Desire and Deception (56 page)

Jason's anger grew as he chased her through the streets of the Vieux Carre. He had a decided advantage in speed since his longer legs were unhampered by skirts, but Lauren had a head start of nearly a block. Jason had closed only half the distance between them when she disappeared into
Madame
Gescard's
gaming house, and when he tried to follow, he was forced to slow his stride.

Kendricks stood there blocking the way, his legs spread wide in a belligerent stance. He wasn't at all pleased to see Jason, but neither was he averse to locking horns again. In fact, he had been relishing the thought of avenging his defeat of a few weeks before. One look at the snapping fury in the blue eyes, however, convinced Kendricks this wasn't an auspicious time to challenge the gentleman—or even to stand in his way. He fell back before the force of Jason's relentless advance.

"My wife, where is she?" Jason ground out, gripping the majordomo by the shirtfront.

"She has a room upstairs," Kendricks replied quickly.
"Top floor, last door on the right.
But I'll not swear that's where she is."

Jason aimed himself at the stairs and took them three at a time. When he reached Lauren's room, he didn't bother to knock but twisted the door handle. To his great amazement, he found the door locked. Knowing her fear of confinement, Jason wondered if he might have the wrong room.
But only for an instant.
He knew she was inside.

"Open the door, Lauren, before I knock it down!"

There was no reply to his bellowed command. The silence was shortly followed by the sound of splintering wood as Jason applied a sturdy shoulder to the offending portal. When the barrier crashed to the floor, he stumbled over the threshold.

Lauren stood by the open window, not moving, her complexion very
paie
. Considering the blazing glare her violent husband was directing at her, though, she faced him with remarkable composure. "Go away. I don't wish to see you."

"That is quite obvious!" Jason retorted as he surveyed the wreckage he had made of the door. "You even overcame your aversion to locks, I see, in your effort to avoid me."

Lauren lifted her chin regally. "I thought it the lesser of two evils."

Jason's jaw hardened, but he managed to keep his volume below a roar. "Why the hell are you running this time? Had you intended on saying good-bye first, or did you plan to leave without a word?" When she didn't answer, he swore violently.
"
Dammit
, Lauren!
I had your promise!"

She returned his regard coldly. "I don't mean to speak to you. Go away."

Jason spread his hands wide, as if pleading his innocence. "The least you could do is
give
me a chance to explain. I don't even know what crime I've been convicted of."

"It doesn't matter," Lauren declared in a chill voice. "You will be leaving in a few weeks. What difference does it make if we end this farce of a marriage a bit earlier than we planned?"

Jason drew in a deep breath. "I wasn't aware you considered it a farce." But as his eyes searched her face, he noted with despair Lauren's remoteness. Her silence now was different from the deaf-muteness she had affected when he had tricked her into becoming his wife. This was the same touch-me-never coldness he had once fought to overcome. Only this was far more serious; she had locked him out of her heart. The barrier
was up between them again, as frozen and impenetrable as ever, and he couldn't storm it as easily as he could a wooden door.

"Just like that, you end it?" he demanded. "What we had together has ceased to exist?" When Lauren merely stared back at him, Jason's tone shifted to biting sarcasm. "I can see how deeply you are affected, sweetheart. You might be remarking about the weather instead of the dissolution of our marriage. Come to think of it, most people show more feeling when discussing the weather."

Lauren remained silent, forcing herself to steadily return his gaze. She couldn't explain that making
herself
numb inside was her only means of self-protection. And perhaps, after all, this was the best way to end their relationship.
One swift cleaving stroke.
Later she would grieve. Later she would feel. But for now she would be thankful for the deadening of her heart.

"Perhaps it is for the best," Jason echoed her thoughts. "I really have no interest in staying married to a child—one who runs at the first sign of trouble. Christ, you even see ghosts!" He missed Lauren's wince of pain as he bent to lift the fallen door. "Being saddled with a neurotic wife does have its disadvantages," Jason observed derisively as he leaned the wooden panel against the wall.

"Get out," Lauren breathed, her voice holding the barest hint of emotion.

Jason eyed her sardonically. "But then I got what I wanted.
The
 
Carlin
Line."

Lauren shut her eyes against the wave of pain that assailed her. There, he had finally admitted it. But it shouldn't hurt so much to hear what she had known all along. She faced Jason again, although she was unable to keep a quiver from her voice when she spoke. "You have Desiree, as well. Why don't you go to her? I don't doubt she pleases you better than I."

Jason's mouth twisted in a mocking smile. "She certainly isn't as cold as you are."

Lauren clenched her fists as his words struck her. Not only was he not denying his relationship with Desiree, but he was taunting her about it as well! What a stupid fool she had been to listen to his passionate lies, to let him make love to her while he was playing the rutting stag behind her back.

Seething with humiliation and anger, Lauren hardly felt the nails digging into her palms. "Get out!" she hissed. "Go back to her before she misses you!"

Nonchalantly, Jason turned to leave. "Perhaps I will. At least she isn't a frozen excuse for a woman."

He had taken but two steps when a small parcel wrapped in tissue paper came flying past his head. Lauren had picked up the little ship and thrown it with all her might. "Take that with you!" she cried, dangerously close to losing control. "Consider it a farewell present from your loving wife!"

He turned to rake her with his gaze.
"Loving?"
he drawled contemptuously. "You don't know the meaning of the word, my sweet. I could almost pity you, but for the fact your ignorance suited my purpose. How easy it was to play the lovesick swain, to convince you and the rest of the world I married you for love. Now, of course, I am desolated by your repudiation." He swept her a mocking bow. "It should be the work of a moment to persuade all your dear friends that I have been grievously wronged. I doubt if any of them will protest very loudly when I walk away with your inheritance now."

Lauren's wide, pain-filled eyes contrasted starkly to her ashen face. "I hate you!" she whispered.

"Now, sweetheart, that's no way to look at it," Jason admonished. "You may have lost a fortune, but you've had a little pleasure along the way. And you know more about playing the whore now. Your new skills will come in handy, should you decide to remain here. Certainly you can enter the profession with complete confidence. You were quite an excellent pupil! In fact, if you would like, I'll supply you with references."

Lauren attacked him then, with a cry of wounded fury. Flailing blindly, she pounded at his chest and shoulders, wanting to hurt him as he had hurt her. Jason made no move to defend
himself
until Lauren attempted to rake his face with her nails, but even then he only held her wrists in a gentle grip, not speaking as she fought him wildly.

When the first sob tore through her, it felt like a knife ripping at her lungs. And then more followed; she couldn't stop them. It was like a great dam breaking, letting loose all the violent emotions she always so carefully controlled. Her body shook with racking sobs, while the tears came, in floods, in rivers, erupting from her as a deluge from a stormy heaven.

Jason's hands came up to seize her shoulders, steadying her until she sank to her knees, unable to support her own weight. Wordlessly then, he scooped her up and carried her to the bed where he sat, cradling her trembling body in his arms while her grief poured forth in a wordless, unending stream.

A worried Veronique came to the door, but went away again when Jason silently shook his head. Lauren wasn't aware of it. She was hardly aware that Jason was holding her.
Had she been, she would have found it ironic that Jason should be the one to console her; she was crying because she had lost him, because without him she felt incomplete, inadequate, only half a person.

When at last her weeping became less passionate, she realized that she was lying on the bed with him, sprawled on his chest. His arms were wrapped tightly around her shaking shoulders, while his hand gently stroked her hair. When she tried to move away, though, Jason wouldn't let her go.
Giving up the struggle, she lay there submissively, her head on his shoulder, his body warm and hard beneath hers.

Finally her shudders ceased and her tears ended. Jason released her then, only to settle her more comfortably in the crook of his arm. Lauren stayed there, not thinking, not feeling anything,
yet
savoring his protective warmth as she listened to the vibrant rhythm of his heartbeat.

She felt his lips move gently against her hair. "Feel better?" he murmured.

Lauren considered his question. Her body felt drained and limp, as if it had been pounded by the hooves of a hundred wild horses, yet a kind of peace she had never known before had settled over her. She felt cleansed by the tears, purified by the fires of rage and hatred that had swept through her. "Yes," she rasped, though realizing he already knew the answer.

Her voice was husky from crying, her face damp with tears. When she sniffed inelegantly and wiped ineffectually at her eyes, Jason handed her a snowy handkerchief. Lauren used it gratefully,
then
rolled on her back, staring up at the canopy. "You did that on purpose," she observed, not expecting or receiving a denial. Jason shifted so that he lay on his side. He was watching her, she knew. "I haven't cried since I left England," Lauren added almost absently.

"Thank God you did," he said softly. "I was running out of insults, trying to break through that frozen shell of yours."

Lauren smiled faintly, wondering how Jason had understood her better than she understood herself. When she turned her head on the pillow, she saw the tenderness in his gaze. "I . . . hit you," she said hesitantly. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Jason returned her smile. "I'm sure I have a cracked rib or two." When Lauren's green-gold eyes filled with concern, Jason pressed his fingers to her lips. "Believe me, sweetheart, I would rather have you striking me or threatening to shoot me than so stoically denying your hatred or anger or uncertainty. You feel those things—we all do. But most of us find some way of releasing our emotions instead of keeping them bottled up inside or running from them."

When her lips began to tremble, Jason reached up to stroke her tear-stained cheek, and his voice lowered to a pleading whisper. "Don't run from me, Lauren. I can bear anything but that."

The welling tears threatened to spill over again. "Hold me, Jason," she begged. "Please, just hold me."

Almost fiercely, Jason drew her into his embrace once more, but Lauren welcomed the near-pain of being crushed in his arms. She clung to him tightly, as if by doing so, she could merge into one being with him.

It was some time before either of them relaxed their hold. But they didn't move apart, even then. Their lips met in a kiss that was at first questioning, then reassuring.

Jason was the first to draw back. "So you don't hate me after all." His voice held a trace of amusement.

Lauren bit her lip. "I never hated you. But the things you said to me hurt so much—"

"I meant for them to. I was hurt and angry myself. But I trust you realize that everything I said was a pack of lies."

"Now I do. But I believed you then."

Jason returned her gaze steadily. "Only because I voiced the suspicions you've harbored against me at one time or another. You never have quite given up the idea that I only married you for your inheritance, have you?"