Gypsy Lady (24 page)

Pierre's
next actions seemed to belie her frail prayer, for he unconcernedly began to
gather from the jumble of silks on the chair an assortment of clothing only a
woman would wear. And after that, he disappeared into the other room, only to
return with more feminine oddments from which he carefully selected a pair of
pale pink kid half boots and a pelisse of fine dark blue wool, before packing
the remainder in a smaller trunk.

Now,
with an increasingly hollow sensation in the region of her stomach, Catherine
eyed the deep rose dress of soft muslin and the lacy chemise that Pierre placed
on a chair. And suddenly it struck her forcibly that it was odd that a
gentleman should possess women's clothing. Malev
olently
she decided Jason kept them available to pay off his little amusements. She would
have been astonished to learn that these particular silks and laces had been
bought with her in mind—that after their stormy meeting in the meadow he had
ridden into Melton Mowbray and had spent several enjoyable hours choosing these
garments for her to wear.

Determined
not to dwell upon Jason's reasons for having
a
variety of feminine apparel in his possession, she watched listlessly as Pierre
finished his tasks, repeatedly encouraging herself not to give in to the bleak
despair that was beginning to creep through her entire body. Pierre's horrified
exclamation, as he took a last check of the other two trunks and discovered the
havoc she had created in her lightning search, caused her to give a guilty
start, and her eyes slid away from the look of hostile speculation he gave her.

Dawn
was only seconds away, and a gray, patchy fog lent a sinister air to the small
clearing chosen as the dueling place. The trees encircling the spot were bare
of leaves, the pale green nubs along their limbs just ready to burst forth in
greeting to spring, and the dark branches reached like beseeching arms
heavenward as if praying for the sun to appear; but the sun was being sulky,
almost as if she objected to starting the day in such a violent fashion. The
grass was damp with dew, and there was the faint sound of dripping water as the
heavy moisture collected on the naked branches and then fell to the ground
with a soft, dismal, plopping noise.

Thoughtfully,
Jason watched Clive dismount from his carriage and noted the odd fact that
Pendleton's seconds, Phillipe de Courcey and Anthony Newhope, had traveled in
their own
vehicle. His eyes swung back to Clive's coach, and
he viewed with sudden suspicion the baggage that was strapped to the top and
back of the coach. From all appearances, it looked as if Mr. Pendleton was
prepared for flight.

The
same thought must have occurred to Barrymore because he hissed in Jason's ear,
"I don't like the looks of this! If Pendleton's determined to make this a
killing matter and is lucky enough to succeed, he'd have to leave the country
in a hurry, and his coach looks as if it's packed for a damned long journey.
You better be careful,
Jas. I'm glad I insisted upon the sawbones being here!"

Jason grunted a reply,
while his bored gaze wandered briefly over the doctor, standing a little apart
from the others, his small black leather bag resting near his feet.

There were only curt nods
of greeting as the six men met, and solemnly the pistols were chosen. They had
already agreed upon the twenty paces, so the two duelists were quickly,
silently divested of their outer coats, both wearing dark clothing devoid of
any shining object that would give the other a target for better aim. Coolly,
Jason surveyed Clive, wondering again at the man's unexpected animosity,
before mentally shrugging his shoulders. If the reason for the burning hate
that gleamed in the gray eyes was important, he'd find it out some day, and if
it wasn't, who cared what devils drove the man?

Harris was chosen to call
out the paces, and nervously the first steps were called from his dry mouth,
while Barrymore, his concern for Jason increasing with every step the two men
took, stared gloomily at the widening distance between them before pinning his
bright blue gaze on Pendleton's back as the count neared twenty. It was
Barrymore's shocked gasp of horror that warned Jason, and instinctively he
hurled himself to the damp ground, rolling swiftly onto his back as he did so.
A bullet snarled past in the empty air, where only a second ago his head had
been, and the quiet morning air was shattered by the crack of a pistol. Icily,
he surveyed Pendleton's smoking pistol and as he took careful, deliberate aim,
heard Barrymore cry savagely, "You swine, Pendleton! You jumped the count!
That was intentional murder! You'll not leave this ground alive, I can tell
you, for I shall kill you myself!"

But even as Barrymore
started forward, Jason fired, the startling sound of his belated shot nearly
rocking the others on their heels, and with great satisfaction he saw
Pendleton, surprise on his face, sway and crumple. A grim smile on ids lips,
Jason leaped to his feet and ignoring Barrymore's and Harris's astonished
expressions, asked politely, "My coat, Barrymore, if you please? It's
devilishly cold out here, and that damn grass was wet."

Stunned relief made
Barrymore almost stumble in his haste to comply, and he babbled, "That was
the sweetest piece of shooting I've ever seen, upon my word it was!
But what a ghastly thing to have happened.
I was certain
you
were dead. Thank God, Pendleton is a terrible shot and missed you!"

"He
didn't miss me, my friend. I merely took advantage of your theatrical gasp of
surprise and threw myself away from his line of fire."

"Theatrical!
Well, I like that! I save your life, and you're damned ungrateful."

Jason
avoided the accusing blue eyes. Clapping his friend on the shoulder, he prodded
him in the direction of the fallen man. The doctor was kneeling beside Pendleton,
effectively stopping the blood that welled from a high shoulder wound.

As
the three men approached, Newhope, his young face red with mortification,
blurted, "I must offer you my apologies. I'm greatly
shocked
.
by
what has happened!"

"Apologies!"
Barrymore broke in heatedly. "How can you stomach the fellow? When today's
events are learned, he'll be lucky if he's not hounded from England!"

With
his uncle's conversation in mind, Jason interrupted smoothly, "What
happened this morning would be best forgotten. Let it suffice that we met, and
I wounded my man."

Harris,
his red hair nearly standing on end, turned to stare with disbelieving brown
eyes at Jason. "You aren't going to do anything about it?" he asked
incredulously, while Barrymore was for once dumbstruck.

Jason
laughed.
"Mon ami,
I've already
shot
the man! What more do you
want me to do? Let someone else create the latest scandal."

Reluctantly,
like a terrier with a bone, Harris allowed himself to be persuaded from crying
Pendleton's infamy from the rooftops of fashionable London, and as they walked
to the carriage, Barrymore muttered dire threats of what he'd do if the choice
was up to him!

The
first warning Catherine had of Jason's return was his laughing voice, a thread
of steel running through it as he said, "Enough, my friends, let it lie. I
will not change my mind! I might add that I'm greatly shocked to discover what
bloodthirsty savages you've turned out to be! I never would have suspected
it."

Unaccountably
pleased that he was alive and apparently unhurt, she lay there listening as
the three made themselves comfortable. But then, the knowledge that soon she
would have to face that mocking green gaze, caused all her nebulous fears to
come rushing back, and her heart gave a leap of fright when Jason, followed
closely by Pierre, suddenly appeared in the doorway.

It
was patently obvious that Pierre hadn't wasted
a
moment
before acquainting Jason with the fact that his trunks had been searched. It
was equally obvious that Pierre had also stated whom he thought had gone
through them, and Catherine held her breath as Jason crossed the room and after
viewing the tumbled contents curtly commanded Pierre to repack them. That Jason
was furious was very apparent, and from the angry thinning of his lips and the
black look he threw her before striding from the room, Catherine knew that when
he returned she had better have some answers for the extremely pointed
questions he was bound to ask.

Resentment,
warring with pride, stiffened her backbone as silently she vowed never to tell
him why she had gone through his belongings. After the way he had treated
her—why should she? Truculently she awaited his return, straining to hear what
was being said in the other room. She couldn't overhear what he said to Barrymore
and Harris to make them leave, but she did hear the heavy door shut and
Barrymore's grumbling farewell.

Surprisingly,
Jason did not immediately turn to her when he entered the room but instead
stood watching broodingly as Pierre finished repacking the trunks and removed
them from the room. It was then, when they were alone, that he walked
determinedly to her side, a cold, implacable look on his face. He stripped back
the concealing blankets with one angry jerk, and Catherine willed herself to
meet his gaze. Her violet eyes never wavered from his as challengingly she
stared back at him. Insolently, his eyes traveled over her rigid body, his only
sign of emotion the slight jump of a muscle in one lean cheek. The ensuing
silence clawed at Catherine's nerves, and she couldn't control a shiver of
alarm when suddenly he reached out and almost gently enclosed one small breast
with his warm hand.

A
mirthless smile curved his lips, and instinctively she sensed love-making
wasn't on his mind as he casually fondled her breast. Her throat felt tight as
if she had downed a glass of sand, and nervously she tried to swallow, bracing
herself for whatever was coming. But she was unable to still a small moan of
pure agony as cruelly he dug his fingers into her soft flesh, deliberately inflicting
excruciating pain. His eyes, like frozen emeralds, stared down into her
pain-contorted face and unemotionally he said, "That's just a sample, my
little white-skinned witch, of what I can do to you. When I ungag you, you'd
better tell me exactly what I want to know, or I'll really hurt you.
Understand?"

Catherine
nodded, a ragged sigh of relief escaping from her white lips as he quickly
released his grip on her breast. With sharp, decisive strokes, he cut her
ankles loose, and cautiously she sat up, unbelieving that the man who had made
such tender love to her last night could be this grim-faced stranger who hurt
her so painfully.
Then glancing down at her breast, her eyes
widened as she saw the imprint of his fingers still vividly red against the
paleness of her skin.
And bitterly she reminded herself of his rape and
the brutal way he had treated her this morning.

Outwardly
docile, she waited for his next move, and with every passing
second
her earlier resolution not to tell him what he wanted to know hardened. Coolly
her eyes met the grim determination in his as he slowly undid the pillowcase
from her mouth. It was such blessedness to be free of it that for a minute she
did nothing but savor the pleasant fact that the gag no longer bit into her
mouth.

His
voice jerked her nastily back to the present as he said harshly, "Before
you try it, I should warn you that if you scream, it will be the last sound
you'll ever make. Now, what were you searching for?"

"Money!"
she answered, her chin thrust belligerently forward.

He
appeared startled for a moment, as if that idea had never occurred to him, but
then his mouth tightened. "Money, my dear?" he asked silkily. "I
think not!" His hand closed threateningly around her slender neck, and he
shook his head slowly. "You weren't searching for money. My gold watch and
money were lying out in plain sight, but you ignored them. Or are you going to
tell me you overlooked them?" he asked mockingly.

Her
soft mouth hardened, and stubbornly she spat, "I'm not telling you
anything! Why should I? You've
kidnapped me, raped me, and made life intolerable
for me." Breathing heavily, her eyes flashing purple fire, and an
exhilarating turmoil raging through her, she gave full rein to her temper and
taunted, "Go ahead, hit me! My arms are bound, and I can't stop you. What
are you waiting for? But whatever you do, I'll never, never tell you why I
went through those trunks. I'd rather die than tell you!"

Thoughtfully he regarded
her, his gaze disconcertingly dwelling on the willful set of her mouth before
their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills. Then he completely astounded
her by grinning and saying, "
Pax
, little witch! You're
too pretty to mark up, and I'll find out eventually what you were looking
for."