Desire and Deception by Nicole Jordan Page A

months since his intended bride's disappearance. He had thought her fragile and vulnerable, but she had to have been strong to have survived in this desolate corner of the world. The traumatic events in her short life had shaped her character for certain, although to what magnitude he couldn't guess.
    Had she stood at this same spot on the cliffs, gazing out to sea, troubled and puzzled by her guardian's actions? But no, she wouldn't have had the opportunity. Burroughs had seen to that. The man had openly admitted to Jason his fear for his ward and the precautions he had taken for her safety.
    Turning, Jason could see the great pile of gray stone that was Carlin House. The stark, forbidding structure had been built by Jonathan Carlin to resemble a castle, complete with turrets and battlements, and was set back some distance from the cliffs. Carlin House blended in well with the wild Cornish landscape, but a fanciful imagination could assign a sinister quality to the Gothic edifice. It was certainly no place to raise a young orphaned girl. Jason believed he could understand her reasons for running away.
    He hadn't understood then. He had spent three frantic days searching the docks and the passenger dockets of all the ships sailing from London, before admitting that Andrea Carlin had disappeared, presumably with Lila, and had covered her trail completely. Then he had gone to the Carlin offices.
    His actions that day had been those of a madman; he had nearly killed Burroughs with his angry demands to know what had become of the girl. He had finally released his tight grip of the man's throat, not because Burroughs swore ignorance, but because he pleaded a weak heart and truly appeared to be near collapse. Jason had set about reviving him, urging him to lie down upon a settee, loosening his neckcloth and collar, and forcing sips of water between his bloodless lips. It was some time before either of them were in a condition to speak calmly of the heiress.
    "It is a long story," Burroughs said then. "I mean to divulge it to you, for the simple reason that I need your assistance. Your own past, Captain Stuart, has proven your capabilities, and Lord Effing tells me you may be relied upon. I would not have chosen you for my ward, otherwise."
    The flexing muscles of Jason's jaw betrayed his barely leashed anger. "I am waiting," he replied dangerously.
    Burroughs suddenly rose from his seat and began to pace the parquet floor, wringing his hands in agitation. "I must insist. . . I must have your word that nothing of what I will tell you will ever pass your lips without dire cause." When he paused, Jason gave a brief nod of agreement, wondering at his urgent plea for discretion.
    "It began almost thirty years ago," Burroughs said in a low voice, almost to himself. "It was before I became a partner in the Carlin Line, before Jonathan Carlin wed my sister Mary. Jonathan was rather hotheaded in his youth, but even then he was imperious and stubborn. He was a law unto himself, and he would brook no defiance."
    Jason's eyes narrowed as his gaze was drawn once again to the portrait of Jonathan Carlin with his wife and young daughter. Carlin stood arrogantly staring from the canvas, his long, tapered fingers resting possessively on the shoulder of the woman seated before him. Kneeling at his feet was a child, a young girl who had both arms flung around the neck of a mastiff. Her cheek was pressed against the dog's head and she was smiling slightly.
    Andrea Carlin resembled neither of her solemn, bewigged parents, either in expression or appearance, Jason thought. Her unpowdered hair gleamed a rich gold and contrasted brightly with her pale complexion, while her amber-green eyes glowed with a compelling light. An apt portrayal, Jason decided, except that the artist had failed to catch the smile. In the portrait, it was sweet and innocent, not beguiling and alluring.
    Tearing his gaze away, he focused on Burroughs. The company's major officer was