Desire and Deception Read Free Page A

independence when she reached her majority, as well as a share in the Carlin Line. Burroughs had said that half the ships were rightfully hers, and in a way, Lauren agreed; had her parents' marriage been real, she would have legally inherited Jonathan Carlin's entire fortune.
    And Lauren had only to remember her last night in the root cellar to make up her mind. She agreed.
    Her new life at Carlin House wasn't quite what she had expected. She rarely saw Burroughs, since he resided in London, and she wasn't allowed to associate with the servants. There was only Miss Foster, who was cold and unfeeling, like the granite of the cliffs. She did see her father for the first time . . . in the portrait that hung in the gallery. She had studied that handsome face, searching for some trace of the cruelty that had hurt her mother so, and was surprised when she couldn't find it.
    But, except for the loneliness, her life wasn't a bad one. She was given an education befitting the heiress to the Carlin shipping empire, and all the material comforts even a princess could want. New gowns and shawls and slippers . . . Her half sister's jewel box was hers, the lovely lockets and pins, the ring Andrea had always worn. Miss Foster insisted that Lauren wear the ring, and also insisted on calling her "Andrea", even if they were alone, as did Burroughs.
    By far the most frustrating part of having assumed her half sister's identity, though, was that she was forbidden to go beyond the house grounds. Early on, Lauren had realized that the unsmiling men who were charged with protecting her from Regina were also there to keep her in.
    Yet it hadn't taken her long to devise ways to slip past her constant guards and escape to the wild, gorse-dotted cliffs with their rocky paths down to the sea. Miss Foster slept soundly, thank heaven, and whenever there was no telltale moon to reveal her presence to the patrols, Lauren would climb down the tree outside her window and set out for the cliffs and a few blessed hours of freedom.
    That was how she had met Matthew MacGregor . Three months before her sixteenth birthday, on one of her nightly ventures, she had caught him in the act of stashing contraband silk and brandy in the caves below Carlin House. By all rights, he should have slit her throat when he'd found her hiding among the rocks, since her knowledge could have sent him to the gallows. But he had befriended her instead, saying she reminded him of the daughter he had lost. And after living in seclusion for so long with only a grim governess for companionship, Lauren had latched on to him like a barnacle, gratefully welcoming their odd friendship, which had grown steadily over the next year.
    It had only been a month ago that she had gone out to meet him and heard voices above her on the clifftop —an indistinct murmur above the rumble of the surf.
    Warily, Lauren had crouched down among the shadows and pulled the hood of her woolen cloak well forward. She knew her hair would reflect the faintest light. "Bright as a beacon," Matthew always said about her golden tresses, warning her that in moonlight her hair glowed like a lantern.
    The voices above grew louder, filling Lauren with unease. An argument seemed to be taking place, and although the stiff seawind whipped away the exact words, one of the voices sounded oddly as if it belonged to a woman—a frightened woman. Lauren frowned. She could think of no female but herself who would venture so near the cliffs at night.
    Then her legs began to cramp from stooping for so long. She was cautiously trying to shift her tall frame into a more comfortable position when the quarrel above her suddenly erupted into a full-fledged scuffle. A muffled grunt was flung down by the wind, followed by a low curse and the rasp of dirt and pebbles falling over the cliffs edge. The next instant, a terrified scream rent the night air.
    Lauren jumped, turning her head in time to glimpse a giant fluttering bat plummet past her in