Desire and Deception (21 page)

"No, I will not allow it." He shook his head, a slow grin spreading across his firm mouth, causing slashing masculine dimples to crease his cheeks. "I will speak to the hostess and have her release you from your other duties."

"Madame will not agree," Lauren protested while her eyes flickered around the room in search of help. He obviously thought she was one of the ladies of the house. But better that than for him to realize she was his runaway bride, the one who had stolen his money. She was thankful that Lila had chosen this particular evening to be away, for Captain Stuart would surely have recognized his ex-mistress and connected the two of them. If she could manage to get away now, she might be able to avoid him while he was in New Orleans. She needed someone to distract his attention. . . .

Looking around, Lauren saw no sign of Kendricks or Madame
Gescard
, or even the waiter. The gay crowd was thinning somewhat, as some of the couples disappeared through the open French doors. Those guests who remained were occupied with their own amusements. She would get no assistance from them, most assuredly, unless she physically struggled. And if she caused a scene now, Lila would never let her return.

Adopting her coolest manner, Lauren turned back to Jason. "Please, Monsieur Jason. I am aware of the honor that you pay me. But I must insist that you release me. I truly must go."

He bent his head, bringing his lips so close that his warm breath fanned her cheek. "You will give me no hope?" he said softly, intimately, gazing into her eyes with an intentness that seemed to reach her very soul.

Lauren stared up at him, breathing in the warm scent of him, clean yet hinting of masculine spice. His overpowering presence made her dizzy, unable to think. At last she shook her head, wishing she didn't have to say no.

He released her hand, only to take her arm in a gentle grasp.
"Very well, mademoiselle.
I release you on one condition— that you stroll with me in the courtyard for a brief moment. The moonlight is so very inviting. I would wish for a thousand such nights with you."

As he spoke, he propelled Lauren gently toward the darkness. But he didn't force her when she hesitated on the threshold. Instead he offered his arm, waiting for her to choose.

Glancing up at him, Lauren was confused by the look he bestowed on her and by the hard smile playing about his lips. She was confused, too, by her own foolish longings and the tension building inside her. The attraction she felt for him was so forceful as to be almost tangible.

She should refuse his request, she knew. There was danger in this commanding, powerful man. He would kiss her, and . . .

Or would he? She couldn't fathom the glitter in his eyes, but somehow it didn't bring to mind desire. And his tone was not impassioned or ardent, in spite of his flowery phrases and smooth flattery; it was cold and as hard as granite. He didn't appear to be in a mood for romance. Indeed, he seemed more prepared for battle.

There was no moonlight, either; the courtyard was enveloped in shadows. Lauren could see nothing of the other couples as they sprawled on various benches or stood in close embraces, though she could hear low whispers and an occasional sigh.

Still, the soft night breeze seemed to beckon, and the heady scent of jasmine was a strong lure. More than that, a strong, attractive man was at her side.
The man who might have been her husband.
The one who had wakened her to passion.
The same man who had been so much a part of her dreams.

Lauren was shaken from her thoughts as Jason brought a finger up to her cheek to stroke her skin with a
featherlight
touch. She stared up into the blue eyes, unable to decide.

Mesmerized as well, Jason outlined her lips with a gentle finger. The tenderness of the gesture convinced Lauren that she need not fear him. She was only committing herself to a brief stroll in the garden, after all. Indeed, there was no reason for the sudden trembling of her hand as she obediently placed it on Jason Stuart's sleeve.

Lauren didn't scream as she was propelled through the courtyard gate and lifted into the waiting hackney coach; the suddenness of Jason's attack had scattered her wits, while his hand covering her mouth effectively prevented her from making a sound. She was released as the shabby coach began to move, but she didn't scream then, either; she was incapacitated by pure, simple terror. The interior was wrapped in almost total darkness, an airless void that rose up to choke her. Her first sound was a low whimper.

Hearing it, Jason flashed a suspicious glance at the woman beside him. He had been prepared for a struggle, and the ease of spiriting her away from the gaming house merely put him on his guard. But when she didn't protect or demand to be told where she was being taken, he searched the side pocket for a light.

In the golden gleam of lamplight, he saw her huddled in the corner, cringing as if she expected a blow from his fist, her bare white arms inadequately covering her head as she pressed tightly against the side panel. Jason felt the first pangs of doubt. The green satin of her gown shimmered with the swaying of the coach, while the gems at her throat flashed with a magnificent brilliance, but, at the moment, the regal beauty looked more like a frightened child than a hardened prostitute.

Again Jason heard the terrified whimper, and his eyes narrowed as he tried to determine if her fear was real or merely a ruse. The crushed ostrich plumes in her headdress only added to her appearance of helpless femininity. Jason found himself fighting an absurd desire to gather her in his arms and console her.

"I don't intend to beat you," he said in a tone laced with irony.

The sound of his voice penetrated Lauren's panic. Her one conscious thought was that she was not alone, that she had not been left alone in the dark, cramped space. And when she forced her eyes open, she realized that it was no longer dark. Gasping for breath, Lauren stretched out a trembling hand and stammered in a hoarse, unrecognizable whisper, "P-please . . . please . . . can you . . . open the . . . window?"

Jason's mouth tightened. "So you can call for help and bring every male above the age of ten rushing to aid a lady in distress? I think not, sweetheart."

Lauren reached up and managed to clutch the curtain with trembling fingers before an iron grip closed around her wrist. But she was too weak to pull away—or to do anything more than sink back against the cushions when Jason began to untie the strings of her mask. "P-please . . . I will do anything you say, if you will just . . . let down the . . . window."

He wanted to remind her that she was hardly in a position to bargain, but he refrained as he stripped the mask away. His hands stilled abruptly as he saw the result of his handiwork. Fear, stark and vivid, shone in her eyes, while the color had drained from her face, leaving only artificial vermilion staining her pale cheeks and lips. She was truly suffering, he realized, cursing himself silently for his skepticism.

Immediately he leaned across her and let down the window. A swift rush of humid air invaded the coach, chasing away the musty smell of rotting leather and horsehair. Lauren's soft gasps began to subside, and Jason himself breathed more easily when the color began to flow back into her face.

Yet her continued stillness concerned him. When he touched her cheek, his fingers brushed skin that felt like ice. Wordlessly, he shrugged out of his coat and draped it over her bare shoulders, tucking the edges around her before pulling her against him.

He received an earful of ostrich plumes in the process and
bit back an oath. "Does this thing come off?" Jason muttered impatiently, fumbling for the pins holding her turban in place. When he succeeded in loosing the headdress, he tossed it in the opposite seat,
then
settled Lauren in the crook of his arm.

She felt him pushing a soft curl from her forehead. His gentleness was reassuring, but when she glanced up at him, all she saw was the hard line of his jaw.

She should make an attempt to get away, she told herself. She should, in all reason, put up at least a token struggle, since whatever he intended for her could not be pleasant. But she was reluctant to rouse his anger further.

Not that he would allow her to escape him, she realized as Jason glanced down at her and their eyes locked. She read determination in his blue gaze. And promise—though of what she couldn't guess. That formless thought crystallized as she stared up at him. She had been mistaken, she realized now. He
had
remembered her. He knew who she
was
. . .
or at least he
thought
he knew. Her heart began to beat erratically.

"What . . . what do you want of me?" Her huskily voiced question brought no response except for the reflexive tightening of his jaw. And then the coach slowed.

Jason brushed the curtains aside to peer into the night. "We've arrived. I trust you won't make a scene?"

Lauren swallowed, wishing she had taken Lila's advice and stayed upstairs in her room. Again she thought of running, but she knew it would be impossible to elude him. Besides, she told herself nervously, she owed him a much-needed apology for that time in London when she had drugged him and taken his money.

She accepted Jason's assistance from the carriage and allowed him to readjust his coat over her shoulders, just now remembering that she had left her shawl lying on the pianoforte bench at the casino. As he turned to pay the driver, Lauren glanced uneasily about her, realizing they were near the river. A murky, drifting mist obscured her vision, and the sounds of drunken revelry swelled from the darkness. She was quite glad when Jason returned and offered her his arm.

The music and raucous laughter faded as they neared the deserted levee. Lauren glimpsed a faint light glowing from
somewhere in the distance, much as it had that night four years ago, and she guessed that Jason was taking her to his ship. An overwhelming sense of powerlessness came over her, a feeling of being swept along by a force too strong to resist. She hesitated when the skeletal mast of a schooner loomed above them, disappearing into the fog. But then Jason's arm slipped about her waist and she took a deep breath, realizing that this meeting was inevitable.

The fog curled thickly about them as they boarded the Siren. Part of the main deck was illuminated by a steadily burning lantern, yet when Tim Sutter suddenly materialized in the gloom, Lauren couldn't stifle a gasp.

Feeling Jason's arm tighten about her waist, she peered up at him and could barely make out his features in the lantern's glow. The strands of flaxen in his chestnut hair glinted silver, while his heavy, slightly arched brows were drawn together in a frown. His silence unnerved her. She dragged her gaze away, feeling an odd, fluttering excitement in the pit of her stomach.

Jason sent Tim back to his duties, then pressed his hand firmly in the small of Lauren's back, directing her up the steep steps of the quarterdeck to the companionway hatch.

Lauren stiffened at the sight of the opening that gaped blackly at her feet. Not even if she risked incurring Jason's wrath could she force herself to descend into that dark hole. "I . . . cannot . . ." she said in a choked voice. "It is too dark."

Jason shot her a speculative look, but made no comment as he left her to retrieve the lantern. When he returned, she surprised him by tightly clutching his hand. "There's nothing to fear," he said, managing a soothing tone. "This leads to the officers' quarters and passenger cabins."

He went first to light the way, and Lauren followed, still holding on to his hand. But she walked as if she might be swallowed up by the shadows.

He halted before a door and fit the key in the lock, pausing when he felt her gaze touch him. Turning, he looked directly down into emerald pools sprinkled with gold. Her lovely oval face was tilted up to him, framed by golden tendrils that had escaped the tight chignon at her nape. A golden goddess, he thought, feeling himself bending closer, the better to inhale her fragrant scent.

But then his gaze settled on her full lips with their shading of red, and the brazen image of another man claiming that luscious mouth rose up to smote him. Jason drew back, clenching his teeth. He pushed the door open, and taking Lauren's arm in a grip more forceful than he intended, ushered her into the spacious cabin.