Desire and Deception (5 page)

It was a moment before he could speak again, his voice still unsteady. "I would have prevented your governess's death had it been in my power to do. Please believe me. This marriage is for your protection. The doctors say I may live only a short time longer, and I would see you settled and . . . provided for, before I quit this life."

His normally florid expression had faded to a sickly gray, but even so, Lauren couldn't shake the suspicion that he was merely using his health as a means to gain her agreement. She felt her anger rising again, giving her the courage to defy him. She shook her head. "I will not marry anyone."

"You will. The marriage will take place in September as planned. You should have ample time to adjust to the idea."

"Never."
Though September was still several months away, Lauren had no intention of
adjusting
to the idea.

"You have no choice. Don't force me to do something I have no wish to do. I imagine you wouldn't care to spend a night in the wine cellars."

Terror welled up in Lauren, making her take a step backward. Burroughs
knew
about her fear of confinement. He had discovered it when he visited her at the workhouse. And later, soon after she had come to Carlin House, Miss Foster had locked her in a nursery closet as punishment for some minor infraction. She had been found hours afterward, unconscious and cold as death. The experience had brought on a rash of nightmares that still haunted her. Lauren stood there now, her back pressed against the door, staring at Burroughs in fear.

He rubbed his forehead wearily, an infinite sadness in his eyes. "Must I resort to force, my dear?"

Despising herself for her cowardice, Lauren turned and fled, yet she waited till she reached the privacy of her own
bedchamber before flinging herself on the bed and giving license to her grief in a torrent of tears. She didn't doubt Burroughs would carry out his threat. He was obsessed with keeping the Carlin Line from Regina and clearly meant to have his way.

Remembering his abrupt announcement of her arranged marriage, Lauren wondered what kind of man would agree to marry a half-mad girl he had never seen. Had he been bribed with the Carlin ships? Or did Burroughs hold some other kind of threat over his head? Perhaps he didn't even know about Andrea's condition.

But whatever his reasons, he didn't deserve to be embroiled in such danger. Miss Foster had already been caught in the middle of the deadly battle between George Burroughs and Regina Carlin, and she had been killed.

Lauren was still sobbing when Ulysses leapt up on the bed, but his contented purring helped her realize the futility of tears. She wiped her cheeks and drew the huge feline into the curve of her body as she tried to consider her situation unemotionally.

Even if she went to the authorities, no one would believe her; she was supposed to be half mad. And if they did believe her story, she would go to prison for fraud, and might even hang. Prison! The very word struck terror in her heart. To be locked away, in a cold dark cell . . .

Matthew had been right. She had to leave Carlin House at once. She would put what few things she needed in a bundle and wait till everyone was asleep, then slip out to meet him.

"But I cannot take you with me, Ulysses," Lauren whispered.

The cat blinked his wide almond-shaped eyes and yawned, while Lauren stared at the canopy overhead. Matthew would help her, as he had said. Once they managed to make the nearest seaport, they could find a ship and leave England. . . .

But now, in the damp darkness of the Thames waterfront, her knee paining her fiercely, Lauren was close to panic as she recalled how disastrously their escape had gone awry. Matthew had insisted on going to London where they could more easily elude Burroughs's men, but they had made it only as far as

Reading before Matthew had nearly been killed. Then he had abandoned her, intentionally making himself a target and giving her a chance to flee. Afterward, her flight had taken her to London where she waited fruitlessly for Matthew to arrive; then to the waterfront where Burroughs's men were still searching for her; then to the London Dock where she boarded the
Leucothea
and met Captain Jason Stuart.

And that was the final blow. As incredible as it seemed, she had stumbled directly into the path of one of the men she wished most to avoid.

Jason Stuart, the man she was contracted to marry.

Jason reached the gunwale in time to see his cloaked visitor flee up the stone steps from the quay. Watching her stumble through the cargo on the dimly lit wharf, he frowned, puzzled by her strange behavior.

The entire day had been rather uncommon, Jason reflected as he stared after her. When the
Leucothea
had docked that morning, he had been met with the disturbing news that the United States had declared war on England. That intelligence immediately raised the question of whether his American first mate, Kyle Ramsey, would continue to sail with the brig. Then later that day, when Jason responded to his father's injunction for a personal appearance, he had learned something else equally disturbing.

He had been too busy to consider the implications of either event until he had seen to his ship. But when Kyle finally joined him in his cabin, the two of them spent the remainder of the evening drinking Jason's best brandy and discussing the problem Kyle's citizenship posed. Years before, the Ramsey family had moved from England to a plantation on the Mississippi River, and though Kyle hadn't lived in America for long before he took to the sea, he felt a certain loyalty toward his new country.

Wanting his friend to make the choice, Jason had refrained from using his considerable talents of persuasion, but he was pleased and relieved by Kyle's decision to stay with the
Leucothea
.
Only when the problem was satisfactorily resolved, did Jason mention his own quandary. "There is one more thing," he said, pausing to choose his words. "The summons from my father . . ."

"Ah, yes," his inebriated first mate interjected.
"The urgent message which was waiting when we dropped anchor.
Let me guess—Lord
Effing
ripped up at you for disgracing the family honor. Or was it merely that you didn't jump when he said jump?" Kyle snorted as he replenished his glass from the crystal decanter on Jason's desk. "You get such summons regularly,
Jase
. What
d'you
do
to twig the old man's nose this time? It can't be
those investments you made in the East India Company—that was
last time. You should have taken me with you. I would have recommended an indulgence in spirits for my Lord
Effing
. Easier to stomach a rebellious son, you know." Kyle took a large swig of brandy and grinned. "On second thought, that wouldn't do. His lordship might drown in the stuff."

"He had something else in mind, however," Jason said before Kyle's loosened tongue took him off on another tangent. "My father has arranged a marriage for me."

Kyle gaped at his friend and captain, staring as if a two-tailed sea dragon had suddenly stepped into Jason's highly polished boots. "The devil, you say!" he breathed at last.

Jason wore a contemplative expression as he leaned back in his chair and drew an imaginary pattern on the desktop with a lean forefinger. "I've agreed to meet the lady."

Kyle drained his glass,
then
refilled it slowly. "
Skulduggery
must run in your family," he said, his tone remarkably sober. "The
marquess
is the only man I know who has more schemes up his sleeve than you do. Only he favors blackmail. Seriously,
Jase
, whatever possessed you to agree to such a thing? You know what he means to do, don't you? Wants you to settle down and have a passel of brats. Don't see the reason for it, myself. Your brother already has a boy of his own—succession secure and all that."

"I'm afraid my father doesn't quite see it that way— insecurity and all that," Jason returned dryly. "But what would you do if you were offered the Carlin Line for a dowry?"

Kyle's jaw dropped once more.
"The
Carlin
ships?"
When he realized Jason wasn't joking, he whistled softly through his teeth. "Why, that clever,
clever
bastard. He knew that would hook you, if anything would. I take back what I said. You're a rank amateur compared to your father."

Jason chuckled and raised a hand. "Hold, man, I haven't agreed to do anything except pay a call on the heiress. You already have me leg-shackled."

"Why not?
Even a bracket-faced harridan would be worth the Carlin fleet. Who's the bride, anyway?"

"Carlin's daughter.
And she's supposed to be a beauty, though still somewhat young."

Kyle's brows drew together in a frown as he searched his memory. "But that's rather . . . There was a rumor some years back about a kid. Said to be touched in the head or something.
Locked up in Bedlam."

Jason shook his head.
"No truth to it, or so my father assures me.
I am, however, to be given an opportunity to judge for myself when I pay her a visit. I thought I would set out for Cornwall in the morning. If I make haste, I could be back before repairs are completed on the
Leucothea
."

Kyle continued to frown. "I don't like it,
Jase
.
Smells odd.
My advice is to forget it. You already have a tidy pile, in spite of His Lordship's efforts to keep you a gentleman. What you ought to do is turn those brains of yours to shady dealings. That'll spike the old man's guns and make you rich at the same time. Besides, a wife won't take kindly to you fighting a war and traipsing all over the world."

Jason directed a penetrating glance at his foxed first mate. "I had thought to put the
Leucothea
under your command."

Looking down, Kyle scowled into his glass. "Damn it, Jason, I've already agreed to stay. There's no need for you to offer a bribe like that."

Jason's blue eyes filled with amusement. "You wound me, mate. I hadn't even considered bribing you. You've earned command of a ship. It was part of the deal."

"But you can't be thinking of leaving the
Leucothea
yet."

"Not immediately, but I will someday. You know I never meant to make a career of the sea. You've taught me all I wanted to know and more about sailing. Besides, if I do decide to marry Carlin's daughter, I'll have an entire merchant fleet at my disposal. It won't be the same, of course . . ."

Jason's voice trailed off as he let his gaze wander about the sparsely furnished captain's cabin. It seemed small when occupied by the two of them. Both were tall men, with powerful, well-muscled bodies and broad shoulders—although "massive" was probably a more appropriate term for Kyle. But regardless of the cabin's lack of comfort, it had been a home to Jason for nearly two years. He was as familiar with every inch of its oak-paneled bulkheads and gleaming brass fixtures as he was with the rest of the brig, and he had enjoyed every moment of being the
Leucothea
'
s
captain. He would miss her.

Trying to shrug off his dispirited mood, Jason picked up the nearly empty decanter. "So, then," he said, refilling both glasses. "Shall we drink to our new partnership? And to the hope that the Carlin heiress is all I've been promised?"