Desire and Deception (29 page)

The voice that rang out in the small clearing was grim and edged with steel. "No one forced you to leave England, Lauren," Jason interjected. "You made that decision on your own."

Lauren whirled to face him, her hand going to her throat in a defensive gesture. Jason was watching her, but she couldn't read his expression. His blue eyes were hooded and his face hidden in shadows.

What did he intend?
she
wondered. Would he, like her guardian, threaten to lock her up if she refused to go along with his plans? Or would he kill her now and be done with it? She was beyond caring. She only wanted to strike out at him, to hurt him the way he had hurt her with his betrayal.

"How you must have laughed," she observed bitterly.
"Captain Jason Stuart
protecting
me from my guardian's men.
So conveniently at hand to rescue me.
I should have known you were part of it all along, especially after your sudden overwhelming desire to marry me—offered under the guise of wanting to protect me. You knew if I left, you would lose a fortune, didn't you? What did you intend by coming to New Orleans now? Were you planning on taking me back to England so I would be in Burroughs's control again? Or did you think your original plan the best—to marry me for the Carlin ships? Perhaps you want it all. How soon will I disappear after the wedding?"

Ben Howard was watching her with concerned dismay, but Lauren never noticed; her attention was focused entirely on Jason. Her voice dropped to a pained whisper. "You
lied
to me.
After all that talk of honesty.
Did you tell him about Matthew, Jason? How Matthew risked his life trying to defend me? God . . . they nearly killed him." She faltered, her throat aching with unshed tears. Jason must have known about Matthew, perhaps even ordered his death. And she had given herself to Jason like an unsuspecting, innocent,
stupid
fool.

She couldn't bear to face him or herself any longer. Turning abruptly, she went to where the horses were tied. For a moment she struggled with a heavy saddle before she managed to lift it to the back of the nearest animal, a chestnut with white markings. Neither man moved. Neither man spoke. The tension in the small clearing crackled like the flames of the campfire.

The silence ate at Lauren, arousing in her a perverse need to wring a response from Jason. "How did you intend to explain Matthew's death, Jason?" she asked with a vicious jerk on the saddle chinch. "How do you excuse murder?"

Jason took a step toward her, then stopped, his hands clenched at his sides. "I had intended to tell you the truth," he said slowly, "but I can see you aren't prepared to handle it. I doubt if you ever will be. When you can't face up to your problems, you run. Go ahead then. Run, Lauren. No one will stop you. But neither will anyone aid you. If you go, you go alone."

She shrugged defiantly, but then her shoulders slumped in despair. Wearily she leaned her forehead against the chestnut's neck. "Far better than going back to New Orleans where you can carry out whatever schemes you and George Burroughs
have
planned."

"That's another of your erroneous conclusions about the past. I couldn't return you to Burroughs, even if I wanted to, for the simple reason that he's dead."

"I don't believe you!"

"Believe what you choose. But he died of a diseased heart less than six months after you disappeared. He's buried in Cornwall, in the cemetery behind Carlin House."

Lauren whirled to face Jason again, her gold-flecked eyes full of pain. He was lying. He was telling her this so she would accompany him without protest. But she wouldn't allow him to dupe her again. She wouldn't allow him to hurt
her this
way again. Her fist came down hard on the saddle, even though her whispered words were almost a plea. "Damn you, I trusted you.

Jason shook his head slowly, holding her gaze with unyielding intensity. "No, you never trusted me. You don't know the meaning of trust. You
use
people, Lauren. You use whoever is available, whenever it is expedient. You used Matthew, Lila, me, Howard—you nearly got Howard killed yesterday. And if you hadn't run away in the first place, Matthew never would have risked his life. You're responsible for that, and you know it."

"No." Her denial, barely audible, was uttered without conviction. Jason had managed to strike at the heart of her guilt. She did feel responsible for endangering Matthew's life. But she wasn't at fault for trying to extricate
herself
from the nightmare of murder and greed Jason had conspired to create.

Again the pain of his betrayal raked her.
"Bastard."
The word was expelled on an anguished sob. "Filthy, bloody, lying bastard."

When Jason advanced another step, panic gripped Lauren. Desperately, she picked up a rifle that was leaning against the base of a tree and leveled it directly at his chest. "Stay away from me, do you hear? Don't come near me! I know how to use a gun now, Jason, and I swear, if you take one more step, I'll kill you!"

She thought she imagined the look of pain that crossed Jason's face, for it was gone in an instant.

"Then shoot, Lauren. Aim for the heart. Unlike you, I still have mine." Jason's tone was caustic, but he stood quite still as her finger trembled on the trigger. "Or are you too afraid? You've let fear rule your life until now. Why should this be different?"

When Lauren raised the muzzle another inch, Ben Howard let out his breath in a rush. "Damn, are you crazy, ma'am? He saved our lives!"

"Why? So he could have the Carlin fortune?" Lauren was surprised to hear how calm her voice
sounded,
for it seemed that her whole body was shaking. She should fire the gun, she told herself. She should pull the trigger. One slight movement of her finger would end her misery.
One for you, one for me.

Her aim wavered as she gazed at Jason. It seemed that nothing would come into focus but his eyes. They held hers, communicating silently, offering comfort that she couldn't accept from him.

But she couldn't do it. She couldn't take Jason's life, not even to save her own. She lowered the weapon and let it slip unheeded to the ground, then turned and stumbled blindly from the clearing, her breath coming in shuddering gasps. Shortly she began to run, yet when she fell to the forest floor some time later, she lay there, without
the will to go on, dry sobs racking her body.

Then someone was kneeling beside her, strong arms were lifting her up, enfolding her.

"That's enough, Lauren." Jason's voice was hoarse, anguished, but she didn't care. She didn't want him to touch her. Her body gave a reflexive jerk, but his arms tightened around her, holding her against him.

"I hate you!" she sobbed, wanting it to be true.

His lips covered hers then, demanding and desperate, as if he could drive away her despair with the sheer force of his will.

She struggled, pushing against his hard chest and imprisoning arms, yet through the haze of her pain, Lauren felt heat flare between them. His mouth was hard and searing, compelling a response from her. Even the rasp of his unshaven jaw against her skin excited and aroused her. How could she hate him so much, yet feel such wild longing for him? His kiss was subduing her, draining her of the will to fight. In a moment she would surrender to him completely. . . .

When her struggles eventually ceased, Jason loosened his hold, but his lips continued moving tenderly over hers, then over her cheeks, her closed eyes.

Lauren tried one last time to pull away, pushing weakly against Jason's chest, but he pressed his cheek against her hair, murmuring, "Don't, Lauren. Don't shut me out."

For a long time, he held her, stroking her hair, soothing her trembling body, his touch gentle and patient.

Lauren at last lay quietly in his arms, and her exhausted senses gradually focused. After the rough bristle of his beard, Jason's buckskin shirt felt soft against her cheek. It was saturated with his warmth and the musky, male scent of his body, and beneath thrummed the steady beat of his heart. Lauren gave a ragged, quivering sigh. "You . . . you were right. It was my fault that Matthew risked his life."

His lips moved briefly against her hair. "You weren't entirely to blame. Burroughs's hirelings simply became over- zealous in obeying orders."

Reminded again of Jason's treachery, Lauren stiffened and started to pull away, but his fingers closed over her chin, forcing her to look at him. "I want you to believe me, Lauren. I never lied to you about knowing Burroughs. No, don't speak."

He pressed a finger against her lips. "Just listen for a moment. That night in London when I first met you, I had only just returned to England. You can check the
Leucothea
's
log if you wish. I remained on board later than usual that night, or I would have missed seeing you entirely. I followed you simply because I didn't like the idea of a lone woman roaming the docks after dark. I didn't realize who you were then, and everything I knew about the Carlin ships was hearsay. I had only just learned about our betrothal. Earlier that day my father had told me of the arrangement he had made with your guardian for me to marry the Carlin heiress."

Jason searched her face in the dawning light, trying to interpret her silence. "I intended to leave for Cornwall the next day to pay you a visit.
To meet you and see if we could reach an understanding.
I had never been enamored of arranged marriages, but the Carlin ships had always intrigued me. I couldn't turn down such an opportunity without investigating first. But when I met you, all thought of the Carlin fortune left my head. All I knew was that when you looked at me with those beautiful eyes of yours, I wanted you.
For yourself, Lauren.
I didn't know who you were, or what your background was, but I could see that you were in trouble. Damn it, you wouldn't even tell me your name! You were so very determined not to trust me. And when I guessed that you were really my intended bride, I started to believe in fate. I decided then that I couldn't let you leave, that you would have my protection whether you wanted it or not. I thought I was being clever, for I meant to compromise you and then present the evidence to your guardian as a
fait accompli.
You would have to marry me then, to save your reputation. Or so I thought."

She was watching him. And she was listening. He took a deep breath and plunged on. "My ineptitude put me in such a rage that my men avoided me for weeks. And when I couldn't find you, I went to the Carlin offices. I nearly killed Burroughs, for I blamed him for your disappearance."

"What did he tell you?" Lauren asked quietly.

Jason let out his breath in relief, knowing he had at least penetrated the defensive barrier she had erected between them. "Burroughs told me he wouldn't live much longer. He knew when he tried to arrange our marriage that his heart was weak. But he thought he was providing for your future. He cared for you, Lauren, in his own way. If I hadn't known that for certain, I would never have agreed to help him find you. Do you believe me?"

Her gaze was fixed on his face. There was still doubt in her eyes, but the terrible despair was gone from the green depths. "I don't know," she said gravely. "You still haven't told me why Burroughs would write you about the Carlin ships."

"Here, Cat-eyes, sit beside me and I'll explain. Kneeling like this is getting rather painful." When Jason had settled himself into a more comfortable position, he drew Lauren against him, nestling her in the crook of his arm. "I shouldn't have left you to find that letter," he observed softly. "What you saw was Burroughs's agreement to the disposal of an East Indiaman. She was one of the first Carlin ships, long past her prime. I convinced Burroughs that she was no longer making a profit on overseas routes and later sold her to a merchant who planned to transport goods from Liverpool to London."

Lauren shook her head. "That doesn't explain how you became involved with Burroughs."