Gypsy Lady (30 page)

Facing
a bewildered Monroe, he asked quietly if they could borrow one of the small
rooms, and Monroe quickly ushered the silent group into a little antechamber.
After closing the door to any curious stares, Monroe said soothingly, "I'm
sure there must be some misunderstanding. Tamara here is Jason's wife!"

"His
wife!"
hissed Elizabeth through clenched teeth, and she
cast a venomous glance at the silent girl in black.

Tremayne,
his face clearing, asked in a greatly relieved tone, "Your wife?"

Jason
hesitated only a minute before he gave a curt nod. Monroe, an indulgent smile
creasing his chiseled features, said, "I see that my young friend has
again done the unusual. Do I take it this is a runaway match?" Again Jason
nodded curtly.

Disappointed
at such a tame explanation, Ceci muttered, "It may be an elopement, but
why hasn't Catherine had the decency to at least write her mother?"
Casting her niece a spiteful look, she added, "You could have left a note.
At least that would have saved Rachael from rousing the entire neighborhood and
would have prevented her from calling in the Bow Street Runners. I was never
so embarrassed in my life. This disappearance raised all the talk about the
time the gypsies abducted you. Everyone is talking about you!
My goodness, girl, why don't you behave normally?
No one
else in the family causes any scandals. I'm just thankful that your poor father
never lived to see this day," she ended piously.

Monroe,
attempting to diplomatically avert a full blown scene, said smoothly,
"I'm certain Tamara—er— Catherine has already written her mother. After
all, it is some days since you left England, and by now all her mother's fears
should have been allayed. As a matter of fact, she's probably delighted Tamara
has made such an excellent match," he ended.

Tight-lipped,
Elizabeth gritted, "Her name is not Tamara,
it's
Catherine! Lady Catherine Tremayne!"

Somewhat
shaken by the naked hatred in Elizabeth's eyes, Monroe was for the moment
silent. The earl, knowing of the hostility borne by his female relatives for
Catherine, was quick to allow them no chance to unburden themselves further.
Very aware of the fact that

Elizabeth
and Ceci had cherished hopes of bringing Jason to the altar—Ceci had nagged
Edward to take them to France once word of Jason's trip to Paris had become
common knowledge—the earl wanted this unpleasant scene over with as soon as
possible. Looking at the still silent Catherine, Edward said sternly, "I
think enough has been said tonight. If you have not apprised Rachael of your
whereabouts and marriage, do so immediately!" Glancing at Jason, he added,
"If you will give me the direction to your lodgings, I shall call upon you
tomorrow, and we can discuss settlements at that time."

Stony-faced,
Jason asked coldly, and only Catherine could guess at the fury behind that
coldness, "Settlements?"

The
earl nodded. "Lady Catherine is a wealthy young woman in her own right,
and as her guardian it behooves me to see that you intend to do all that is
proper."

For a
moment, Jason's icy green eyes swung in Catherine's direction. He noted the
pale cheeks and the white look around her mouth, but he was not softened. What
a fool she had played him for! And Catherine read in that comprehensive glance
the death of any hope that she would be able to excuse or explain anything to
him.

Steeling
herself to speak she stared beseechingly at her uncle, swallowed convulsively
and blurted, "Uncle, that really isn't necessary! We are already m—m—married,"
she stumbled over the word before rushing on, "and —and settlements are
decided upon before marriage. Please let it be! I will explain everything when
you come, tomorrow."

Jason's
arm tightened cruelly about her waist as he said silkily, "But my little
love, you must let me put your uncle's mind at ease. Surely you knew I would do
all that is
proper!"
He
nearly spat the last word, but playing the scene he smiled tenderly into her
upturned face, and only she saw how icy and remote his eyes were.

Elizabeth,
unable to control herself, snarled, "How touching! Tell me, Catherine, did
you and Rachael plan for him to meet you so opportunely at the gypsy camp, or
was it an accident? I suspect your mother schemed wisely—for how else would she
get you a husband? After all," she drawled hatefully, "fashionable
London would have thought twice about allowing a chit like you in their midst.
You're fortunate Jason was a stranger and didn't know your history—gypsy
brat!"

A
shocked silence greeted Elizabeth's outburst, and Jason's words of anger fell
like splinters of ice in the frozen stillness. "Oh, but, you're wrong,
Elizabeth. I did know her history!"

Stunned,
Catherine's eyes widened, and lips parted in surprise, but Jason, holding
Elizabeth's furious brown eyes with his own, continued coolly, "Some time
ago, Amanda Harris regaled me with," he hesitated, "er—Catherine's
story. You might say it was her unusual background that first attracted me to
my bride. And I should warn y6u that I do not take kindly to anyone lashing at
my wife as you have. It is a pleasure I reserve solely for myself. I trust in
the future you will learn to control your rashness."

Tremayne,
deeply embarrassed by his daughter's vitriolic attack, said hurriedly,
"Well, that seems to have settled any question of Jason having been
misled. As the hour is late I would again suggest we leave any further
discussion until tomorrow. I'm certain that tomorrow Savage and I can come to
agreement privately between ourselves."

Monroe,
having taken a violent dislike to Elizabeth and Ceci, murmured to Tremayne,
"I will see your ladies to the foyer where they can await you until Jason
has given you his address and answered any other questions you may have."

Elizabeth
opened her mouth to object, but Monroe, at his most diplomatic self, firmly
guided the two women from the room.

Edward
relaxed somewhat after their departure. He had always been especially fond of
his niece, and he smiled ruefully at her, asking, "Catherine, my dear,
must you always do the outrageous? I will not scold you longer because I can
see this has been a strain. What is done is done. But I do not understand why
you and Savage decided on a runaway match. Surely Rachael would not have
objected, and I certainly would not have. Couldn't you have asked us?"

At
the hurt in his words, Catherine fought the treacherous tears that ached in
her throat and brimmed in her violet eyes. Only by biting her bottom lip until
it nearly bled was she able to control the desire to fling herself in
his arms and pour out the
whole ugly story. Tremayne waited vainly for her reply, and seeing that despite
her distress she had no answer, he gave a tired sigh and turned to the tall
man at her side. "Where are you staying? I shall be over in the afternoon
if that is convenient."

Flatly, Jason gave him the
name of the Hotel Crillon, and together the two men decided upon the hour of
two o'clock for the meeting. After bestowing a polite kiss upon Catherine's
pale cheek, Tremayne departed.

The accusing angry silence
in the small room was almost a tangible thing, and knowing she would have to
break it sometime, Catherine, staring unhappily at the carpet, said in a
muffled tone, "You would not have believed me—if I had told you the
truth."

"You could have tried
me!" Jason shot back. "Instead of letting me continue to think you
were only some gypsy slut out for a rich protector!
Mon Dieu!
What a coil we're in now, and all because you couldn't use
your damn tongue!"

Stung, Catherine began to
protest, but he forestalled her by snarling tightly, "Don't say a word!
Right now I could very easily throttle you! Just let it be!"

Monroe entered the room
before more could be said, and Jason stiffly thanked him for his help in
averting what could have been a very nasty scene. The following minutes of
conversation were strained, and Monroe, while exceedingly mystified and burning
with curiosity, was almost thankful when Jason and Catherine departed.

At the hotel, Catherine
slipped silently into her bedchamber, praying Jason would postpone the blazing
row that threatened until she had had a chance to gather her scattered wits.
For a short while it appeared he would wait until morning before attacking, but
just as Catherine, looking like a pale ghost of
herself,
was sliding gratefully between the silken sheets, the bedroom door crashed
open and Jason stood steely-eyed in the doorway.

He had discarded the green,
velvet jacket and satin waistcoat he had worn earlier to the ball. The white
silk shirt with its frilled cuffs was open almost to his waist, and he held a
glass half-filled with amber-colored liquid in one hand.
A
lock of night black hair
fell across his forehead, and there was a glitter in his green eyes that caused
Catherine to feel a tremor of primitive animal fear. That he had spent the
intervening time drinking heavily was obvious, but he was not yet drunk.
Mockingly, he raised his glass high, and while the words were slurred,
Catherine heard them clearly—too clearly.

"A
toast to my lovely bride.
I never realized when I made little Tamara my
mistress I would find myself acquiring a noble-born bride. Tell me,
Lady
Catherine— just to assuage my own curiosity—did your mother plan it or was it
an accursed accident that we met?"

Knowing he was in no mood
to listen to excuses or reason and tired to death of scenes, Catherine said
coolly, "You're drunk, Jason! We can discuss it in the morning."

It was precisely the wrong
thing to have said, for the spiteful mockery died, and in a flaming temper
Jason crossed the room with angry, stiff-legged strides. "And when will we
discuss it,
Lady
Catherine? After your uncle has bled me
further?"

Grasping her slim
shoulders, he shook her ruthlessly. Twisting free, she spat, "All right,
Jason! I'll tell you! No, my mother never planned it! I never planned it! You
can blame your own blind lust for what has happened! I didn't rape myself—nor
did I bring myself to France.
You
did it all, my dear
husband!"

Her furious words hit him
like a bucket of icy water, and for a seemingly endless time they stared at one
another. Then he surprised her by throwing himself full length on the bed
beside her. Lying on his back and staring unseeingly at the ruffled canopy he
said bleakly, "I may have been guilty of mistaking the situation, but you
should never have continued to be at the gypsy camp once you knew of my
interest—and you knew of my desire for you that first day! Why the hell didn't
you say something?"

Her earlier anger draining
away, she asked dully, "Would you have believed me?"

"Probably not!"
he answered baldly. His very lack of compunction was insolence itself, and
tightly she asked, "Doesn't it bother you, what you've done?"

"Not particularly!
What have I done besides making a runaway match with, I discover tonight, a
very eligible young woman? And as I am considered very eligible myself, what
is the harm?"

Frowning, Catherine stared
back at him. "But we're not married!"

Turning his head slowly, he
gazed back at her, and the
cold glitter in his green eyes made her
suddenly, sickeningly aware that he was in an extremely dangerous mood —that
underneath his relaxed exterior he was furious! Paralyzed she stared back at
him, and he smiled deliberately, nastily. "That's true, my lovely little
cat, but by this time tomorrow evening, we will be!"

Catherine's
eyes grew wide with horror, and all trace of color left her face. "You
can't be serious—you don't want to marry me!"

Grimly,
"How true,
Lady
Catherine. Unfortunately, this evening has left me no other alternative. And
marry you, I will!"

Aghast,
she stuttered, "But—but we don't love each other! We don't even
like
each other! I will not marry you! I couldn't bear
it—not like this!"

Pushing
her down into the soft pillows, Jason loomed above her, his face
hard,
his full, mobile lips thinned with anger, and snarled,
"Love has nothing to do with anything! Marry we must, and marry we will!
You may enjoy creating scandals, as your aunt implies, but I dislike being
labeled a blackguard and a bounder who seduces young ladies of quality!"
Bitterly, he added, "Why in God's name couldn't you be the gypsy wench you
appeared to be? Then we'd have no problem. Now I'll—God help me—have a
bride!"