Desire and Deception (18 page)

Lila viewed Lauren's pale complexion with remorse. "Forgive me, my dear! I should never have mentioned such a thing. Of course I would never lock you in your room—"

Lauren pressed her fingers to her temples. She had never been able to conquer her fear of enclosed places. "Please, Lila, don't speak of it. I know you didn't mean to remind me." She turned away, saying in a low voice, "You have my word. I will not go near the gaming rooms. And I will not speak to any of the guests if I can do so without appearing rude."

After a moment, Lila nodded.
"Very well.
But I'm still worried. I don't like to leave you to fend for yourself when strangers are present."

When she regained a semblance of composure, Lauren nodded. "I shall be very careful, Lila, I promise. I shall be so prim and proper that everyone will think me a wallflower."

"That would be impossible," Lila retorted. "But you must remember to call Kendricks if there is the least sign of trouble."

Lauren gathered up Lila's cloak and held it out to her. "I will," she agreed again. But she was required to listen patiently to several more of Lila's warnings before the older woman would consent to leave.

When she was at last left to herself, Lauren quietly closed the door and pressed her forehead against the panel. She had suddenly lost any desire to face the company which would presently arrive. Her conversation with Lila had been too unsettling. Too many ghosts had been disturbed. That long-ago nightmare seemed so unreal now, but there were times, like this evening, when the memory of it would catch her by the throat.

Her reaction had not shown, except for her sudden paling; she had watched herself in the pier glass earlier. Her face had remained serene, her expression remote. But inside she was shaking. She needed time to compose herself.

Lauren went to the small window under the eaves and drew back the curtains. Her room was located on the third floor at the far end of a wing, as far away as possible from the activities that went on nightly in the establishment.

She stood gazing down at the enclosed courtyard. It was deserted because the evening was still too young, but the scene was carefully staged for lovers. The sweet scent of jasmine wafted gently on the soft spring breeze, while the light from a single Chinese lantern cast a gentle glow over the tiny garden and trickling fountain at its center. The rest of the flagged courtyard with its crape myrtle bushes and climbing vines was cloaked in darkness, purposely providing concealing shadows for the male guests and their chosen companions of the evening.

Lauren could hear little now except for the fountain, but more than once she had lain awake at night, listening to the whispers and soft laughter which drifted through her window.

Perhaps it wasn't surprising, Lauren thought, that the sound of lovers should remind her of Jason Stuart. After all, he had been the one to show her what pleasure could be found in a man's embrace—or at least in his embrace. She had never
again experienced anything like being held in Captain Stuart's arms. Indeed, she had never felt the slightest attraction for any of the men she had met since Jason Stuart.

Although she had known him but a few brief hours—almost a lifetime ago, it seemed—Lauren still remembered him quite well. His sapphire eyes had been so intensely alive, his arms so strong and comforting. His gentleness had seemed reassuring at the time, and for a moment he had swept away her pain and sorrow and fear. She had come so very close to laying her head on his shoulder and sobbing out her story. There were even times in the four years since, in her loneliest moments, that she wished she hadn't put the sleeping potion in his wine. Had he been furious when he woke to find his intended bride gone?

She had taken his money, only the hundred pounds she thought he owed her, but it had been three years before she realized she hadn't truly earned it. She had also learned that such an enormous sum was an outrageous price to pay for one night with any courtesan, let alone an inexperienced, green girl who didn't even know how to kiss properly. How very ignorant she had been then!

Veronique had explained that to her, and much more. According to Veronique, her experience with Jason had been unusual. The pain of losing a maidenhead was normal, but most men weren't so considerate as to satisfy the woman first. Generally, the man derived all the enjoyment, while the woman merely pretended to feel pleasure.

Lauren hadn't been required to pretend. She had truly felt those glorious sensations. But now, whenever she recalled Jason Stuart's boldness, she blushed with shame. How easily he had made her body respond! She could still feel the warmth of those strong, well-shaped hands on her breasts, the intimacy of those long, arousing fingers between her thighs.

She must have been truly desperate to allow a total stranger the license to make love to her like that.

But she had been desperate. Recalling how very alone and frightened she had been, Lauren shuddered. She was far different now from that naive young girl who had fled England. That frightened girl no longer existed. She was a good deal older and wiser, and she could take care of herself.

Yet loneliness was still her worst foe. Lila had Jean-Paul, Matthew had Running Deer, but she had no one. Not unless Felix Duval counted. A regular gamester at the casino, Felix had been pursuing her for some time. She didn't care for him, though, not the way a woman should care for a man. The truth was that she was afraid to care for him, afraid to expose herself to hurt and pain, afraid to become vulnerable the way her mother had been. And if ever she found herself longing for a warm hearthside and someone to love, she never allowed
herself
to dwell on it. All her energies were concentrated on establishing financial independence.

She found solace in work. She drove herself till she wanted to drop, till she was too tired to feel, suppressing her feelings of loneliness and desire with a slavish determination, never allowing herself the luxury of tears. And she was close to achieving her dream.

So why lately had she been feeling more restless and dissatisfied than usual? Occasionally she would experience a sudden sharp longing for laughter and gaily chattering people, and sometimes her heart would give a sudden leap when she heard a masculine voice lower in a gentle caress. Lately, too, Jason Stuart had been a frequent visitor in her dreams. Those particular dreams always left her with an uncertain yearning, an unfulfilled ache.

He had wanted the Carlin fortune, of course. But it was pleasant to imagine that he might have wanted her for herself. What would it have been like, she wondered, to be married to such a man as Jason Stuart? To feel his arms around her each time she went to sleep? To receive his caresses, his kisses, each night? To lie beneath him as he made love to her, stroking and fondling and belonging. . . .

Lauren was unaware of the clock ticking away, but a light rap on the door made her lift her head sharply. What was wrong with her? Letting herself dream about something she could never have was the height of foolishness. There was nothing she could do to change the past.
Nothing.
She could only see to her future, barren though it might be.

Bidding entrance, Lauren wasn't surprised when a buxom redhead swept into the room. There was a definite pout on Veronique's painted mouth as she complained in lilting French, "Really, Lauren, six flights are far too much for me to climb. You might have been more considerate. I waited for hours and hours for you to come. One more song and I would have swooned. It is the truth."

"Oh?" Lauren replied, repressing a smile. "Have the guests arrived then?"

"But yes! And they are ever so handsome. Or at least two of them are. One is old and fat, and the rest merely passable. I suppose I shall end up with the fat one, and it will be
all your
fault,
mon
chou
.
This is how you repay me for taking you under my wing."

Veronique, for the past few months, had been helping Lauren perfect her French, as well as providing instruction on a number of other enlightening subjects. Lila thought Veronique a bad example and would have preferred to keep the two of them apart. But Lauren had learned one could say what one pleased to Veronique without fear of censure. And with Veronique, one could laugh—even Lauren, who rarely showed any sort of emotion.

Lauren went to the pier glass to secure her
demi
-mask. "But I thought you said it did not matter what the clients looked like," she reminded Veronique in a wry tone.

The redhead threw up her hands. "Of course I said that, imbecile!" she exclaimed, exasperated. "But it is better to sleep with a handsome rich man than an ugly rich man."

"Or any man who is not poor."

"With my luck, the fat one will be poor. Here is your fan, Mademoiselle Impudence. Now will you please hurry? The fish will be snapped up before I even have a chance to dangle the bait."

Taking a last look in the mirror, Lauren tucked a loose curl beneath her turban.
"Such excitement over a few fish."

Veronique held the door wide. "Hah, even you would be excited over the size of these, they are so very big."

Gathering up a light shawl, Lauren draped it about her shoulders. "Perhaps they would look well stuffed and served on a platter," she remarked as she was firmly ushered from the room. "But I don't suppose I shall even see them, unless one swims by. Lila has forbidden me to leave the parlor."

"Lila is wise," Veronique said with a knowing glance at Lauren's revealing gown. "That dress is
all the
lure you would need to attract a man's attention. Me, I think it is good for the rest of us that you have never developed a taste for fish!"

The gaming house was typical of New Orleans architecture. Delicate ironwork in lacy
weblike
patterns distinguished the plain stucco facade of the exterior, while a high, arched passageway tunneled back from the wide front entrance to an open courtyard, rimmed above by railed galleries.

The ground floor was occupied primarily by
cardrooms
, but there was also a parlor and a smoking room, as well as a dining room where a late buffet supper was served. The elegant suites on the second floor were reached by a graceful curving staircase in the foyer or wrought-iron stairways in the courtyard. In the
cardrooms
, the guests had their choice of pique,
chemin
de
fer
,
maccao
, faro, E.O., and even roulette.

Jason could find no fault with the arrangements. The sport was competitive yet congenial, while laughter and conversation blended to provide an agreeably intimate atmosphere. Too, the redhead who hovered determinedly at his side while he played faro promised a delightful conclusion to the evening. Her gay smile and light touch proclaimed her availability as she waved her fan languorously, calling attention to the curve of her full breasts and sending a hint of some exotic perfume his way.

When the first tinkling notes of a pianoforte drifted through the open French windows, Jason was too pleasantly occupied to take notice. But when a husky voice lifted in song a short while later, his entire body tensed.

He told himself that Carlin's daughter had been too much on his mind of
late, that
the fascinating huskiness of the singer's voice could belong to a hundred other women, yet he couldn't prevent himself from being drawn by that siren's call. Excusing himself to the other players and the vivacious redhead at his side, he folded his hand and rose from the table. The night enveloped Jason as he stepped into the shadowy courtyard and moved silently across the flagstone. He could feel his heart driving against his ribs as he neared the source of the music, and his breathing was shallow. Yet he stopped breathing entirely as he stood staring beyond the doors of the well-lit parlor.

The room was furnished in gilt and rosewood and decorated in creams and pale
golds
. Mirrors lined the far wall, and at one end, a waiter served various wines and liquors from a sideboard. Jason, however, saw nothing but the woman seated at the pianoforte.

She sat half facing the long French windows, remote and elegant and regal, as she sang in the throaty contralto that caressed his senses with pain and pleasure. She appeared lost in the music. The plumes of her headdress swayed gently with the movement of her body, while her head was slightly bent.

He would have known her anywhere. Even though the golden hair he remembered was completely covered by a turban and the delicate features he had memorized that long ago night were half hidden behind a mask, the haunting loveliness that had tormented his dreams was the same.