Desire and Deception

by Nicole Jordan

  As if the entire subject was wearisome, Jason gave a deep sigh. "It was my idea to force Regina's hand. I devised the entire plan. Regina was sure to be angry when she recognized you and realized that she'd been tricked. I had hoped she would let something slip, though I never expected to get results so quickly or so decisively."

  There was another long silence while Lauren registered the significance of his confession. Then her breath caught in a gasp, and she stared at Jason's broad back, stunned. "You knew," she whispered. "All this time you knew I wasn't Andrea."

  She hardly saw his slight nod. "Burroughs told me long ago," Jason said quietly. "He also told me of his suspicions concerning Regina-—about her involvement with the Carlins' deaths and her murder of the Foster woman. I presented what evidence we had against Regina to Sir John, but he could do nothing without more definite proof. When I found you in New Orleans, I wrote to him, and he sent Ned Sikes over. You didn't realize it, but Ned was keeping an eye on you, just in case Regina had heard of your whereabouts. Alive, you . . . Andrea posed a threat to her, or an opportunity."

  When Lauren remained speechless, Jason brought a hand up to rub his forehead in a weary gesture. "As soon as we reached England, Sikes went to Regina with word of your return, hinting that you might not be Andrea. She guessed your identity, then, as I suspected she would, and couldn't resist the temptation to make another bid for the Carlin Line. From there, it was only a matter of baiting the trap and staying on top of the situation."

  "Then I was the 'bait'," Lauren observed dazedly. All she could think of was how afraid she had been that Jason would discover the truth, how terrified she had been of losing him because of her deception. She could have been spared that fear, had Jason been more honest with her. But he had manipulated her, made her a pawn in his games, just the way Burroughs had done. Jason had tricked her again, just as he had when he had married her. But perhaps that had been his true motive in wedding her.

  Lauren felt her throat constrict. "You needed me to come to England," she concluded in a shaking voice. "Is that why you married me, then?" When Jason didn't answer, Lauren added bitterly, "How clever you are. Now all the loose ends are neatly tied, except for me—"

  "It isn't finished yet," Jason said quietly. "Rafael is still free."

  Lauren clenched her hands together, her knuckles showing white. "Oh, yes. Your promise. I suppose you also told Burroughs you would see that Regina was punished. Did you promise to take care of me, as well?"

  "I pledged to do what I could to protect you, yes."

  "How well you succeeded!"

  Jason spun around, pinning her with his fierce gaze. "That is quite enough, Lauren! I should have given you some indication of my plans, yes, but I counted on you to have more faith in me. Certainly I never thought you would leave without a word. Though I see now I should have expected it of you. You've let fear rule your life so long that you couldn't hope to stand up to someone like Regina."

  Lauren tried not to flinch at the fury in his voice as she returned his gaze. "It wasn't only Regina I feared. I . . . I thought I would be sent to prison for impersonating Andrea."

  "You thought what?" Jason's face darkened thunderously, but then he seemed to recollect himself, for he relaxed his clenched fists. "That's why you ran? Because you were afraid of going to prison?"

  "In part. I also . . . wanted to spare you a scandal. Can't you picture the story in the papers? A marchioness in Newgate. A bastard marchioness, no less."

  "Damn it, Lauren, you aren't a bastard! You never were." When Lauren stared at him, Jason ran a hand distractedly through his hair. "Your parents' marriage was entirely legal. Jonathan managed to conceal it, though, by removing a page from the church register. Burroughs found the page hidden among Jonathan's personal effects after his death, along with his marriage lines and a will naming you as his sole beneficiary."

  "But that . . . that is why I was going to Ormskirk. To see if I could find proof that my parents' marriage was valid."

  Jason took a step towards her, his hands spread in supplication. "You couldn't have come to me, could you? You couldn't have trusted me to help you?"

  Lauren had dreaded seeing his contempt and hatred, but this was far worse: a look of bleak despair filled Jason's eyes, a look of raw, primitive grief. He was suffering as much as she. "I couldn't," she said at last, wishing she could erase his pain, "take the risk of going to prison. I had our child to think of."

  Jason's voice dropped to such a low pitch that Lauren had to strain to catch his words. "Did it never once occur to you that I would have torn Regina apart with my bare hands before I let her harm you . . . or our child?"

  The anguish in his eyes was too much for Lauren to bear. Tears scalded her cheeks as she dropped her gaze to her lap.

  Jason turned away abruptly, returning to his place at the window. "I wish you would tell me how you ever thought I would let anyone take you to prison. Even if you had done anything to warrant it."

  "You couldn't have prevented it," Lauren said in a dull voice. "Not if they chose to arrest me. We aren't truly married. The marriage ceremony wasn't legal. You married Andrea Carlin."

  "Our child would have been born a bastard like you," Jason returned harshly. "Is that what you're saying?"

  Lauren winced. "That isn't what I meant. But yes, that would have been true if . . ." She couldn't bring herself to add, "if our child had lived." The pain was too fresh to speak of it.

  Jason, too, seemed desirous of avoiding the subject, for he shrugged wearily. "It hardly matters now, does it?"

  "No, it doesn't matter . . . now."

  There was another pause. Tears were streaming silently down Lauren's cheeks, but the only indication that Jason knew was the tenseness of his body.

  Finally he took a deep breath and turned to face her. "Well, I'm afraid at the moment I don't have the time to settle the issue of our marriage. The Capricorn is sailing in a few days, and I'm needed in London. We can discuss our future when I return." When at length Lauren gave a faint nod, Jason forced himself to let out his breath. "I thought I would leave this afternoon, since you seem to be recovering your health."

  She nodded again, her voice too choked even to wish him Godspeed.

  Without another word, Jason moved to the door. He had one hand on the latch when Lauren called his name in a hoarse whisper.

  "Yes?" he replied, not turning.

  Lauren looked at him, seeing him through a blur of tears. She had to know the answer to one question. "Why?" she asked wretchedly. "Why didn't you tell me that you knew I wasn't Andrea?"

  "Why did you keep the truth from me?" Jason returned in that cold stranger's voice. Then he bent his head, as if racked by despair. "I suppose I wanted you to tell me of your own volition," he said softly. "It would have meant that you had at last come to trust me."

  Lauren could find nothing to say to that. Turning her face away, she bit her lip to keep from sobbing.

  A moment later she heard the soft click of the latch as the door closed behind him.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  It was several days before Lauren regained enough strength to rise from her bed for more than a few minutes at a time. Then, at the urging of Lady Agatha, she spent the afternoons in the inn's lovely garden. Yet even surrounded by roses and forget-me-nots and flaming lupin, Lauren couldn't seem to shake her listlessness; despondency weighed her down like a sodden cloak.

  She didn't cry. The pain cut too deeply for tears. But not even Lady Agatha's assurances could raise her spirits. When Lauren had confessed the entire tale, adding that Jason wouldn't forgive her for losing his child, Agatha had airily waved a hand. "Of course he will," the elderly lady declared firmly. "Men never see children in the same light as women do. To men, children are simply heirs. Jason is bound to get over it, since you can still breed."

  Knowing his love of children, Lauren was doubtful. Her fall had been an accident, one not entirely of her own making, but there was no denying it never
would have occurred had she trusted Jason as she should have. She had hurt him terribly, possibly enough to destroy any love he had felt for her.

  If indeed he had ever felt any. Lauren was half convinced that his reasons for marrying her had little to do with love. He had wanted the Carlin Line, certainly. And if her father truly had left a will naming her his heir, then she was the legitimate owner. There would be no one to challenge her claim to the Carlin fortune now, either. Jason had effectively and legally removed Regina from contention, ensuring that at the very least the woman would go to prison. She might even hang for her crimes.

  There were other possible motives for Jason's marrying her, as well, Lauren knew—motives that were nearly as compelling as the Carlin ships. For one, Jason had promised Burroughs to see to her future. For another, he had needed her in England to help expose Regina as a murderer. And he had wanted an heir.

  He could only gain those objectives, however, if they actually were married, which was why she was puzzled by the marriage lines he had shown her naming Andrea Carlin as his bride. Jason was too clever to allow any serious oversights in his plans.

  But married or not, Lauren despaired of ever being able to regain his love. Jason had been right, she reflected, remembering his manner of leave-taking. She had been letting fear rule her life. And not just her fear of confinement. More damning was her fear of trusting him. She had been afraid to truly love him, to expose herself to hurt and pain, to let herself become vulnerable the way her mother had been.

  Thinking back on her past relationship with Jason, she remembered all the times he seemed to be able to read her mind, all the times he seemed to be waiting for a certain response from her. He had been waiting, she realized now. Waiting for her to take the first step.

  And during those long, lonely days of recuperation, it dawned on Lauren that if she was ever to be given a chance to win Jason's love back, she would have to overcome her fear— beginning with her phobia. It was this conviction that made Lauren decide to go to Carlin House rather than return to London or remove to Effing Hall in Kent as Jason had suggested.

  Her decision distressed Lady Agatha. The elderly lady had just been congratulating herself of the success of her charge's recovery, but upon hearing of Lauren's plan, Agatha vowed that she would not be dragged off to heathenish Cornwall and that Lauren absolutely could not go alone.

  "I shall go, Aunt," Lauren insisted in a tone that Lila would have instantly recognized as unshakable determination. "My sister was never given a proper burial. It is something I must do." And there is something else I must do, Lauren added only to herself, not wanting to worry Lady Agatha unduly.

  Despite the protests and threats voiced by Lady Agatha, Lauren remained adamant, and when she had sufficiently recovered her health, she set out for Cornwall with Agatha and Molly in tow.

  Seeing Carlin House again was like stepping back into a nightmare. Lauren found that time hadn't made her lose her hatred of the place. Nor had time wrought many changes to the estate. Although the furniture was swathed in Holland covers and the grounds showed signs of neglect, the elderly couple who acted as caretakers had kept the house in good repair. They had prepared bedchambers, having been advised of Lady Effing's arrival, but Lauren made a change in the arrangements, requesting her old room instead of the master suite, meaning to take her experiment to the fullest.

  Since it was late in the afternoon when they arrived, Lauren was unable to put the rest of her plan in action. She went to bed, intending to visit the graveyard first thing in the morning.

  Under the circumstances, it wasn't surprising that she dreamed her usual terrible dream. Yet this time the images seemed clearer than ever: a woman was screaming, while a man was laughing evilly. He was holding something long and dark in his hand, and as he moved toward Lauren, she heard the voice shrieking for her to run.

  He was still chasing her when Lauren woke herself up with her own cries, shaking with fright and wishing fervently that she had brought Ulysses with her. The only way she was able to go back to sleep was to leave a candle burning.

  In the morning, Lady Agatha offered to accompany her to the cemetery, although admitting an aversion to graveyards. Lauren politely declined. She wanted to go alone, for this was to be a time for burying her past, as well as one for honoring the dead.

  The iron gate shrieked in protest as it swung open before her. Clutching the bunch of wildflowers she had gathered along the way, Lauren stepped inside the walled square.

  She was surprised to see that this small area of ground had been better maintained than the rest of the estate. The grass had been regularly scythed and weeded, and although there were no trees or shrubbery to relieve the stark bareness, the atmosphere was unmistakably peaceful. Lauren's slippers made no sound as she made her way along the narrow aisle to the far wall. There, she knew, was where Andrea had been buried.

  When she reached the grave, she was puzzled to see a headstone where none had been before. It appeared to have been recently set, for the earth was disturbed at the base, and the stone was clean and unweathered. Kneeling beside the grassy mound, Lauren's eyes widened as she read the simple inscription. The name "Andrea Carlin", along with the dates of her birth and death, had been carved on the headstone.

  So her poor little half sister had been properly laid to rest after all, Lauren thought with a tearful smile. It must have been Jason's doing, another of his promises to George Burroughs.

  Giving a short prayer, Lauren laid a spray of goldenrod and Queen Anne's lace on her sister's grave, then wandered slowly around the small cemetery. More flowers went for Sibyl Foster, and for the graves of Jonathan and Mary Carlin, and when finally Lauren moved on, she made another revelation: George Burroughs had been buried beside his sister Mary.

  Lauren hesitated a long moment before she knelt beside his grave. She no longer felt such intense hatred for Burroughs, but she found it hard to forgive him. All those years he had let her think she was a bastard, a criminal. And more unforgivably, he had allowed her mother to suffer needlessly. Elizabeth DeVries had died in great pain, unable to afford the simple comforts the Carlin wealth could so easily have provided.

  It was a long moment before Lauren bowed her head and said the same words of prayer as she had for all the others, and longer still before she placed the remaining wildflowers on George Burroughs's grave. But when she stood once again, she felt as if some inexplicable burden had been lifted from her heart. It was as if a hard knot inside her had suddenly become unraveled after a great many years.

  The other task she had set for herself was more difficult, physically if not emotionally. As she stood on the cliff top overlooking the cove, Lauren doubtfully eyed the jagged rocks and white-tipped breakers below. Not only was she out of practice in climbing cliffs, she could well imagine the scolding she would get from Jason were she foolish enough to attempt the dangerous descent wearing slippers and long skirts. And even if Jason agreed with her intent, he wouldn't want her to attempt the cave by this approach. Nor would he want her to go alone.

  As she turned away to begin the trek back to the house, Lauren couldn't repress a bitter smile. How ironic that Jason should suddenly become the voice of her conscience, now, when she might have lost him forever.

  It was also ironic to be able to command the few servants at Carlin House to do her bidding. Being the titled mistress of the manor, rather than the ward and near prisoner of a man with an obsessive drive for revenge, had its advantages. Lauren was able to secure the services of the caretaker's brawny son with very little persuasion.

  Together they gathered up the items she specified, then descended a flagged stairway to the wine cellar. At Lauren's direction, the lad began chipping away at the plaster of one wall, and in a short while, he had carved out a hole big enough to walk through. It was only then that Lauren ran into any opposition, for when Lady Agatha heard the pounding, she came below to investigate its source.

  Alarmed to find a half dozen lamps scatt
ered about the dank cellar, Agatha demanded to be told at once what was going on. All the lamps were lit, making it nearly as bright as day, for in spite of Lauren's determination to test her courage in the cave, she hadn't thought herself quite ready to face the darkness.

  By the time Lady Agatha demanded that Lauren stop whatever nonsense she was up to, though, Lauren was too determined to quit. Trembling, she picked up one of the lanterns and moved slowly toward the newly made narrow gap in the wall. Then holding the lantern high, Lauren took a deep, deep breath and cautiously stepped over the debris into the tunnel.

  She was disappointed with the results of her experiment. Absolutely nothing happened. The sloping tunnel of roughly hewn rock didn't frighten her in the least.

  She wondered if perhaps the amount of light had something to do with it, but when she extinguished the lantern, she didn't feel at all faint. Nor did she freeze with terror or show any of the usual symptoms of her phobia. Not even when she asked the caretaker's son to cover the opening behind her did she feel the slightest unease. Being shut up in a dark tunnel no longer seemed to bother her. It was the same when the seal to the giant cave was broken and the process was repeated.

  Frowning, Lauren at last retraced her steps through the tunnel. As she emerged from the cellar, though, she noticed the queer way Lady Agatha was observing her. "I haven't gone mad, I assure you," Lauren said wryly, before explaining about the fear that had haunted her all her life. "Jason suggested that if I could remember whatever originally caused my fear, I might be able to overcome it. But now it seems to be gone, without any effort on my part at all." Lauren sighed. "I had hoped otherwise. I wanted to show Jason that I could face my fear, that I wouldn't permit it to rule my life any longer. Then perhaps he would think more highly of me . . . or at least he might not despise me quite so much."

  Lady Agatha wagged her finger under Lauren's nose. "Jason doesn't despise you, girl. He was upset over the babe, yes, but he was far more worried about losing you. When you were ill, he wouldn't leave your side for more than a moment. Just the slightest change in your breathing sent him into a frenzy. A man doesn't act that way toward his wife unless he loves her."