Desire and Deception
Read Desire and Deception Online
Authors: Nicole Jordan
"Perhaps," Jason rasped, "we should hold a contest. Who can satisfy you best? Who can make you moan the loudest?"
Lauren heard the rough catch in his voice, saw the hooded anguish in his eyes, but still she didn't understand. "Why are you doing this?" she whispered, unable to bear his angry contempt.
"I told you why." Very deliberately he ran a forefinger down the slender column of her throat to the bare white flesh above her gown's low neckline. Lauren quivered, feeling his touch like a brand of fire against her skin.
"Because I want you," Jason continued, his low, sensuous voice stroking her. "And I intend to have you. I'll have you again and again, 'til you can't even remember Duval's name."
"Please . . ."
"Please what?" his husky voice prodded her. "Please
you?
What do you like best, sweetheart? I expect I can be as inventive as Duval."
Lauren knew then. With instinctive confidence, she knew he was jealous.
Fiercely jealous.
The knowledge gave her a heady feeling of power. Jason desired her, Lauren thought dazedly, looking up at him. He desired
her.
Something of her wonder must have shown in her expression, for he shut his eyes momentarily, as if he were bracing himself against pain. And when he opened them again, she could see in the brilliant blue depths of his gaze that his anger had turned to smoldering passion . . .
Other Zebra books by Nicole Jordan:
Velvet Embrace
ZEBRA BOOKS
are
published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
475 Park Avenue South
New York, NY 10016
Copyright © 1988 by Anne
Bushyhead
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
First printing: August, 1988
Printed in the United States of America
CLS 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To Ellen and Ed for always saying "you can";
To Marcy, Kate, and Bea for keeping the faith;
To my wonderful friends at OV/RWA
for
their marvelous motivations;
To Betty, Renee, and John for lending an ear (and more);
And, as always, to Jay for sharing the dream.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-sevenPart I
Promise the Night
London, 1812
Furtive voices.
Stealthy footsteps.
A sharp command.
Lauren
DeVries
cast a fearful glance over her shoulder, glimpsing the shadowed outline of three men in the distance. The sight made her tremble. Even in the darkness, she recognized those burly forms moving slowly along
Wapping
High Street, carefully searching the doorways and alleys of the waterfront, like vultures hunting prey. She had seen them often enough at Carlin House. They were George Burroughs's men.
Her guardian's men.
And they were hunting her.
Desperate to avoid detection, Lauren slipped into the concealing shadows of a narrow alleyway. Her breath was ragged from running, her body weary from hiding out for so many days. She drew the hood of her cloak around her face and huddled against the grimy brick wall, praying they would pass her by in the darkness.
The thud of
bootheels
on cobblestone grew closer, and Lauren nearly jumped when a voice spoke from just around the corner.
"The girl 'as to be near.
The ole tar claimed she was
askin
' about passage."
"Well, she gave us the slip. Let's search further upriver. Mayhap she went as far as the Tower."
Lauren held her breath, the stench from the River Thames making her stomach churn. She knew how Burroughs's men had managed to follow her. Despite her precautions of covering her bright-gold hair beneath a hood, she couldn't disguise her exceptional height, any more than she could change her husky voice. Indeed, that was probably how they had trailed her from Cornwall to Reading, where they'd overtaken her the first time. And Matthew . . . God protect him . . . had lured them away so she could escape.
Matthew. A tight ache burned in Lauren's throat as she thought of the stalwart Scot. Although he was nearly old enough to be her grandfather, Matthew
MacGregor
was her dearest friend—indeed, her only friend. He not only had helped her run away from Carlin House, but had given little thought to his own safety in the process. Even as Burroughs's men had battered away at the bolted door of the lodging where she and Matthew had taken shelter for the night, his first thought had been for her.
"Ye must get away," he'd said in a harsh whisper, pressing a few banknotes into her hand as he pushed her toward the casement window. "Here . . . make for the posting house on the London Road. Hire a coach to
Wapping
and find the inn I told
ye
about. I'll meet
ye
there if I can. And if I
canna
, then ye take the first ship to America, as we planned." She had protested, but his face, craggy as the Cornish cliffs, had set stubbornly. "
Dinna
wait for me, lass," he commanded in his soft burr. He lifted her to the windowsill then, just as the sound of a splintering door and the shouts of Burroughs's men filled the room.
Whirling, Matthew drew his pistol and fired. He hit one of the men, but a second advanced with a deadly short sword poised for a thrust, barking, "Get the girl!"
Matthew had frantically waved Lauren away. Yet she couldn't leave him there to die. With a jerk, she pushed herself from the window and fell to the floor, crying out at the sharp pain in her right knee. Her sudden movement served to distract the swordsman, though, and while Matthew rushed him, she shoved a chair at the two others, then seized her bundle of clothes from the bed and threw it at them with all her might.