Desire and Deception Read Free Page B

the darkness. She froze, her skin crawling as the scream echoed eerily off the cliff rocks.
    It was a long while before she dared inch her way forward to scan the cliff above her head. Seeing nothing, she peered down. She couldn't make out anything on the rocks below, but she knew no one could have survived such a fall.
    Her heart pounding as violently as the surf below, Lauren left her hiding place to scramble over the slippery granite, her breath coming harder as she negotiated the treacherous cliff path mainly by feel. When she reached the bottom, she unconsciously slowed, dreading what she would find. She climbed over the last rocky barrier, then halted abruptly, staring in horror.
    Her governess Miss Foster lay there, her body twisted at an awkward angle, her mouth open in a silent scream. A heavy woolen shawl was draped over one shoulder, while spray from the crashing waves had wet her skin, making her mannish face shine in the darkness.
    Lauren swayed, feeling sick. There was something vaguely obscene about the way Miss Foster's black bombazine skirts were spread over the rocks, as if she had neatly arranged them before sitting down to the tea table.
    Nausea churning in her stomach, Lauren turned away, stumbling blindly over the rocks, desperately needing to get away.
    When a shadow rose up before her, she screamed—and would have screamed again, except that a broad, calloused hand clamped over her mouth, preventing her from uttering a second.
    "Hush, lass," Matthew hissed in her ear. "Do ye mean to bring all yer guardian's culls down on us?"
    Hearing that familiar brogue, Lauren flung herself into Matthew's arms and sobbed against his shoulder. "Matthew . . . she . . . she . . ."
    "Aye, I heard the scream." After a moment, he gently disengaged himself from Lauren's deathlike grip. "Stay here, lass. I must look."
    In a moment he was back, his mouth set in a grim line.
    "Matthew," Lauren said hoarsely, the normal huskiness of her voice deepened by horror, "Miss Foster's fall . . . it wasn't an accident. Someone pushed her. I heard voices up on the cliff just before it happened."
    "Aye," he growled, "someone pushed her. And I wouldna doubt that ye were the mark."
    Lauren fixed her frightened gaze on Matthew's face. "You mean . . . someone was trying to kill me?"
    "Kill Andrea. Damme , lass, this impersonation of yers has gone far enough."
    Only recently, in a vulnerable moment, Lauren had confessed to Matthew that she was really Lauren DeVries and only pretending to be her half sister Andrea, and he'd refused to let it rest until she had told him the entire story of the deception George Burroughs had staged. The revelations had not set well with him.
    "Are ye a fool, lass?" he had scolded. "What made ye agree to such a thing? Dinna ye ken ye can hang?"
    Not until then had she realized her impersonation was a criminal offense—punishable by imprisonment and possibly hanging. It had been the idea of prison, though, not hanging, which had frightened her most. The very thought of such confinement made her cringe.
    Matthew had tried to talk her into leaving Carlin House afterward, for he'd done some cautious questioning in the village and unearthed an ugly rumor that Regina had been an accomplice in the Carlins ' murders. But Lauren had no place to go. Besides, she had given George Burroughs her word.
    But that was before Miss Foster had been killed. Lauren stared at Matthew now, trying to absorb the shock of his grim suspicions.
    "Ye canna stay here longer, lass," Matthew said adamantly. "Regina Carlin is after yer father's blunt, and she willna jib at murder to get it.Ye must be gone from this place before 'tis too late."
    Lauren shivered, despite the warmth of the June night. Matthew's accusations reminded her of a slip Miss Foster had once made—something about Regina challenging Andrea's right to the inheritance since Jonathan Carlin had lacked a will. The governess had tried to cover up what she'd said at once, and