Desire and Deception (17 page)

"Lila, Matthew hasn't done any smuggling since he left England. His fur trade is perfectly legitimate."

When Lila raised her eyes to the ceiling, Lauren leapt to Matthew's defense, for nothing could shake her intense loyalty to him. "I know you don't approve of Matthew, but if I hadn't had him to turn to, I would probably be dead—"

Lauren broke off abruptly, pressing her lips together. She never allowed herself to think of George Burroughs or Regina Carlin. Yet she was always aware of the danger she faced if they should somehow find her. She was always careful to preserve her anonymity when she entertained at the gaming house.

Her height couldn't be disguised, but she hid the bright gold of her hair with a liberal application of powder or an old- fashioned Georgian wig, or, like this evening, with a turban. She also wore a
demimask
to cover her
face,
and kohl around her eyes—an addition that made them appear darker and more mysterious behind the mask. Additionally she was introduced as Marquerite to the guests, and she affected a hint of a French accent in her speech.

She hated hiding, though.
Hated always looking over her shoulder.
Hated having to pretend she was someone else. But she didn't dare risk appearing as Lauren
DeVries
at the casino. It was too prominent a place to avoid detection if someone were looking for her.

Forcing her thoughts along less disturbing lines, she listened while Lila returned to her original subject.

"I really believe you ought
not
go downstairs, Lauren. Jean Paul and I won't be here to protect you in case one of the customers should become
overamorous
."

This time, Lauren couldn't repress her smile. Lila had always been as protective as a mother tigress, but since her marriage to Jean-Paul Beauvais, she had become even more so. Indeed, after her release from a life of prostitution, Lila had become quite prudish. Her definition of "
overamorous
" had changed during the past few years—from blatant propositions to casual pawing, then to a mere glance or the touch of a man's hand. But it would have been cruel to point out how quickly her standards of conduct had risen.

Lauren contented herself with saying, "Yes, I heard what Jean-Paul said this morning. But I know quite well how to handle the gentlemen, Lila.
Even the savage, illiterate ones from Boston."

The thrust was not directed at Lila, rather at Jean-Paul. The wealthy plantation owner considered anyone not
raised
in the French-Creole traditions to be ill-bred, ill-mannered, and inferior. But Lauren's veiled mockery went unrecognized. As usual, she was careful to deliver her frequently sharp remarks in a cool, even voice so as not wound the uncomplicated, kind- hearted Lila. And as usual, the older woman wasn't cognizant of the acerbity behind the barbs.

Yet Lauren's
smile,
that rare smile that always worried Lila with its potent seductiveness, did not go unnoticed. Seeing it, Lila said with exasperation, "I am truly concerned, Lauren. You know men cannot be contented with mere gambling."

"Kendricks will be here to take care of me," she replied calmly. Kendricks, the American majordomo of the gaming establishment, was well equipped for the job of expelling anyone who became rowdy or offensive. Not that he was often required to do so. Gambling was considered serious business; the stakes were always high and the clientele always exclusive. The regulars were either wealthy
landowners
like Jean-Paul, or personal friends of Renee
Gescard
, the proprietress.

Gambling was not the only entertainment provided, however. A patron could, if he wished, bespeak the lady of his choice and remain for the entire evening. The females Madame
Gescard
employed were the cream of the demimonde, and the men who frequented the casino were expected to treat them as gentlewomen. Still, there were occasions when they did not.

Lila didn't think Kendricks sufficient protection, and she said so. "Some of the out-of-town guests tonight are hardened gamblers, Lauren. Jean-Paul has told me he knows none of them well. They may not be willing to accept a simple refusal. And strangers can hardly be expected to know you are under Jean-Paul's protection."

"But I thought you said he invited them. Surely no one would abuse his hospitality."

"I wish I could be sure. But I know little about them, except that the ones from Boston are rich businessmen, and the others are men who make
gambing
a full-time occupation. If it were not for this ball, I would stay with you. But Jean-Paul practically ordered me to accompany him. I couldn't refuse him."

Her tone proclaimed both her reluctance to attend the ball and her wish to please her husband. Lila had never expected marriage, especially to a man of Beauvais's superiority. She had attracted Jean-Paul's attention her first night at the casino, and soon afterward agreed to be his mistress. When she had become pregnant, he had flouted convention with a vengeance and married her, not listening to her warnings that she wouldn't be accepted by his peers, because he had wanted a child. Now his son was the dearest thing in the world to him next to money.

Lauren regarded Lila's reflection fondly in the mirror. The older woman was still quite beautiful, despite the tiny lines about her eyes and mouth that she tried to hide with layers of skillfully applied powder and kohl. The lines always deepened with worry on occasions such as now. Lauren was well aware that she was often a major cause of Lila's distress, but the older woman needed someone to worry and fuss over. Tonight, however, Lila had enough troubles trying to penetrate the closed ranks of New Orleans society. Jean-Paul's preeminence notwithstanding, the Creole elite had shunned his scandalous wife entirely, while the Americans, who had a healthier respect for wealth and power, were only slightly more forgiving.

"Very well," Lauren relented. "I shall only go down for a few hours at
most,
and then only to play the pianoforte. Someone must provide music for the evening, you must admit. And all the girls will be busy with the extra guests."

"Why can't Veronique take your place?"

"It wouldn't be fair to ask her."

"Veronique is a selfish little chit," Lila muttered. "She wants to be free to mingle with the gentlemen."

"But the arrangement suits me. It pays better than sewing. And you refuse to allow me to 'mingle.'"

"If I had an ounce of fortitude, I would insist that you remain in your room."

Lauren sighed. She would always be grateful to Lila for her kindness and generosity, but there were times, like now, when she wished the older woman weren't quite so strict. She could earn three times as much playing the pianoforte than sewing. She was also learning the intricacies of working the gaming tables—but it wasn't likely she would get to use her knowledge, especially if Lila ever found out.

She was searching for another supporting argument when Lila came up behind her. "My dear, I can't bear to see you driving yourself this way. It is but a few months till you reach your majority. Then George Burroughs will no longer be your guardian and you can lay claim to your fortune. You can repay my husband then."

Lauren stiffened, her long lashes veiling the sudden darkening of her eyes. As Andrea Carlin, she would legally be free of George Burroughs when she reached her majority, but as Lauren
DeVries
, she had to remain in hiding. Burroughs had the power to send her to prison for her part in the deception. And Regina Carlin would still be intent on murdering her if she ever returned to England.

She had never told anyone about her impersonation, not even Lila, for she had wanted to bury the past. At times like now, though, Lauren wished she had confessed, just so Lila would forget about Andrea Carlin's inheritance. "I don't want the fortune, Lila," Lauren replied. "And I have no intention of returning to England in order to claim it."

Lila took up the large plumes and began the task of pinning them securely to the turban. "You're still afraid of Regina Carlin, aren't you?"

When Lauren was silent, Lila put a comforting arm about her shoulders. "There are laws against attempted murder, Lauren. Perhaps Jean-Paul can help. He's perfectly willing to make discreet inquiries, you know—"

"I don't want Jean-Paul to make inquiries," Lauren insisted, "discreet or otherwise. The Carlin fortune has brought grief and pain to too many people, and I want nothing to do with it."

Lila sighed. "Well, I think it unfair that an heiress should have to live in a gaming house with only a tiny room to call home. Indeed, you shouldn't be here at all. You should be living at Bellefleur where you belong."

Lauren glanced down at her hands. Jean-Paul's plantation, located some five miles upriver of New Orleans, was a beautiful place which provided far more anonymity than the gaming house, but she felt like an intruder. "I don't belong there," she replied in a low voice.

"Well," Lila observed, not letting the subject drop, "I think that your refusal to stay at Bellefleur shows a lack of gratitude for all Jean-Paul has done for us."

"You know I'm grateful, Lila. I just don't want to impose on you and Jean-Paul. You have a son to
raise
, and you don't need to be burdened by me as well."

"Lauren, that is nonsense—but that isn't what I intended to discuss with you," she said, returning to her original theme. "I'm dismayed because you still mean to go downstairs this evening. Jean-Paul warned you that some of the guests cannot be counted on to behave as gentlemen."

Very carefully, Lauren picked up a glittering necklace that had been a Christmas present from Jean-Paul and fastened it about her throat. A single emerald drop, the size of a small acorn, hung from a chain of small diamonds. Jean-Paul had wanted the gems to be a gift, but Lauren wore them only because they were a necessary accessory for her role as an entertainer. The large jewel nestled between her breasts, drawing attention to her deep cleavage and the low, square neckline of her gown.

Lila suddenly noticed how much of Lauren's bosom was exposed by the bodice. "Isn't that dress a trifle . . . immodest?"

"I shall wear a shawl, if you insist."

Hoping to cut short the discussion, Lauren rose from the dressing table and crossed the room to retrieve her elbow- length gloves. Lila's critical gaze followed her, noting how provocative the gown was. The green satin, comprising both the slip and parted overskirt, flattered every shapely curve of Lauren's full figure and outlined her long legs in shimmering green.

"My dear, that material positively clings to you. Don't you think you should wear a petticoat?"

Lauren had difficulty repressing a retort. The gown was one of her more beautiful creations, and not at all indecent, as Lila seemed to imply. Madame
Gescard
had paid for the material, of course, for Lauren would never have spent her hard-earned money on herself, even if she did have a feminine weakness for beautiful clothes.

"You know, a petticoat would ruin the lines of this gown," she replied. "Besides, another layer would be too hot." The heat was one of Lila's frequent complaints. As much as she professed to be contented within the city she had made her home, Lila never had become acclimated to the hot, humid climate. It was now only the beginning of spring and she was already vowing how glad she would be when summer was at an end.

A remark about the weather usually served to gain Lila's sympathy, but Lauren realized it wasn't to be the case this evening. As she drew on her gloves, she added consolingly, "This gown is only a costume. Anything more modest would look out of place at the gaming tables."

Lila placed her hands on her hips, prepared to do battle. "You said you would remain in the salon," she charged in her most disapproving voice. "I told you there would be strangers here tonight. Believe me, Lauren, I shall not budge one inch from this house unless you promise me to stay out of the gaming rooms. If I didn't know about your fear of confinement, I swear I would lock you in your room."

When the color drained from Lauren's face, Lila halted her tirade abruptly. On the long journey across the Atlantic on the Dutch-owned merchant ship, Lauren had accidentally become trapped in their tiny cabin. Lila had discovered her cowering in a corner, shaking with deathly cold and petrified with fright. Afterward, Lauren had refused to stay in their quarters except to sleep, and then she had insisted that the door remain unlocked and the porthole window tied open. Even then, she would sometimes wake up screaming wildly, and Lila would hold her trembling body in her arms, soothing her till her sobs quieted. Lila had had her hands full protecting the girl from both human and natural elements, for more than once both had forced their way into the cabin.