Gypsy Lady (16 page)

At that, she burst out
laughing and exclaimed, "What a bounder! I'm certain that there are many
beautiful women in America."

Jason, staring almost
bemused at the sunny countenance turned laughingly up at him, was jolted slightly
out of his coldblooded detachment. Now that her violet eyes no longer sparkled
with rage, the enchanting tilt at their corners pronounced, he was suddenly
struck by a resemblance to someone, but to
whom
eluded
his memory. She distracted his thoughts by saying lightly, "I fear you
greatly exaggerate. I've heard from my brother that the women in the new world
are very lovely."

"Ah yes, perhaps, but
I'm positive in Louisiana there is no one to compare with you!"

She glanced at him
suspiciously, but his face was guileless. He might have been acting clever, but
she wasn't going to challenge him; she had the feeling that she would come off
the worst for it. Instead she asked brightly, "Is Louisiana so different
from the rest of America?"

"But
yes,
chèrie!
We are as different as the
exotic rose is to the common daisy."

"Louisiana being the
rose, I presume?" she asked tartly.

"But, yes!" he
grinned down at her, his teeth extremely white in his sun-browned face. She
noticed, abstractedly, the fine lines that crinkled at the corners of his eyes
and the deep dimple that appeared in one cheek when he smiled. It was a nice
face, she decided; but then, just as she was relaxing her guard, he
disconcerted her by grasping her hand and pulling her slowly into his arms.

Smiling into her suddenly
wary face, he murmured, "But let us
talk
of other
things, hmmmmm?" Brushing her forehead lightly with his lips, he asked,
"How soon will you come to me, little one? When will you let me love
you?"

"Wha—what do you
mean?" she stammered, once again unable to think clearly as the heat from
his body invaded hers, and his clean male scent drifted to her nostrils.

He gave a mocking sigh and
gently blew on her ear. "I mean how long will it take you to tell Clive
that you have found another protector? I am impatient to consummate our
relationship."

Catherine ran her tongue
over her suddenly dry lips and searched frantically for an answer. As she
stared dumbly at him, his smile faded, the teasing glint in his green eyes
vanished, and his stare became as hard and ruthless as when they had fought
earlier. And she swallowed nervously, fearful of doing anything that would jar
him from this seemingly complacent mood.

Mistaking the apprehensive
look in her eyes, Jason said softly, "I understand. It is too hard for you
to do. So I will see to Clive myself. All you have to do is gather your things
and meet me at The Fox."

"When?"
she managed to say, because it seemed safe.

The glinting smile flashed
again. "Tomorrow night. I'll have made all the necessary arrangements by
then."

And then, much to her
alarm, Catherine discovered she didn't want to move—she wanted to stay here, to
feel Jason's lips on her mouth again,
to
feel the
painful delight of his arms as they tightened about her. Some of her thoughts
must have shown, or Jason was thinking the same thing, because a second later
his arms tightened around her, and his mouth closed over her half-opened lips
as if he were starving for their touch, flooding her whole body with a fevered
excitement and intoxicating her senses until willingly, she would have let him
do anything he desired!

But this time it was Jason
who pulled away, leaving her with an aching, unfulfilled emptiness. He smiled
crookedly down at her flushed face and seeing the soft, parted lips, the
drugged looked in her eyes, almost took her back in his arms; but for once,
fighting his own instincts, he muttered harshly, "Tamara, if you don't
want me to lay you now, don't tempt me! I'm not a man used to waiting, and
right now I want you badly. So, I suggest that unless you're willing to let me
make love to you here and now, stop teasing me!"

His words and the
half-angry look in his eyes effectively blasted her dreamy, drifting state and
plunged her instantly into awareness of how near she had come to surrendering
to his passionate demands. Violently she wrenched away from him and not looking
in his direction walked stiffly towards her horse. Shame, anger, and a queer
frustration slashed through her body like a sword. She was a fool! And silently
she berated herself for her stupid actions. God! It would have served her right
if Savage had raped her! She had certainly asked for it!

Whatever possessed her to
encourage him, to make her yearn for his caress and worse, to let him see that
she wanted him to kiss her?

Engrossed in her own
unhappy thoughts, she was unaware that he had followed close behind her, and
she nearly screamed with surprise when finally standing next to Sheba and
preparing to mount, he unexpectedly reached out and swiftly threw her up on the
horse's back. Then laying a possessive hand on her thigh, he said, "Don't
worry little one. I'll see to everything, and soon we'll have many delightful
hours together. Be at the inn tomorrow night. I'll tell the innkeeper to expect
you." His green eyes roaming leisurely over her tense body, he remarked,
"Don't bother about your clothes. I'll buy you some fine feathers."
Then his mocking smile glinted, and he laughed. "But I doubt if during the
first days of our association you'll need any."

An indignant gasp slipped
from her lips, but before she could think of a retort, he smacked Sheba's
shining flank, and as the horse bounded forward, Jason called after her,
"Remember, tomorrow evening at The Fox."

Controlling her sudden
spurt of anger, Catherine stifled the impulse to return and wither Jason with a
few well- chosen words. She rode, instead, at a breakneck pace back to the
camp. Minutes later, preoccupied with her inner thoughts, she absent-mindedly
rubbed down a sweating Sheba and then slowly wandered to where Reina sat with
her friend Hone near Catherine's caravan.

Ilone was one of the oldest
and ugliest women in camp. Never, not even in her youth, had she been a beauty,
and life had trampled heavily across her features. She had lost her left eye in
a knife fight years before, and a dirty black patch now covered the sightless
socket. But nothing could hide the ugly, discolored scar that ran diagonally
across her shrunken cheek and broad forehead and disappeared into her thin,
gray hair. Ilone smiled a welcome at Catherine, exposing several gaps in her
mouth where teeth had either rotted away or had been kicked out. Catherine
liked Ilone, and throwing herself down on the ground between the two old women,
she joined their conversation.

After a few minutes Ilone,
perhaps sensing Catherine wished to speak alone with Reina, left them. And
Catherine admitted ruefully to Reina, "You were right this morning when
you said it was dangerous for me to wander around without my servants. Whether
I like it or not, I will have to stop coming here and pretending that I'm just
a gypsy girl named Tamara."

Reina threw her a startled
glance, her eyes filled with unasked questions, and Catherine said slowly,
"I think I shall do as you said. My mother will be overjoyed when she
learns I don't intend to haunt this place any more except in the company of my
servants." Her decision made, she continued briskly, "You might as
well move your things into my caravan, as I'll have no further use of it. And
once you're in possession, I wouldn't have the nerve to tell you that I'd
changed my mind!"

She turned and smiled
impishly at Reina's impassive features, and Reina, pleased but determined not
to show it, snapped, "And what changed your mind so suddenly? When you
left earlier, you were undecided."

How to tell her, Catherine
thought painfully, that she feared she was a wanton, a slut, and no better than
a paid whore? And all because a man, a virtual stranger, had aroused her to
such aching desire that she would have allowed him to take her in that most
intimate act between man and woman. Moodily she said, "Something happened
to make me change my mind, that's all. I said you were right. You should be
happy I'm following your advice— besides, it is dangerous living here! I'll
just have to learn to be a proper lady."

Reina shot her a suspicious
look and would have liked to know what had happened to bring about Catherine's
sudden reversal, but she knew that if the girl had wanted her to know she would
have told her. So, she asked quietly, "Have you forgotten about the
wedding? Will Lady Catherine grace it with her presence, or will Tamara?"

Catherine gave a dismayed
sigh. She hadn't thought about that. In two days, Sanchia and Zoltan would be
married, and she had been looking forward to it. An almost frenzied delight
invaded the camp on a wedding night. Even the fires seemed to burn more vividly
as wild gypsy melodies drifted from the madly playing violins, and the wine
flowed freely as toast after toast was drunk to the young couple. It was
unfair! Lady Catherine with the attendant servants would put
a blight
on the happy celebration—the gypsies would feel
uneasy with a grand lady watching. Most of them had forgotten she wasn't one of
them, but attired and groomed in elegant clothes, she would be a constant
reminder. Damn Reina! She had made her choice, and now the old woman was
testing her resolution. Catherine grimaced. Well, her resolution wasn't very
strong, and she said determinedly, "I'll come that night as Tamara."

"Huh! I didn't think
you could stay away!" Reina snorted.

A mulish slant to her chin,
Catherine answered, "That will absolutely be the last time, I
promise!"

Reina searched her face
intently, and what she saw must have satisfied her, for she relaxed and gently
patted Catherine's hand. "It's hard, I know, my child—but in time you'll
see I was right. I only wish you would come as Lady Catherine that night
also."

Stubbornly, Catherine shook
her head. "No! I want to take my turn dancing. It will be my last chance.
Lady Catherine couldn't—Tamara can!"

"Very well, child, I
will not argue with you if you promise me that after the wedding, Tamara will
end."

Catherine made a face but
answered willingly enough, "I promise. I'm leaving for Hunter's Hill now,
and the night of the wedding shall be the final appearance of Tamara."

Just as Catherine started
to walk away, Ilone came wandering back. Looking at the older woman, Catherine
was struck with a devilish idea. A wicked gleam in her eyes, she stopped and
talked for some minutes to Ilone. When Catherine finally mounted Sheba, she was
smiling —a smile that was full of mischief.

Although Catherine had spent the afternoon arriving
at fateful decisions, Jason had not. He had ridden into Melton Mowbray and
spent a very enjoyable time picking out clothes in which to deck his newest
mistress. He had promised Tamara some new clothes—so new clothes
she
would have.

Arriving back at the inn,
he found that Pierre had already laid out his clothes for the evening, and
restless and bored, he wished he'd declined Brownleigh's dinner invitation.
Sighing, he wondered briefly how he had allowed himself to be caught up in the
whirl of social activity that his friends found so enjoyable. But later that
evening, dressed in a beautifully tailored, green velvet jacket embellished
with black satin trim, his long legs encased in black satin knee breeches, and
his cravat impeccably tied, he looked so handsome and alert that no one
guessed from his handsome face exactly how bored he was.

Dinner was pleasant, the
company congenial, and the only disturbing note was Pendleton's odd behavior.
That Pendleton was spoiling for a fight was obvious, but the reason mystified
Jason. It wasn't the gypsy wench, for Clive had practically thrown her at his
head this morning, and when he'd informed him earlier that she would be under
his protection from now on, Clive had merely shrugged his shoulders
indifferently. Yet, all evening Clive had been drinking heavily, and whenever
his gaze encountered Jason's, there had been a menacing look of suppressed
violence in the gray depths of his eyes.

After dinner, the ladies
removed themselves from the dining room, and now the snowy linen tablecloth was
littered with port and brandy bottles, and the air was thick with smoke, as the
gentlemen sat back and enjoyed their after-dinner cigars and wine. The evening
was altogether
predictable,
a repetition of so many
other evenings, and Jason was wondering how soon after they joined the ladies
he could politely take his leave when Clive, seated across from him, an ugly
look in his eyes, said loudly, "Americans! Bah! They're barbarians born to
dangle at the end of a rope or die of the French pox!"

An embarrassed quiet fell
over the assembled gentlemen, the silence tightening as Jason, his eyes'
hooded, their expression hidden, picked up his wine glass and remarked
smoothly, "That depends, I think, on whether we embrace your principles or
your mistresses!"

Someone laughed nervously,
and Clive took a long drink of his brandy before saying, "You're very
clever," adding insinuatingly, "—for one of your breed."

Coolly Jason replied,
"It's not often people are as discerning as yourself and recognize how
very clever I am!" His mocking smile lurking at the corner of his mouth,
he added, "I'll take your statement as a compliment."

Before Pendleton could say
anything else, Brownleigh rose hurriedly from his place at the head of the long
table and said hastily, "I believe we should join the ladies." Then
without waiting to see if his guests agreed, he signaled the butler to usher
them into the blue salon where the ladies sat gossiping.

Deftly, Tom Harris hustled
Jason up the stairs to his bedchamber where Barrymore, following close behind,
exploded, "Upon my word, Savage, how could you swallow that?"

Jason's expression was
bored as he stared at his friend. "What would you have me do? Create more
talk for the scandalmongers by challenging a
drunk
man
to a duel?"

"Drunk!"
Barrymore snorted.
"Pendleton has the hardest head I know!"

Jason shrugged his shoulders
and said disinterestedly, "I saw no point in challenging him merely for
his lack of manners."

"Wasn't
bad manners!"
Tom broke in. "Did it deliberately, tried to make you challenge him, felt
it!"

"Of course he did it
deliberately!" Barrymore burst out. "And you"—he cast a darkling
glance in Jason's direction —"sat there and let him do
it!"

Jason yawned in Barrymore's
angry face and smiled sleepily,
"Mon ami,
you would have me kill a
man I hardly know, merely because he expressed an opinion I found distasteful?"

"It isn't that, and
you know it! From the moment you arrived, Clive was waiting for an opportunity
to be insulting. A half a dozen times this evening he said things that were
disgusting, and you ignored them."

Lazily, Jason surveyed his
friend. Barrymore was definitely in a pet! His teeth were tightly clenched
together, and his handsome countenance was marred by a scowling frown. His
blue eyes, normally smiling, were hard and angry. Even his carefully brushed
blond locks seemed to bristle with anger.

"Don't you realize he
deliberately offered you an insult no gentleman would stomach?" Barrymore
grated.

"True," Tom
added, nodding his head wisely.
"Said it so you'd have
to challenge him."

Jason sighed, and clasping
his hands behind his head as he lay comfortably on the couch, said in a bored
tone, "But I didn't rise to the bait, I turned his childish insults
away."

"I don't give a
damn!" Barrymore cried. "You should have told the bounder to choose
his seconds! Tom and I would have been honored to serve as yours."

As Jason remained silent,
Barrymore asked, "Don't you care that everyone will think you're afraid of
the fellow?"

Nailing him to the spot
with an emerald stare, Jason asked quietly, "Do you?"

"Of course not!"
he answered in shocked tones.

"Thing is," Tom
said earnestly,
"we
know you ain't afraid of Pendleton, but does
everyone else?"

"You're afraid of what
people will say?" Jason inquired coldly. He sat up suddenly, the lazy,
relaxed air
gone,
an icy gleam in his eyes, and
Barrymore and Harris exchanged concerned glances. Jason in a rage was fine—
provided he was in a rage with someone else. And as he continued to look at
them with that cold, unblinking stare, Tom began to fidget nervously, and
Barrymore said soothingly, "Now Jason, there's no reason to come the ugly
with us!"

Jason snorted disgustedly
and said with an edge, "At

least
Pendleton never questioned
my courage! But you, my two friends, seem very worried about it!"

Barrymore, his former anger
cooling rapidly, made a face and said quietly, "Look. Exchanging insults
isn't getting us anywhere. Tom and I certainly didn't mean to question your
courage. And I had no business nearly losing my temper like I did. Pendleton
gets under my skin, and I'm inclined to be quick off the mark where he's
concerned."

Jason remained silent as
Barrymore finished speaking. Then the tight, angry look about his mouth faded,
and he gave a rueful laugh. "I turn aside a deliberate insult from a
stranger and nearly come to blows with my friends."

Curiously Barrymore asked,
"You know it was done deliberately?"

"Yes,
mon ami,
I know it was done deliberately! I have not managed to five this long without
recognizing when I am being baited," Jason answered tartly.

Frowning, Barrymore probed,
"Then why did you let him get by with it?"

Jason stood up and strode
unhurriedly to the door. He turned and said tantalizingly, "Why? Because,
mes en-
fants
,
I too would like to know why."

Confused, Barrymore
blurted, "Why what?"

Watching Jason, Tom felt a
chill pass through his body at the look that gleamed briefly in his green eyes.
Then Jason, his voice like black silk, asked, "Why does Pendleton want to
kill me?"

"He would never make
such a trivial thing a killing matter! He was just being obnoxious. He merely
wants to let some blood," Barrymore assured him.

"You think so? Then
why did he press a second insult on me, when I was willing to play the fool and
pass off the first? You, yourselves, a moment ago, were eager for me to
understand just how deliberately I had been insulted."

"But—but we didn't
mean a duel to the death!" stammered Tom.

Seeing the apprehensive
look on both their faces, Jason's black mood lifted, and, his most charming
smile flashing, he laughed. "Come, my friends, I will not discuss this
further. Let us join the ladies and enjoy the remainder of the evening."

Gloomily, Tom sighed,
"Won't be able to enjoy the evening.
M'sister
and grandmother will expect me to dance attendance on them when they're not
hanging on your every word. Elizabeth Markham will be setting her cap for you,
too!" Then he brightened, struck by a new thought. "Better if we stay
here! Ring for the butler to bring a tray of wine."

But Jason was not to be
dissuaded, and so, with much grumbling on Harris's part, they descended the
great marble staircase and entered the salon where several ladies and gentlemen
were gathered.

Mrs. Brownleigh, gowned in
an alarming shade of pink, and as plump and amiable as her husband, came
bustling up. Tapping Jason on the arm with her fan, she exclaimed, "Naughty
boy, where have you been? Elizabeth says you promised to turn the music for
her. We're waiting for you in the music room."

After one horrified glance
at the waiting dowagers close on his heels, Tom threw Jason an "I told you
so" look, and beat a strategic retreat with Barrymore. Resigning himself
to another hour of boredom, Jason smiled charmingly at his hostess,
complimented her outrageously on her dress, and escorted her to the music room.

Elizabeth was already
seated behind the piano, and from the look she shot him, it was apparent she
was in a temper. But temper became her, adding a decided sparkle to her brown
eyes, and dressed in an amber- colored gown, she was a sight to quicken a man's
pulse. Unfortunately, Jason couldn't have cared less.

Several delicate, gilt
chairs were drawn up in a semicircle around the piano, and as everyone chose
their seats and settled themselves comfortably, Jason sauntered up to where
Elizabeth sat. Under the noise of everyone being seated, she hissed, "And
where were you this afternoon?"

For a moment he was
nonplused, having forgotten he had halfway promised to go riding with her.
Eyeing her speculatively, it was obvious she was too angry to forgive an honest
admission of forgetfulness. This seemed to be his evening for extracting
himself from tiresome situations, and growing impatient with having to tread
so carefully, he shrugged his shoulders and murmured, "Later, my love.
I'll explain everything."

Her lips curling in a
sneer, she snapped, "Don't bother!

Clive has already told me
of your taste for vulgar company."

His jaw tightened, and
aware that others were becoming curious and restless at the delay, he said
smoothly, "Then there's nothing to explain, is there? And I would suggest
we drop the subject and you begin to play, or the gossips will have something
new to chatter about."

Elizabeth bit her lip,
knowing he was right, but she could have screamed with vexation. This was not
how she had planned their next meeting. Swallowing her chagrin, she smiled
brightly at the waiting guests, arranged her sheets of music, and began to
play. She had an adequate knowledge of the piano, but her performance was not
inspired, being merely a mechanical interpretation of the notes on the pages
that Jason turned for her. And it was not surprising that shortly the guests
began to become restless, and wisely she brought her stilted playing to an
end. There was the usual polite applause, and then the group broke up. Several
of the older gentlemen, their duty done, escaped to the card room. The younger
segment of the group gathered around the piano, while at the other end of the
room the older ladies were partaking of the refreshments being served by the
butler and a young footman. Jason left the younger group and made his way to
where Amanda sat with her grandmother. Knowing it was only shyness that kept
her by her grandmother's side and seeing the longing looks she cast at the gay
crowd around Elizabeth, he teased her gently for being so timid.

Augusta, hearing his
drawling voice, broke off the conversation she had been having with Ceci
Tremayne to demand, "Where's that scamp of a grandson of mine? He should
be here to take his sister about!"

"I believe he's joined
Barrymore and the others for some cards, madame."

"Humph!
I don't
suppose
we
'll
see him
again this
eve
ning!
Especially if he knows I want to see
him,"
she finished shrewdly.

Smiling, Jason silently
acknowledged the truth of her statement. Tom's aversion to his sharp-tongued
grandmother was well known and caused a great deal of amusement among his
friends. And the dowager, knowing precisely what prompted Jason's smile
snapped, "Chicken- hearted rattle! That I would live to see the day a
grandson of mine was frightened of one old woman!"