Desire and Deception (34 page)

"Because you seduced me, you mean. You're beginning to sound as stuffy as Lila, Jason. And you can't imagine how proper she has become."

"And you're beginning to sound as if you crave vice and corruption."

"I do not!" Lauren laughed, feeling truly lighthearted.

The throaty sound made Jason lift his head. He could see Lauren's face in profile, and the soft smile that curved her lips sent a fresh surge of desire flooding through him. "Lord," he said on an exhaled breath, "it's no wonder I thought you a
strumpet.
That siren's smile turns a man's blood to fire."

She sent him another provocative glance, tilting her head
slightly,
her gold-flecked eyes alight with mischief. Jason watched, mesmerized, as having finished her bath, she moved toward the bank. She was shivering and her hair was dripping wet.

"Honestly," Lauren declared impishly when she reached the water's edge, "I don't see how you can be a proper guardian. You didn't scruple to introduce me to the woman who was your mistress. Who replaced Lila, if I may ask?"

Determinedly averting his gaze from the sight of her lovely body rising from the water, Jason disciplined the arms that begged to surround her and held up a dry blanket. "You may ask. But unless you claim to be jealous, I don't intend to satisfy your vulgar curiosity. You weren't available, you will remember."

"And if I had been?" she asked as he wrapped the blanket around her.

Jason looked down at her then, and his lips curved in a slow grin. "I would have married you for your fortune, of course."

When Lauren's expression instantly sobered, Jason's grin deepened. "Well," he murmured, "we're making progress. Two days ago a remark like that might have gotten me shot."

"I don't see how you can jest about it," Lauren chided, frowning up at him.

"But I claim the privilege of teasing you, after all the torment you put me through." When she shivered, he gently reached up to brush a wet tendril of golden hair back from her face. "Sit in the sun, Cat-eyes. It should warm you quickly."

Lauren obeyed, settling herself on a patch of spring grass with her back to the pool. She had no intention of watching Jason while he took his turn, although to be honest, her decision wasn't motivated by modesty. Rather, she feared a return of the weakness she had experienced that morning.

For a time, she successfully managed to keep her thoughts focused on something other than Jason. But as she combed the tangles from her hair, the late-afternoon sun began to lull her with its warmth. Lauren then discovered another reason to curse being plagued with a vivid imagination.

She could see the tableau without looking: Willows trailing long tendrils of green.
Fronds of palmetto and patches of coral- red jewelweed by the water's edge.
A shimmering plane of aqua reflecting a cloudless sky.
A muscular, perfectly formed body, magnificently virile, beautifully masculine. And her imagination carried her further: The flash of sunlight glistening on naked skin. The rippling muscles of a powerful torso.
Strong, lean hands working up a soapy lather, rubbing it over a lightly furred chest.
Lauren shut her eyes, trying to will away the vision.

She was relieved when a new medley of splashes indicated that Jason had finished bathing. She turned to watch him swim the length of the pool and back.

That was a mistake, Lauren quickly discovered. Even his strokes reminded her of the last time he had made love to her.
Strong, sure, deep, unhurried, slowly increasing in speed and power.

He swam for a long time before making a final dive beneath the surface and coming up with a burst of spray. Then, as the waves lapped over him, he floated lazily, his head thrown back, his eyes closed. Finally he turned and struck out for the bank.

In spite of her resolve, Lauren couldn't help watching as Jason rose from the water—a magnificent male, bronzed and powerful. Again the comparison to Apollo came to mind. Sunlight glinted off his hard golden body, reflecting warming rays that buried deep in her own body, evoking a sudden aching yearning that shocked her with its intensity.

It took every ounce of determination Lauren possessed for her to look away.

When he joined her, he was wearing his deerskin breeches again, but no shirt. Her heart gave a queer leap at the sight of Jason's broad-shouldered torso. She caught herself staring at the damp sprinkling of golden-brown hair on his chest, almost able to feel the silken rasp of it against her bare breasts.

When he spread another blanket upon the grass and threw himself down, Lauren started talking in order to cover her nervousness. "You never did tell me how you rescued us from those Creek warriors. How ever did you manage it? Did you offer them a dozen scalps for our freedom, or did they recognize you for a fellow savage?"

Jason reclined on his side, supporting himself on one elbow. "My, my, Howard has been filling your ears."

"Actually he was quite impressed by your knowledge of the Shawnee, although he thinks they're almost as bad as the Creek. And he admired your courage for facing those warriors alone."

"It wasn't courage, it was desperation. I wasn't about to leave you to their tender mercies."

"What ever did you tell them to make them let us go?"

Jason grinned at her. "You won't like it."

"Please, you have piqued my 'vulgar curiosity'."

"I told them you were my woman."

Lauren felt warm color flood her cheeks at the possessive term. "And that was that? They gave you no argument?"

"The Creek have always been allies of the Shawnee," he replied, plucking a blade of grass to chew on. When Lauren continued to regard him with that mixture of archness and expectation, though, Jason raised an eyebrow. "Are you really interested in hearing the details?"

Lauren studied him for a moment, realizing that an affirmative answer would mean some sort of commitment on her part; she would be admitting that she wanted to know Jason better. But she did. "Yes," she said at last. "Yes, I am. I don't know any Indians but Running Deer." Lauren wondered if the gleam in Jason's eyes was one of satisfaction, but she soon forgot about it as he told her of the year he had spent trapping in what was now the Indiana Territory.

"My partner's wife was Shawnee, and came from the tribe led by Chief Tecumseh. Tecumseh was one of the Shawnee's greatest leaders—but more to the
point,
I once brought down a bear who was attempting to maul one of his cousins. In gratitude, he gave me a rather valuable knife inscribed with the tribe's symbols. It was his name I invoked when I treated with the Creek braves."

"You mean they let us go because you saved someone from another tribe?"

"It isn't as farfetched as it sounds. Tecumseh was killed in the fighting a few years ago, but his name is still highly respected. For most of his life, he tried to organize a confederacy of tribes—including the Creek—against the white man."

"You sound as if you approved of him."

Jason shrugged. "He was only protecting his people. For years American treaties had been depriving the Shawnee of their homes and hunting grounds. And the British weren't much better. They provided political advisers to the Shawnee who actually encouraged hostilities, using Indian tribes as a buffer between America and Canada. The Shawnee are fighting for survival, just like the Creek who accosted you."

"But you weren't involved in the fighting—you were a trapper. So what brought you to America in the first place?"

"I expect for the same reason you want your own ship—I needed to control my own destiny. My father had certain ideas about what was expected of a
marquess's
son, which I disputed frequently. The life of a pampered aristocrat never appealed to me."

Lauren regarded Jason curiously. She couldn't imagine him being under anyone's thumb, even a father as high-ranking as a
marquess
.

"I suppose," Jason added, "that I also wanted to prove myself. The wilderness fascinated me, and so did the simplicity of the life-style. But it was challenging, both mentally and physically."

"You sound as if you enjoyed it," Lauren observed quietly.

Jason's gaze focused on some distant point beyond her shoulder. "It was one of the happiest times of my life."

"Then why did you leave?"

He didn't reply at once. A mockingbird trilled in the nearby willow, sounding loud in the silence. "Several reasons," he said at last.
"Responsibilities.
It wasn't my world. England is my home and always will be. And I had no wish to cut the ties with my own family." He didn't add that he hadn't found what he had been searching for—a feeling of completeness, of purpose—and so had moved on.

His gaze settled on Lauren then, and Jason again resolved to be patient. Even wrapped as she was in shapeless dark wool, she was totally desirable. She had tucked her blanket under her arms, leaving her shoulders bare. Her slender white feet and ankles showed as well, since she had drawn her knees up to provide a rest for her chin. Her drying hair spilled down her back in a golden cascade. Jason could barely resist the urge to run his hands through the silken mass.

Lauren felt the impact of his gaze like a caress. Determined to combat the effect it was having on her pulse, she changed the subject. "Those buckskin clothes of yours, is that what Shawnee braves wear?"

Amusement glimmered in his eyes.
"A slightly more civilized version.
Normally men wear only breechclouts in warm weather, with leggings to ward off the cold in winter. I had to give Little Eagle an extra horse to make breeches for me in place of the traditional clothing."

"She made your clothes?" Lauren's eyes widened as she wondered what else the Indian woman had done for the handsome man lounging at her feet.

"It certainly wasn't work for a man," he replied, his tone warm and teasing. "The Shawnee woman handles tasks like curing hides and making clothes. She's also responsible for the harvest and for raising the children—at least until the boys reach a certain age and are ready to test their manhood."

"The women are treated as mere slaves, then," Lauren remarked derisively.

Jason lay back on the blanket, lacing his hands behind his head. "You might be surprised to realize how much power they wield. The wife has complete control of the home—it is her word that is law. The husband's main responsibility is to provide protection for his family, but if he wants something as simple as an ear of corn for his own purposes, he must offer his wife a gift in exchange. And the Shawnee don't consider females mindless idiots as so many of our countrymen do. She can have a considerable influence on the decisions of the tribal council, and can even rule as chief of her village if she gains the respect of her people as a leader."

Lauren looked pensive. "And what must she do to gain this respect? Must she fight her enemies?"

"Certainly she must prove her abilities, but it's rarely in battle. There
are any number
of other ways to show bravery,
courage, wisdom.
But enough about the Shawnee."
Jason turned his head to glance at Lauren. "We should be discussing your future. Tell
me,
besides having the freedom to chase skirts, what do you want to do with your life?"

"Must we talk about it now?" she protested, not wanting to spoil the magic of the afternoon. Stretching lazily, she lay back with her arms over her head and looked up at the sky. The blue had changed to soft hues of crimson and gold, heralding the setting sun and the
day's
fend.

"You haven't considered what you will do when we get back to New Orleans?"

Lauren closed her eyes and sighed, feeling languor creep into her limbs. "It's so peaceful here," she murmured drowsily. "Maybe I won't go back."

Jason rolled on his side again, raising himself up on one elbow. His breath caught in his lungs as he took in the sight Lauren presented. Her hair was splayed over the grass in glorious profusion, while her ivory skin was bathed in a warm, golden glow. Jason's eyes moved from her face, down her smooth throat, to the beginning swells of her breasts as they rose and fell softly. How he wanted to free those lush white mounds from their imprisoning cocoon. . . . "Well, then"— he couldn't rid his voice of its sudden huskiness—"where would you like to live?"