Desire and Deception

by Nicole Jordan

  Lauren contented herself with saying, "Yes, I heard what Jean-Paul said this morning. But I know quite well how to handle the gentlemen, Lila. Even the savage, illiterate ones from Boston."

  The thrust was not directed at Lila, rather at Jean-Paul. The wealthy plantation owner considered anyone not raised in the French-Creole traditions to be ill-bred, ill-mannered, and inferior. But Lauren's veiled mockery went unrecognized. As usual, she was careful to deliver her frequently sharp remarks in a cool, even voice so as not wound the uncomplicated, kind- hearted Lila. And as usual, the older woman wasn't cognizant of the acerbity behind the barbs.

  Yet Lauren's smile, that rare smile that always worried Lila with its potent seductiveness, did not go unnoticed. Seeing it, Lila said with exasperation, "I am truly concerned, Lauren. You know men cannot be contented with mere gambling."

  "Kendricks will be here to take care of me," she replied calmly. Kendricks, the American majordomo of the gaming establishment, was well equipped for the job of expelling anyone who became rowdy or offensive. Not that he was often required to do so. Gambling was considered serious business; the stakes were always high and the clientele always exclusive. The regulars were either wealthy landowners like Jean-Paul, or personal friends of Renee Gescard, the proprietress.

  Gambling was not the only entertainment provided, however. A patron could, if he wished, bespeak the lady of his choice and remain for the entire evening. The females Madame Gescard employed were the cream of the demimonde, and the men who frequented the casino were expected to treat them as gentlewomen. Still, there were occasions when they did not.

  Lila didn't think Kendricks sufficient protection, and she said so. "Some of the out-of-town guests tonight are hardened gamblers, Lauren. Jean-Paul has told me he knows none of them well. They may not be willing to accept a simple refusal. And strangers can hardly be expected to know you are under Jean-Paul's protection."

  "But I thought you said he invited them. Surely no one would abuse his hospitality."

  "I wish I could be sure. But I know little about them, except that the ones from Boston are rich businessmen, and the others are men who make gambing a full-time occupation. If it were not for this ball, I would stay with you. But Jean-Paul practically ordered me to accompany him. I couldn't refuse him."

  Her tone proclaimed both her reluctance to attend the ball and her wish to please her husband. Lila had never expected marriage, especially to a man of Beauvais's superiority. She had attracted Jean-Paul's attention her first night at the casino, and soon afterward agreed to be his mistress. When she had become pregnant, he had flouted convention with a vengeance and married her, not listening to her warnings that she wouldn't be accepted by his peers, because he had wanted a child. Now his son was the dearest thing in the world to him next to money.

  Lauren regarded Lila's reflection fondly in the mirror. The older woman was still quite beautiful, despite the tiny lines about her eyes and mouth that she tried to hide with layers of skillfully applied powder and kohl. The lines always deepened with worry on occasions such as now. Lauren was well aware that she was often a major cause of Lila's distress, but the older woman needed someone to worry and fuss over. Tonight, however, Lila had enough troubles trying to penetrate the closed ranks of New Orleans society. Jean-Paul's preeminence notwithstanding, the Creole elite had shunned his scandalous wife entirely, while the Americans, who had a healthier respect for wealth and power, were only slightly more forgiving.

  "Very well," Lauren relented. "I shall only go down for a few hours at most, and then only to play the pianoforte. Someone must provide music for the evening, you must admit. And all the girls will be busy with the extra guests."

  "Why can't Veronique take your place?"

  "It wouldn't be fair to ask her."

  "Veronique is a selfish little chit," Lila muttered. "She wants to be free to mingle with the gentlemen."

  "But the arrangement suits me. It pays better than sewing. And you refuse to allow me to 'mingle.'"

  "If I had an ounce of fortitude, I would insist that you remain in your room."

  Lauren sighed. She would always be grateful to Lila for her kindness and generosity, but there were times, like now, when she wished the older woman weren't quite so strict. She could earn three times as much playing the pianoforte than sewing. She was also learning the intricacies of working the gaming tables—but it wasn't likely she would get to use her knowledge, especially if Lila ever found out.

  She was searching for another supporting argument when Lila came up behind her. "My dear, I can't bear to see you driving yourself this way. It is but a few months till you reach your majority. Then George Burroughs will no longer be your guardian and you can lay claim to your fortune. You can repay my husband then."

  Lauren stiffened, her long lashes veiling the sudden darkening of her eyes. As Andrea Carlin, she would legally be free of George Burroughs when she reached her majority, but as Lauren DeVries, she had to remain in hiding. Burroughs had the power to send her to prison for her part in the deception. And Regina Carlin would still be intent on murdering her if she ever returned to England.

  She had never told anyone about her impersonation, not even Lila, for she had wanted to bury the past. At times like now, though, Lauren wished she had confessed, just so Lila would forget about Andrea Carlin's inheritance. "I don't want the fortune, Lila," Lauren replied. "And I have no intention of returning to England in order to claim it."

  Lila took up the large plumes and began the task of pinning them securely to the turban. "You're still afraid of Regina Carlin, aren't you?"

  When Lauren was silent, Lila put a comforting arm about her shoulders. "There are laws against attempted murder, Lauren. Perhaps Jean-Paul can help. He's perfectly willing to make discreet inquiries, you know—"

  "I don't want Jean-Paul to make inquiries," Lauren insisted, "discreet or otherwise. The Carlin fortune has brought grief and pain to too many people, and I want nothing to do with it."

  Lila sighed. "Well, I think it unfair that an heiress should have to live in a gaming house with only a tiny room to call home. Indeed, you shouldn't be here at all. You should be living at Bellefleur where you belong."

  Lauren glanced down at her hands. Jean-Paul's plantation, located some five miles upriver of New Orleans, was a beautiful place which provided far more anonymity than the gaming house, but she felt like an intruder. "I don't belong there," she replied in a low voice.

  "Well," Lila observed, not letting the subject drop, "I think that your refusal to stay at Bellefleur shows a lack of gratitude for all Jean-Paul has done for us."

  "You know I'm grateful, Lila. I just don't want to impose on you and Jean-Paul. You have a son to raise, and you don't need to be burdened by me as well."

  "Lauren, that is nonsense—but that isn't what I intended to discuss with you," she said, returning to her original theme. "I'm dismayed because you still mean to go downstairs this evening. Jean-Paul warned you that some of the guests cannot be counted on to behave as gentlemen."

  Very carefully, Lauren picked up a glittering necklace that had been a Christmas present from Jean-Paul and fastened it about her throat. A single emerald drop, the size of a small acorn, hung from a chain of small diamonds. Jean-Paul had wanted the gems to be a gift, but Lauren wore them only because they were a necessary accessory for her role as an entertainer. The large jewel nestled between her breasts, drawing attention to her deep cleavage and the low, square neckline of her gown.

  Lila suddenly noticed how much of Lauren's bosom was exposed by the bodice. "Isn't that dress a trifle . . . immodest?"

  "I shall wear a shawl, if you insist."

  Hoping to cut short the discussion, Lauren rose from the dressing table and crossed the room to retrieve her elbow- length gloves. Lila's critical gaze followed her, noting how provocative the gown was. The green satin, comprising both the slip and parted overskirt, flattered every shapely curve of Lauren's full figure and outlined her long
legs in shimmering green.

  "My dear, that material positively clings to you. Don't you think you should wear a petticoat?"

  Lauren had difficulty repressing a retort. The gown was one of her more beautiful creations, and not at all indecent, as Lila seemed to imply. Madame Gescard had paid for the material, of course, for Lauren would never have spent her hard-earned money on herself, even if she did have a feminine weakness for beautiful clothes.

  "You know, a petticoat would ruin the lines of this gown," she replied. "Besides, another layer would be too hot." The heat was one of Lila's frequent complaints. As much as she professed to be contented within the city she had made her home, Lila never had become acclimated to the hot, humid climate. It was now only the beginning of spring and she was already vowing how glad she would be when summer was at an end.

  A remark about the weather usually served to gain Lila's sympathy, but Lauren realized it wasn't to be the case this evening. As she drew on her gloves, she added consolingly, "This gown is only a costume. Anything more modest would look out of place at the gaming tables."

  Lila placed her hands on her hips, prepared to do battle. "You said you would remain in the salon," she charged in her most disapproving voice. "I told you there would be strangers here tonight. Believe me, Lauren, I shall not budge one inch from this house unless you promise me to stay out of the gaming rooms. If I didn't know about your fear of confinement, I swear I would lock you in your room."

  When the color drained from Lauren's face, Lila halted her tirade abruptly. On the long journey across the Atlantic on the Dutch-owned merchant ship, Lauren had accidentally become trapped in their tiny cabin. Lila had discovered her cowering in a corner, shaking with deathly cold and petrified with fright. Afterward, Lauren had refused to stay in their quarters except to sleep, and then she had insisted that the door remain unlocked and the porthole window tied open. Even then, she would sometimes wake up screaming wildly, and Lila would hold her trembling body in her arms, soothing her till her sobs quieted. Lila had had her hands full protecting the girl from both human and natural elements, for more than once both had forced their way into the cabin.

  Lila viewed Lauren's pale complexion with remorse. "Forgive me, my dear! I should never have mentioned such a thing. Of course I would never lock you in your room—"

  Lauren pressed her fingers to her temples. She had never been able to conquer her fear of enclosed places. "Please, Lila, don't speak of it. I know you didn't mean to remind me." She turned away, saying in a low voice, "You have my word. I will not go near the gaming rooms. And I will not speak to any of the guests if I can do so without appearing rude."

  After a moment, Lila nodded. "Very well. But I'm still worried. I don't like to leave you to fend for yourself when strangers are present."

  When she regained a semblance of composure, Lauren nodded. "I shall be very careful, Lila, I promise. I shall be so prim and proper that everyone will think me a wallflower."

  "That would be impossible," Lila retorted. "But you must remember to call Kendricks if there is the least sign of trouble."

  Lauren gathered up Lila's cloak and held it out to her. "I will," she agreed again. But she was required to listen patiently to several more of Lila's warnings before the older woman would consent to leave.

  When she was at last left to herself, Lauren quietly closed the door and pressed her forehead against the panel. She had suddenly lost any desire to face the company which would presently arrive. Her conversation with Lila had been too unsettling. Too many ghosts had been disturbed. That long-ago nightmare seemed so unreal now, but there were times, like this evening, when the memory of it would catch her by the throat.

  Her reaction had not shown, except for her sudden paling; she had watched herself in the pier glass earlier. Her face had remained serene, her expression remote. But inside she was shaking. She needed time to compose herself.

  Lauren went to the small window under the eaves and drew back the curtains. Her room was located on the third floor at the far end of a wing, as far away as possible from the activities that went on nightly in the establishment.

  She stood gazing down at the enclosed courtyard. It was deserted because the evening was still too young, but the scene was carefully staged for lovers. The sweet scent of jasmine wafted gently on the soft spring breeze, while the light from a single Chinese lantern cast a gentle glow over the tiny garden and trickling fountain at its center. The rest of the flagged courtyard with its crape myrtle bushes and climbing vines was cloaked in darkness, purposely providing concealing shadows for the male guests and their chosen companions of the evening.

  Lauren could hear little now except for the fountain, but more than once she had lain awake at night, listening to the whispers and soft laughter which drifted through her window.

  Perhaps it wasn't surprising, Lauren thought, that the sound of lovers should remind her of Jason Stuart. After all, he had been the one to show her what pleasure could be found in a man's embrace—or at least in his embrace. She had never again experienced anything like being held in Captain Stuart's arms. Indeed, she had never felt the slightest attraction for any of the men she had met since Jason Stuart.

  Although she had known him but a few brief hours—almost a lifetime ago, it seemed—Lauren still remembered him quite well. His sapphire eyes had been so intensely alive, his arms so strong and comforting. His gentleness had seemed reassuring at the time, and for a moment he had swept away her pain and sorrow and fear. She had come so very close to laying her head on his shoulder and sobbing out her story. There were even times in the four years since, in her loneliest moments, that she wished she hadn't put the sleeping potion in his wine. Had he been furious when he woke to find his intended bride gone?

  She had taken his money, only the hundred pounds she thought he owed her, but it had been three years before she realized she hadn't truly earned it. She had also learned that such an enormous sum was an outrageous price to pay for one night with any courtesan, let alone an inexperienced, green girl who didn't even know how to kiss properly. How very ignorant she had been then!

  Veronique had explained that to her, and much more. According to Veronique, her experience with Jason had been unusual. The pain of losing a maidenhead was normal, but most men weren't so considerate as to satisfy the woman first. Generally, the man derived all the enjoyment, while the woman merely pretended to feel pleasure.

  Lauren hadn't been required to pretend. She had truly felt those glorious sensations. But now, whenever she recalled Jason Stuart's boldness, she blushed with shame. How easily he had made her body respond! She could still feel the warmth of those strong, well-shaped hands on her breasts, the intimacy of those long, arousing fingers between her thighs.

  She must have been truly desperate to allow a total stranger the license to make love to her like that.

  But she had been desperate. Recalling how very alone and frightened she had been, Lauren shuddered. She was far different now from that naive young girl who had fled England. That frightened girl no longer existed. She was a good deal older and wiser, and she could take care of herself.

  Yet loneliness was still her worst foe. Lila had Jean-Paul, Matthew had Running Deer, but she had no one. Not unless Felix Duval counted. A regular gamester at the casino, Felix had been pursuing her for some time. She didn't care for him, though, not the way a woman should care for a man. The truth was that she was afraid to care for him, afraid to expose herself to hurt and pain, afraid to become vulnerable the way her mother had been. And if ever she found herself longing for a warm hearthside and someone to love, she never allowed herself to dwell on it. All her energies were concentrated on establishing financial independence.

  She found solace in work. She drove herself till she wanted to drop, till she was too tired to feel, suppressing her feelings of loneliness and desire with a slavish determination, never allowing herself the luxury of tears. And she was close to achieving her dream.

  S
o why lately had she been feeling more restless and dissatisfied than usual? Occasionally she would experience a sudden sharp longing for laughter and gaily chattering people, and sometimes her heart would give a sudden leap when she heard a masculine voice lower in a gentle caress. Lately, too, Jason Stuart had been a frequent visitor in her dreams. Those particular dreams always left her with an uncertain yearning, an unfulfilled ache.

  He had wanted the Carlin fortune, of course. But it was pleasant to imagine that he might have wanted her for herself. What would it have been like, she wondered, to be married to such a man as Jason Stuart? To feel his arms around her each time she went to sleep? To receive his caresses, his kisses, each night? To lie beneath him as he made love to her, stroking and fondling and belonging. . . .

  Lauren was unaware of the clock ticking away, but a light rap on the door made her lift her head sharply. What was wrong with her? Letting herself dream about something she could never have was the height of foolishness. There was nothing she could do to change the past. Nothing. She could only see to her future, barren though it might be.

  Bidding entrance, Lauren wasn't surprised when a buxom redhead swept into the room. There was a definite pout on Veronique's painted mouth as she complained in lilting French, "Really, Lauren, six flights are far too much for me to climb. You might have been more considerate. I waited for hours and hours for you to come. One more song and I would have swooned. It is the truth."

  "Oh?" Lauren replied, repressing a smile. "Have the guests arrived then?"

  "But yes! And they are ever so handsome. Or at least two of them are. One is old and fat, and the rest merely passable. I suppose I shall end up with the fat one, and it will be all your fault, mon chou. This is how you repay me for taking you under my wing."