Gypsy Lady (22 page)

Suddenly,
he moved again so that
his
body lay over hers. She made another attempt to
escape, but cruelly his fingers dug into her thrashing thighs as he held her to
the ground. With insistent hands, he spread her legs, undeterred by her
frantically beating hands as she frenziedly twisted and attempted to claw his
dark face. For an instant he was poised above her trapped body, and then with a
savage thrust he entered her, driving deep into her vitals.

Catherine's
scream of agony, as he ruthlessly took her virginity, was lost when he crushed
her mouth with his; but he had felt that slight
obstruction,
and astonishment momentarily held him motionless, buried within her. Stunned by
the implication of that delicate membrane, he released her mouth and stared
into her pain-clouded eyes. He hesitated, uncertain, but what was done was
done. Slowly he made love to her, moving within her gently and whispering
softly, "I'm sorry,
chèrie,"
before surrendering to the demands of his body and increasing his rapid movements,
as the sweep of pleasure that heralded fulfillment coursed through his body.

To
Catherine, the pain inflicted upon her unwilling body was meaningless compared
to the humiliation and agony of mind she suffered. Her gaze was cloudy with
inner torment as she lay sprawled like a broken doll, unmoving, making no
attempt to gather the torn garments about her naked body. She was so lost in
misery she never felt his withdrawal or noticed when he stood up and arranged
his
clothing.

A
bitter twist to his lips, Jason looked at her lying there, and he tasted the
acid bite of bile in his mouth. Anger, remorse, and rage all burned through
him, and the knowledge that he'd allowed his own selfish desires to blind him
to the fact that the little gypsy hadn't been playing a game, but in actuality
was defending her honor, left him feeling disgusted with himself. He knelt
beside her and gently began to pull the ripped gown about her nakedness, but at
his touch she shied away like a frightened animal, and he cursed softly under
his breath.

Catherine
was almost numb with shock; but his touch could instill fear, and she couldn't
control a shiver of terror
when he reached for her
again. But he was kind, this time, cradling her limp form next to his and
soothingly murmuring meaningless phrases as he carefully wrapped her in the
concealing folds of his cloak.

The
ride back to the inn was accomplished in silence, Catherine lying listlessly
against his chest, unconsciously listening
to
the
steady beat of his heart.
After
leaving the horse at the stables, he carried her to his room, shielding her
from any curious glances that may have come their way. In his rooms, he laid
her gently on the bed and called for Pierre to prepare a bath. Then pouring a
goodly amount of brandy into a glass, he forced the liquor down her throat.
Choking and spluttering, she managed to swallow some of the fiery liquid. As
the burning warmth spread through her chilled body, she slowly began to recover
some
of
her scattered wits and
searched desperately for a means of escape. But Pierre came bustling into the
room, supervising the setting up of the brass tub near a hastily lit fire, and
Catherine clutched the cloak more tightly about her curled frame, hiding her
torn and ripped gown from his intensely curious eyes. Jason disappeared into
the other room, and while the servants were filling the tub, Pierre and
Catherine covertly studied one another. The valet's face seemed kind, and
perhaps he'd help her to escape, she thought hopefully. Pierre, at the same
time, was deciding she was
by
far
the loveliest wench yet
to
share
his master's bed.

Catherine
recognized none of the other servants, but she kept her face carefully averted,
praying no one would recognize her. Silently she willed them to leave before
Jason returned and every chance of escape was destroyed. She could have
screamed with rage when they finally did leave, for as she cautiously began to
edge to the side of the bed, Jason returned. Slung over his arm were several
frothy pieces of feminine apparel, which he tossed in an untidy heap on a chair.
He noted that the blind, unseeing stare that had disturbed him earlier was
gone, although there was still a pinched look about her mouth that he didn't
like.

He
dismissed Pierre and began to walk towards the girl crouched on the huge bed.
Catherine's eyes were wary, and as he neared her motionless form, the fires of
defiance began to blaze in the violet depths. Jason, seeing the hate and
furious anger burning in her tilted eyes, suddenly grinned. The unfamiliar
remorse he had experienced earlier was uncomfortable, and he had been annoyed
and bothered by the feelings of compassion she had aroused. But angry women he
could understand and
handle,
and his grin widened.
Mockingly, he bowed and said, "Your bath awaits you, m'lady."

Angrily,
she glared at him and spat, "Leave me then! I'll not expose myself further
to your lascivious gaze."

Jason
laughed. And as Catherine scooted to the far side of the bed, he threw himself
down next to her and drew her struggling body close to him. She was push effortlessly
down into the enveloping softness of the feather mattress, and he lay with his
body half covering hers, smiling down into her furious face. Gently smoothing
the rumpled hair away from her forehead, he surprised her by saying seriously,
"My love, I am truly sorry for the way I took you. If I had known, I would
have chosen a better place and seen to it you had little pain. You should have
trusted me."

"Trusted
you?" she spluttered, rage choking her practically speechless.

He
nodded, arrogantly sure of his charm and power,
But
then he frowned, his black brows nearly meeting his bold nose. Curiously he
asked, "How
is it
Clive hadn't deflowered you
long ago?" But before she could force her stumbling tongue to answer, his
brow cleared, and he said knowingly, "Ah, I understand! Clive has a taste
for boys and used you as he would them."

Catherine
stared at him uncomprehendingly, but he didn't see her confused look, for the
cloak had fallen open and he was distracted by the sight of her nearly naked
body. Instinctively, she attempted to gather the folds together, but
he
knocked her hands aside and moved his own hands
caressingly over her silken flesh; she stiffened with unwilling desire. He
seemed unaware of her reaction saying musingly. "Clive must be a fool.
You,
chèrie,
are so beautifully made,
mon
Dieu,
it is a sacrilege that he
used you so!"

He
bent his head, and she gasped aloud as his mouth teasingly nibbled one
pink-tipped breast. His lips left a tingling trail of fire as he moved from one
breast to the other, then suddenly, hungrily up to her mouth. Leisurely,
lovingly he kissed her until she relaxed. But then, just as she had begun
to
involuntarily respond, he startled her by
stripping the tattered dress completely from her, scooping her up in his strong
arms, and carrying her to the waiting bath. And seconds later, her hair loosely
secured to the top of her head, she found herself in the warm, scented water.
Then nothing, not even his disturbing presence, could dim the delight she felt
as the liquid warmth seeped over her abused body.

Jason
sprawled lazily on the bed and watched her with curious eyes. She was such a
bewildering combination of sultry temptress and yet-unawakened maid that
against his will he was intrigued. He could keep her a twelvemonth, yet not
know what went on in her beautiful little head. Nor, he thought grinning, would
she bore him! Her changing moods were like quicksilver, and while she might
exasperate him occasionally, he knew that soft, lovely body would always give
him great pleasure. But as he studied the enchanting profile, he was struck
again by some elusive resemblance. Damn! Where had he seen that face before?

While
Jason lay relaxed on the bed, puzzling over her familiarity, Catherine was
carefully studying him from underneath her long lashes. There was no denying
he was an attractive man. His white silk shirt was open to his waist, revealing
his tanned, muscled chest with its mat of coarse black hair, and she felt a
shiver of something— not quite desire, yet not quite fear—as she remembered the
feel of that powerful body on hers. She too, was perplexed by a fleeting
feeling of having seen his handsome face long before that night at her
aunt's—but try as hard as she could, she couldn't put her finger on who he
reminded her of. For the moment, she was resigned to her predicament. It was
like a horrid nightmare, and silently she prayed she'd awake and discover
herself safe in her own bed.

She
scrubbed herself thoroughly, as if by so doing she could erase his touch, and
when she finished, he rose smiling and handed her a large, soft towel that had
been warming near the fire. He held it out, and she had no choice but to rise
from the water and allow him to enfold her in its warmth. Resentfully, she
glared at him, embarrassment causing red flags to fly in her cheeks.

Guessing
the reason for her red cheeks, he increased her agitation by murmuring
wickedly, "You forget I have done more than look at you, my little
cat!"

At
his
unknowing use of her pet name, she nearly jumped out of her skin, and he
frowned blackly at her sudden look of fear.
Mon Dieu,
what was wrong with the wench? She seemed
positively petrified! Gently, he chided- her,
"Chèrie,
do not be frightened—the worst is behind you. I
will take care of you and teach you how best to please a real man. Clive must
be only a half a man."

Catherine
closed her eyes in sudden anguish. If only she had listened . . . if only she
hadn't been so headstrong and insisted upon dancing with the gypsies tonight .
. . if only. . . . But it was too late for futile wishes now, and opening her
eyes she saw that he was watching her closely. Unable to control
herself
, she begged, "Let me go! You've had your
pleasure—please,
please
let
me go!" It cost
her an
effort to plead, but she
was willing to do anything if only he'd release her. The violet eyes swam with
threatened tears, and she bit her swollen lip to still its betraying tremble.

"Ah,
little one, do not distress yourself so. I will not hurt you. I have been a
big, clumsy oaf tonight. Soon you will learn that I can be very gentle,"
he soothed, exerting
his
considerable charm to allay her fears.

Incredulously,
Catherine stared at him. Didn't he realize she wanted nothing from him? For a
moment she was almost overcome by the desire to scream her identity at him, but
prudence held her tongue. She wanted no scandal, and she clung to the hope that
somehow she would soon be able to escape back to gypsies with no one the wiser.
And the unpleasant thought occurred to her—she had no guarantee that Jason would
believe her. Abruptly she turned away from his mocking face, unwilling for him
to see how completely confused and yes, she had to admit it, almost frightened
she was.

She
stood uncertainly in the middle of the room with only the towel hiding her
nakedness and was thankful when Jason handed her a black velvet robe from the
pile of clothing on the chair. He had just seated her near the fire when Pierre
knocked and entered bearing a tray with covered dishes. The appetizing smells
that drifted to Catherine's nose made her realize how very hungry she was.

It
could not be said that the meal that followed was enjoyable, but it was an
interlude from the night's violence. Jason set out to be his most polite,
charming self; Catherine, relaxed by the warm bath, enveloped in the luxurious
softness of the velvet robe, and her tormentor in a disarming mood, felt almost
safe and shortly was astonished to find herself smiling at one of his amusing
tales. As they ate that odd, strangely intimate dinner, Jason found himself
more and more puzzled by the gypsy wench. No gypsy had features
so
finely cast, nor skin as clear and white as hers. He
finally decided she must be a by-blow of one of the local lords. Yet gentlemen
did not usually educate their bastards, and her manners as she ate were as
correct as those of any lady of his society. Her speech also was not that of
the uneducated: she spoke as clearly and precisely as he did, and he had been
educated at Harrow! Perhaps, the unwelcome thought occurred to him, Clive used her
to spy, and it would be useful for her to pass for a lady.