Later in the afternoon, Jason afforded her some privacy for a bath. Grateful for the short reprieve from her provoking jailer, Lauren drew out the moment for as long as possible, then conceded a small victory to Jason by donning one of the seductive peignoirs. She was tired of clutching the sheet about her, even if it meant steeling herself to submit to Jason's admiring perusal when he returned. The amused gleam in his blue eyes, however, was almost enough to make her give up her silence in favor of a few choice remarks concerning his parentage.
For supper, she was allowed into the sitting room. The invisible servants had been hard at work, Lauren noted, for an intimate little table was laden with delicacies and spicy Creole dishes. Taking the seat Jason held out for her, Lauren looked about her curiously. The tall French windows leading to the gallery would be locked, of course, but this chamber had more possibilities for escape than the bedroom.
Her new home, Jason had said, was in the new American quarter of town, the Faubourg St. Marie. From what she could tell, the house sat well back from the street in an enormous lot, and if the size of the rooms were any indication, the house, too, was quite large. Lauren never would have admitted it, but she was impressed by the elegance that surrounded her. If circumstances had been different, she knew she would have very much enjoyed living here and being mistress of this beautiful home.
Jason had dressed for dinner—or at least he had donned a pair of tight-fitting breeches and a loose-flowing shirt. Seeing Jason in such casual attire as he sat across from her was genuinely unsettling for Lauren. The front of his shirt was opened to reveal a glimpse of muscular chest, and a lock of his tawny hair had fallen down onto his forehead, filling her with an urge to smooth it back. Lauren was also very much aware of her own nearly indecent state of dress. Her pulse leapt traitorously whenever Jason's warm gaze lingered on her gauze-covered bosom, and she was quite glad when the meal ended.
That night, they shared the big bed. Lauren lay beside Jason in rigid suspense—until she realized he had once more gone easily to sleep. She relaxed somewhat then, but she couldn't help wondering just how much longer she could hold out against his tactics.
Sometime in the night, she woke to the feel of Jason's hard body molded against her back. His hand was lightly caressing her arm, while his warm lips were nuzzling her bare shoulder. Lauren shut her eyes, willing herself not to respond. But then his hand moved tantalizingly downward, over the swell of her breast and the curve of her hip. His gentle stroking chased away her drowsiness, arousing a desire she found impossible to deny. When Jason began the tortuous path again, Lauren was no longer able to feign sleep; her quivering body gave her away.
As he pressed her back into the pillows, Jason's eyes glinted roguishly in the darkness. "I was right," he whispered against her lips, while his hands sought the feminine secrets veiled by her nightdress. "I much prefer the sheet."
The routine the following day was very much the same, as was the next. But on the third, Jason happened to be out of the room when Lauren heard a tinker hawking his wares on the street. She couldn't see him for the large magnolia tree blocking the view, but he must have heard her low-voiced calls since he came to investigate.
When the tinker peered up at the window where Lauren was beckoning to him, she asked if he would deliver a message for her. When he agreed, Lauren slipped into the sitting room to fetch writing materials. She had one friend who wouldn't be under Jason's influence—Martin Kendricks, the majordomo at the casino. Hastily scribbling a plea for Kendricks to rescue her, Lauren raced hack to the bedroom and flung the note down to the tinker, promising that he would be well paid for his trouble.
She had barely restored the writing implements to the desk and hidden the telltale signs of her bid for escape when Jason returned. Lauren dared not look at him for fear he would guess her intent; his uncanny ability to read her mind had always been one of his chief advantages over her.
She held her breath as Jason came up behind her, desperately wishing her heart would stop beating so furiously. When he placed his hands on her shoulders, it was all she could do to remain relaxed. But he gave no indication that he suspected her scheme. He merely drew her back against his chest, resting his cheek against her hair.
When he seemed content merely to hold her close like that, Lauren shut her eyes. What in God's name was she doing? she thought wildly. Why was she trying to leave this powerful, compelling man who claimed to love her? She wanted more than anything in the world to stay with him. Jason owned her heart, now and forever.
Lauren could remember now snatches of the vows she had made. She had promised to love and honor him till death's parting . . . Yet she would be sealing her own death if she returned to England. Her impersonation would be discovered and she would go to prison. Regina Carlin would see to that.
For a single insanely foolish moment, Lauren contemplated confessing to Jason and throwing herself on his mercy. But the thought of what she would be subjecting him to stopped her. She would ruin Jason's life if she returned to England as his wife. He had an ancient and respected title to uphold, and his wife would have to be above reproach. The stigma of her birth alone would create a scandal. She was a bastard, a child born out of wedlock. It wouldn't matter to society that her illegitimacy was the result of her father's duplicity. It wouldn't matter that Jonathan Carlin had tricked her mother Elizabeth and pretended to marry her in a sham ceremony. If the British aristocracy ever found out about her birth, Lauren would be shunned, and Jason with her.
As for her own marriage, Lauren wasn't sure it was any more legal than her mother's had been. But what if it really were valid? Jason would be tied to a woman who was completely penniless. And when he discovered that she had no right to the Carlin ships, he would hate her for concealing the truth. Lauren felt her throat tighten in despair. She couldn't bear to see the contempt in his eyes when he learned she had deceived him all along. No, it would be best for both of them if she left, if she went somewhere far, far away.
As if he had guessed her last thought, Jason pressed his lips against her hair. "Give our love a chance, Lauren," he pleaded.
His whispered entreaty tore at Lauren's heart. She shed no tears, but inside she wept. It was all she could do to keep from turning and throwing her arms around his neck. It was all she could do to keep from surrendering.
After a time, Jason sighed. Releasing her, he stepped away.
That night, dinner was virtually a silent affair. Jason seemed at last to despair of breaking through the arctic barrier Lauren strove to keep in place. Later, when he didn't retire with her, Lauren lay awake in the large, lonely bed, deploring her need for him yet missing his nearness. Her nerves were stretched like taut wires; she was on tenterhooks to know if Kendricks had received her message and if he would attempt a rescue. Jason hadn't joined her when she at last fell into a troubled sleep.
Some time in the night, Lauren sat up with a start. The moonlight pouring in the open window provided enough light to see clearly, but Lauren knew without even a glance at Jason's side of the bed that she was still alone. Apprehensively, she lit a candle. The ormolu clock on the mantel read a quarter past three. After a moment's hesitation, Lauren rose and quickly pulled on one of the hated peignoirs.
The sitting room was deserted, she discovered shortly, and all the lamps had been put out. In fact, the entire house was wrapped in darkness, Lauren realized as she peered out into the hall. Leaving her light behind, she slipped from her bedroom and noiselessly shut the door behind her. It was very quiet. Her slippered feet made no sound as she crept silently toward the stairs, though her erratic heartbeat seemed abnormally loud.
Lauren couldn't have said whether she was searching for Jason or trying to flee her prison, but when she saw that Tim Sutter wasn't at his post, she was filled with foreboding. Had Jason deceived her when he had said she was being guarded? Or was something wrong? Lauren found herself holding her breath as she began her descent.
Reaching the bottom landin
g, she took a step toward the front door, intending to cross the foyer, and so never even saw the hand that reached out to cover her mouth. Her cry was muffled as she was hauled roughly against a hard chest, and her heart leapt to her throat. . . .
But the arms that imprisoned her felt familiar, as was the particular male scent. When she realized it was Jason who held her, Lauren managed to swallow her fear, but she had no opportunity to protest his rough handling; Jason unceremoniously thrust her behind him as he wheeled to face the moving shadows.
Lauren nearly fell. Grasping at the banister to save herself, she heard an animal like growl and from the corner of her eye, saw the flashing gleam of a knife clutched in a large hand. By the time she had recovered her balance, Jason had already sent his attacker hurtling to the floor.
In the dim light of the foyer, Lauren recognized Kendricks's powerful bulk. There was no time to wonder how he had managed to enter the house, though, for the brawny man jumped to his feet with the nimbleness of a panther, his weapon poised again in readiness.
For a moment the only sound was the muted shuffle of boots on the parquet floor as the two men circled each other warily. Then Kendricks lunged again, his blade slashing wickedly. Jason sidestepped nimbly, but Kendricks whirled, the razor point catching Jason's midriff, slicing at the waistcoat he wore over his lawn shirt. Lauren gave a cry—something between a gasp and a scream.
Jason was ready, however, for his opponent's next lunge. When Kendricks charged, Jason dropped to the ground, his booted foot contacting the man's stomach, sending him somersaulting head over heels into a room off the entrance hall. In an instant, Jason had flung himself after Kendricks, and there was a loud clatter as some unfortunate piece of furniture was toppled.
Lauren followed, biting the knuckles of her hand to keep from crying out again. She watched, horrified, as Jason grappled for the knife. He was using the weight of his body to pin Kendricks down, while struggling to keep the wicked blade from his face.
Lauren clutched desperately at the doorjamb as the point came within inches of Jason's cheek. She could almost feel the muscles in his back and arms straining as he fought for possession of the weapon. She tried to speak, tried to tell Kendricks for God's sake not to hurt Jason, but her breath was trapped in her lungs.
The picture of Matthew fighting off her attackers flashed through her mind as she hovered helplessly near the bodies locked in combat, and a sob was wrenched from her throat. She would die if anything happened to Jason. She had to stop Kendricks somehow. His palm was shoved against Jason's chin, and he seemed not to hear when Lauren at last found her voice and implored him to stop.
"Ah, chérie, I have been searching for you."
Felix Duval! Lauren realized he must have come with Kendricks, but she didn't spare him a glance as her attention remained on the fight. Kendricks had gripped Jason's throat with one hand and was trying to strangle him.
"I have come to rescue you, ma belle," Duval said dryly when Lauren paid him no attention. "Now would be an expedient time to leave, do you not think? Come away with me, Marguerite . . . or should I say Lauren?"
Lauren ignored him and shrugged off his grasp when he took her elbow, frantically glancing around her for some tool to pry the two men apart. Even if she were willing to leave Jason like this, she would never accept Felix's help, not after his scheming attempts to make her his mistress. She could never trust such a man. And she had to stop Jason from being hurt.
Suddenly, Jason broke free of Kendricks's strangling hold, and with lightning speed, drew back his fist and let it descend on his opponent's jaw. There was a grunt of pain from Kendricks, and while he was momentarily stunned by the blow, Jason abandoned the struggle for the knife. Straddling the man's waist, he gripped Kendricks by the hair to pummel his head against the carpet a time or two. Then he used his fists again, until finally the brawny man ceased his struggles and lay still.
Lauren hugged her stomach to stem the wave of nausea flooding over her. She felt Felix's arm go around her, but didn't have the strength to push him away.
Jason was breathing heavily as he rose to his feet, and his nostrils flared when he saw Duval's arm encircling Lauren's barely clad form. "Devil take it, what are you doing here?" he rasped.
Quite calmly, Felix raised the cocked pistol in his hand and aimed it at Jason's chest.
"Oh, God, no!" Lauren cried, but Felix ignored her.
"I am rescuing this lovely lady," he said mildly, "whom you seem to be holding against her will."
"Felix, please, I beg you—"
Jason's reaction took them both by surprise. In a fierce lunge, he flung himself at Duval, striking the pistol from his hand with a single blow.
The resultant explosion was deafening, but the ball implanted itself harmlessly in the wainscotting. Jason's fury wasn't so easily defused. Grasping Felix by the upper arms, he shoved the lighter man against wall, then gripped him by the throat.
"This is my house," Jason snarled, his face inches from Duval's, "and that is my wife. I want you the hell out of here. You have three seconds to decide, Duval, before I make up your mind for you!"
His threat was punctuated by the rapid approach of footsteps as Tim Sutter appeared, holding a lamp. In the bright circle of light, Lauren could see Jason's fierce expression, and as she watched, a thought struck her that made her dizzy. How close he had been to death—and she was responsible.
When her knees began to buckle beneath her, Tim grasped her elbow, supporting her weight. "Crimes, don't swoon, ma'am . . . I mean, m'lady," his anxious voice entreated. "His lordship won't kill him. Lord Effing dunnet countenance killing . . . much."
Lauren couldn't form the words to explain that it was relief for Jason, not concern for Felix, that was causing her faintness. But she was grateful when Felix nodded and Jason released his stranglehold.
Coughing, Felix raised a hand to his throat. "Your wife?" he said, glancing sharply at Lauren. "I am sorry, chérie, but I think under the circumstances, I must bow out."
"Duval," Jason said warningly.
Felix threw up his hands. "Very well! I am going."
Jason watched Duval stride unsteadily from the room, yet he didn't wait for the front door to close before turning to bark at Tim. "Sutter, who gave you permission to leave your post?"
Tim looked rather awkward trying to stand at attention while holding the lamp and supporting Lauren as well. "Heard a ruckus, sir," he explained lamely. "I came to investigate. I thought you might need some help, sir. Beg your pardon, sir," he added with a glance at the prone Kendricks.
Jason's jaw tightened. "Get out of here! Before I remember that you disobeyed a direct order. And take him with you," he said, indicating Kendricks with a hand gesture. "He can sleep it off in the storeroom."
"Er, the lady, sir?"
"I'll take care of my wife."
A shiver ran down Lauren's spine at his tone, and she regarded Jason warily. His face was half in shadow, but he seemed somehow menacing.
As Tim moved to do his bidding, Jason's gaze narrowed on her. "I wondered at your complacency, sweetheart," he said bitingly. "I do hope that you have no further surprises in store?"
His accusation stunned her. Jason had known, she realized. He had known that she had summoned Kendricks to her rescue. Lauren stared up at Jason, at his eyes that were blazing with suppressed fury. When he took a step toward her, she retreated in fear, wondering if he meant to strike her with his powerful fist.
She didn't get far; Jason gripped her arm, preventing her escape. He stood glowering down at Lauren as if daring her to utter one word. "Shall we go upstairs, my dear?" he ground out. "I presume you would prefer our discussion to be held in private."
Worriedly, Lauren looked to Sutter. The young man was studiously ignoring her as he struggled to lift Kendricks's unconscious form onto his shoulders. She would get no help from that quarter, she realized. "Jason . . . please," she implored, suddenly frightened.
She was cut off by Ja
son's vehemence. "Upstairs, Lauren! Now!"
Lauren's reaction was purely instinctive; she broke away and ran.
It was the worst possible move she could have made. Jason's patience snapped completely. In two strides he had regained his grip on her arm and was dragging Lauren across the foyer.
She cried out in pain as his fingers bit into her soft flesh, but Jason affected not to hear as he swept her unrelentingly in his wake. Lauren's struggles became directed merely toward maintaining her balance. When her nightclothes became entangled in her bare legs, she stumbled nearly to her knees.
Jason yanked her up again, her frantic pleas falling on deaf ears. He half hauled her up the stairs and down the hall to their bedroom, and with something between a curse and a snarl, dragged her inside. Kicking the door shut, he thrust Lauren away from him with a force that almost sent her sprawling, then turned to lock the door behind him. Intent on locking the door to the sitting room as well, he was halfway across the room before a soft, choked sound penetrated his rage.
Wheeling, Jason saw Lauren staring at the closed portal, her face pale, her body rigid and poised for flight. It took him a moment to remember her fear of confinement. When he did, his anger drained away, leaving behind only fierce guilt. "God," he uttered, letting out a ragged breath as he mentally flayed himself for terrorizing her. Immediately, he unlocked the door and swung it open to prove that she wasn't trapped inside the room. "Christ, Lauren, I'm sorry. . . ."
She buried her face in her trembling hands, her golden hair swinging forward in a concealing curtain. Her expression was hidden from view, but Jason could see her fighting for control.
Muttering another oath under his breath, Jason ran a rough hand through his hair. When Lauren didn't move, he stood watching her in silence, feeling an overwhelming sense of helplessness and frustration. After a long moment, he shrugged his shoulders in defeat. "It is nearly morning," Jason said in a voice that was barely audible. "When it grows light enough, I'll take you back to Bellefleur . . . or wherever you wish to go. I'll go find you something to wear."
Desire and Deception Page 32
