wildly.
When the first sob tore through her, it felt like a knife ripping at her lungs. And then more followed; she couldn't stop them. It was like a great dam breaking, letting loose all the violent emotions she always so carefully controlled. Her body shook with racking sobs, while the tears came, in floods, in rivers, erupting from her as a deluge from a stormy heaven.
Jason's hands came up to seize her shoulders, steadying her until she sank to her knees, unable to support her own weight. Wordlessly then, he scooped her up and carried her to the bed where he sat, cradling her trembling body in his arms while her grief poured forth in a wordless, unending stream.
A worried Veronique came to the door, but went away again when Jason silently shook his head. Lauren wasn't aware of it. She was hardly aware that Jason was holding her. Had she been, she would have found it ironic that Jason should be the one to console her; she was crying because she had lost him, because without him she fel
t incomplete, inadequate, only half a person.
When at last her weeping became less passionate, she realized that she was lying on the bed with him, sprawled on his chest. His arms were wrapped tightly around her shaking shoulders, while his hand gently stroked her hair. When she tried to move away, though, Jason wouldn't let her go. Giving up the struggle, she lay there submissively, her head on his shoulder, his body warm and hard beneath hers.
Finally her shudders ceased and her tears ended. Jason released her then, only to settle her more comfortably in the crook of his arm. Lauren stayed there, not thinking, not feeling anything, yet savoring his protective warmth as she listened to the vibrant rhythm of his heartbeat.
She felt his lips move gently against her hair. "Feel better?" he murmured.
Lauren considered his question. Her body felt drained and limp, as if it had been pounded by the hooves of a hundred wild horses, yet a kind of peace she had never known before had settled over her. She felt cleansed by the tears, purified by the fires of rage and hatred that had swept through her. "Yes," she rasped, though realizing he already knew the answer.
Her voice was husky from crying, her face damp with tears. When she sniffed inelegantly and wiped ineffectually at her eyes, Jason handed her a snowy handkerchief. Lauren used it gratefully, then rolled on her back, staring up at the canopy. "You did that on purpose," she observed, not expecting or receiving a denial. Jason shifted so that he lay on his side. He was watching her, she knew. "I haven't cried since I left England," Lauren added almost absently.
"Thank God you did," he said softly. "I was running out of insults, trying to break through that frozen shell of yours."
Lauren smiled faintly, wondering how Jason had understood her better than she understood herself. When she turned her head on the pillow, she saw the tenderness in his gaze. "I . . . hit you," she said hesitantly. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"
Jason returned her smile. "I'm sure I have a cracked rib or two." When Lauren's green-gold eyes filled with concern, Jason pressed his fingers to her lips. "Believe me, sweetheart, I would rather have you striking me or threatening to shoot me than so stoically denying your hatred or anger or uncertainty. You feel those things—we all do. But most of us find some way of releasing our emotions instead of keeping them bottled up inside or running from them."
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