Gypsy Lady (14 page)

Unperturbed
by the look in her eyes, Clive continued smoothly, "If you do not find the
map, make certain you leave no signs that his, rooms have been searched. I
don't want him to become suspicious. It's possible that what I want is still in
his London lodgings."

There
was nothing further for them to say to each other except to set up their next
meeting and Catherine asked quietly, "How do I let you know the
outcome?"

Before
he could answer, a laughing male voice cut through the soft morning air, and
Catherine spun around to regard the tall gentleman crossing the clearing, and
her heart leaped inexplicably. She recognized him instantly and knew a
momentary thrill of sheer fright that he might remember her. But then her eyes
collided with his openly assessing gaze, and she was only aware of the
increased beating of her heart and a crazy stab of excitement.

Jason
was staring at her, making no effort to hide the fact that he found her very
attractive indeed. He had noted the air of intimacy between Clive and Catherine
as he approached, and he carelessly assumed that she was Clive's mistress—for
the moment. There was no doubt in his own mind that before too long she would
be under his protection, for suddenly, surprising himself in its intensity, he
was hungry for a woman—
this
woman! She was much too beautiful to be wasted on a bounder like Clive.

Catherine
was almost unbearably conscious of him standing there looking at her, and she
wished for one wild mad moment that they were alone. But almost as soon as she
thought it, she banished the idea from her mind—was she really that drawn to a
man she hadn't ever met? So drawn that all she could think of was that they
be
private and she be at the mercy of all the exciting
things his eyes and mouth promised? No! Never!

And
she was extremely thankful, just then, that at Jason's prompting Clive referred
to her merely as Tamara. For some reason, as yet unknown to herself, she didn't
want this disturbing man to know that she was Lady Catherine.

After Clive's brief
introduction, Jason, his gaze locked with Catherine's, said slowly, "Now,
I'm especially glad Freddy made arrangements for us to ride out here today.
Otherwise, I might have missed meeting your beautiful friend." And no one
was in any doubt that he'd meant something considerably more intimate than
friend!

Clive was coldly furious.
The fact that this man was so coolly exploring Catherine's body with his eyes
infuriated him and made him aware of a shocking flash of jealousy. How dare he
look at her so—she was to be his and his alone. That Jason also had a strange
effect on Catherine did not pass him by. Even if she wasn't aware of it, Clive
could read the signs that Jason held more than just a passing interest for her.
An ugly emotion coiled around his gut almost making him forget where they were.
Pulling himself together with an effort, he vowed grimly that Jason would
regret making his desire so obvious. Hiding his emotions, he inquired in a voice
as bland as milk, "What has brought you to the camp, Jason?"

Jason, his eyes still
insolently exploring the slim figure at Clive's side, answered carelessly,
"I've come to examine the horses. I've been told this band of gypsies has
some very fine animals." He gave a nod of his head in the direction of the
camp. "I left Barrymore and Harris back there admiring some—er—animals of
a different nature. Barrymore seemed so enchanted by a black-eyed charmer that
he couldn't tear himself away."

It was obvious that Jason's
thoughts ran along the same lines, for he was singularly disinclined to stop
staring at Catherine. And Clive, driven by jealousy and spite found himself
saying, "I must be leaving, but Tamara can show you the horses—if it's
horses that you're really interested in!" Throwing Catherine a baleful
look, he added, "And if not, perhaps she can help you otherwise,
also."

Catherine, her thoughts
jostling one another about, felt her face burn with embarrassment at the
meaning in Clive's words. She was angry with Clive and just now didn't want to
examine her emotions concerning the American. There was something about him
that fascinated her and yet at the same time warned her of danger. At the
moment she only wished that he would stop staring at her so—it was certainly
extremely rude and ill-bred of him! She was confused and uncertain as to what
to do about Jason's very definite appraisal. Clive's sudden and abrupt
departure a second later did nothing to solve her dilemma. She was left alone
with Jason, and she wasn't so certain that it was what she wanted—despite
having only minutes ago wished for that very thing. She bit her lip in vexation
at her own wayward emotions and slanted a curious look at him. Her gaze met
those hard green eyes, and the speculation in his glance caused her heart to
thump painfully in her chest.

His eyes, deep-set under
black brows that soared like wings, mesmerized her, and she forgot she was
staring as her gaze traveled slowly over his face. Once again she was caught by
the harsh arrogance of his features, the slightly flaring nostrils and high
cheekbones. Unable to fear her eyes away, she stared, her gaze captured by his
mouth. It was curved now in
a
impudent smile, but
looking at the full, sensuous lower lip, she could imagine it hard with passion
and was stunned by the sudden knowledge that she wanted him to kiss her as
Clive had done. The sound of his laughter jerked her back to the present with
an almost guilty start. "Satisfied?" he said lightly. "I'm sure you'll
recognize me again."

Peeping up at him, she said
demurely, "I'm sorry for staring, sir, but you see I've never seen an
American before."

Jason glanced at her
sharply, but those violet eyes gazed back innocently. Too innocently, he
thought as he said, "
Well,
now you've seen one.
And I suggest you take me to the horses or at least to someone who can answer
some questions for me." Then, reaching out a long- fingered brown hand, he
gently lifted her chin and continued, "I'll have time to further our
acquaintance later, chérie, but just now I'm more interested in the merits of
the horses than in your obvious charms." Grasping her shoulders, he turned
her swiftly in the direction of the camp and gave her curving buttocks a
playful slap, saying cheerfully, "March!"

Catherine's emotions were
so
confused,
she dumbly did exactly as he commanded.
But she hadn't walked far before anger rose up. Her temper was never very calm,
and she almost turned on him like the spitting little cat she could be.

He was an arrogant,
overbearing man who needed to be taught a lesson, she decided. Perhaps, she
thought with sudden amusement, Manuel could trick him into buying the showy
hack he'd won in a card game. The horse was beautiful to behold, but had no
staying power —a real slug. What a fool Savage would look if they could get him
to buy the animal. That would teach him not to treat her so familiarly!

Almost pleasantly she
introduced him to Manuel and said gleefully in Romany, "Manuel, try to
sell him the new one. You
know,
the gorgeous chestnut
with no bottom. And stick him for a good price!"

Then casting a limpid smile
at the lean dark man beside her, she started away only to be brought up short
when Jason said thoughtfully, "I've always understood it was considered
impolite to converse in a language others present can't understand. Of
course,"—he threw her a hard look—"I've done it when I've had
something unpleasant planned for the other person."

His hard gaze and enigmatic
smile pinning her to the spot, she fumbled for words as he said, "But I'm
certain you'd never do a thing like that!
Especially not to
one who has so much to offer you."
Idly, he picked up one glossy
black curl that lay on her breast, and the hair, as if with a will of its own,
curled lovingly around his hand. Still with that strange smile on his mouth, he
said, "Believe me, little
one,
I have a great
deal to give you. I wouldn't have chosen to discuss it now, but I can offer you
more than Clive Pendleton and am more than willing to do so. You're an
enchanting creature. As my mistress you'll want for nothing, nor will I share
you as Clive seems to do. If you're mine, you only have to please me! So, don't
play any silly games with me."

Catherine had gone
completely scarlet at his words, and the calm assumption that she was for sale
left her dazed. She couldn't help but know of the night visits made by dashing
young bloods to the willing gypsy women, but that this stranger should state so
coolly that he was prepared to buy her company and more left her silent and
bewildered. Her mouth suddenly dry at the thought of precisely what he wanted,
she was quite literally left speechless. For what seemed like hours, she stood
rooted to the ground, staring at him; then, with a baffled cry of rage, she
spun around and stalked off, determinedly resisting the urge to turn and slap
his mocking face. He was a vain, conceited, dictatorial, high-handed,
bold-faced commoner!
Ooooh,
but she'd like to tell him
what she thought of him—and with relish she silently rolled the words off her
tongue. She was still listing Jason Savage's faults when she entered her own
caravan.

Catherine's caravan looked like the others from the
outside, but inside there
was
a wealth of difference.
A snug little bed was built into one wall, and a patterned quilt covered the
feather-filled mattress. An oak chest shared the back wall with a squat
potbellied stove, and a small wooden table with two matching chairs sat under
the tiny window across from the bed. Catherine didn't pay any attention to its
cosy appearance, but threw herself down on the bed and lay staring with
unseeing eyes at the dark wooden ceiling.

It had been a disturbing
morning, and she was a mass of conflicting, seething emotions. There was
nothing she could do about Clive, he had her firmly within his power —at
present, she qualified the thought. But with the American she had a choice,
and it was this rather than Clive's threats that disturbed her thoughts.

She could take the sane,
sensible way out, mount her horse, and ride swiftly to Hunter's Hill. There she
would be safe; she could slip quietly into being Lady Catherine Tremayne, and
Jason Savage would be left wondering what happened to Clive's gypsy girl.
Intuitively, she sensed he wouldn't wonder long but would find some willing
light skirt
who
would suit him as well. Perversely, it
was the thought that he hadn't remembered her and would forget her again as
easily that annoyed her most. She rolled over onto her stomach and
absent-mindedly played with one black lock of hair, twisting it about her fingers.
She gave a deep sigh. She'd like to do something that would make this insolent
American remember her for a long time. Then an impish grin crossed her vivid
face, and she decided
not
anything, after all! There
were limits one would go for revenge. But it would be pleasant to bring that
arrogant man to his knees.

She knew little of passion
or of the hungers that drove men, but this morning she had come face to face
with the fact that men could lust after her body. Clive made her feel dirty and
soiled when he had looked at her, but when Jason's eyes had wandered openly
over her, she had experienced conflicting emotions. Part of her had been elated
at the look in his eyes; part had warned her to run and hide safely from that
probing gaze. Even now, she felt again the power of those emerald eyes as they
had moved over her slim form, and for the first time she perceived that there
might be justice in Rachael's warnings and constant disapproval of her
singularly wild and hoydenish behavior. It was forcibly being shown to her that
while her mother might understand her actions there were others who would
neither understand nor care and would be quick to take advantage. In one way,
she didn't blame Savage for his reaction; he saw her only as a gypsy wench, and
it would be inconceivable to him that a young lady of good birth and breeding
would do something
so
ill-advised and fraught with
danger as to actually roam through a gypsy camp. Catherine was becoming aware
that her actions were outrageous and that if she had listened to Rachael or
even Reina, neither Clive nor Jason would have treated her as they had done.

She gave an exasperated
snort. Enough of this! She wasn't riding back to Hunter's Hill like some
frightened ninny, nor was she going to hide in here all day. She would pretend
that this morning hadn't happened and that Jason Savage had not made his very
improper proposal, but. . . I

An irritated tap on the
door broke into her musings, and before she could move, the door was thrust
open to reveal the lined face of Reina. "Well, well, and what are you
plotting, my pretty?" Reina asked sharply, noting the strange look on
Catherine's face.

Catherine smiled ruefully,
helping the older woman inside. "You know me too well, Reina. I can hide
very little from you."

"You forget
,
it was I who raised you and that wretched half brother of
yours."

Catherine teased, "You
old fraud, you know Adam is
the apple of your wicked
eye. As far as you're concerned, he can do no wrong."

Reina
grumbled and lowered her bony frame to the edge of the bed. Catherine watched
the old woman affectionately. Reina presented a cold exterior, and it was true
that she could be as hard and unyielding as granite; but she had a soft spot
for the two brats, as she frequently called them, and had raised them as well
as sheltered them from the more unpleasant facts of life in the gypsy camp. She
had for reasons best known to
herself
seen to it that
Catherine remained a virgin and that Adam hadn't become entangled with one of
the gypsy girls.

Just
why Reina protected them, even she herself didn't know. Perhaps they had in her
mind, really become her children, or perhaps she never forgot who they really
were. And the two children couldn't have had a better protectress; she was, for
all her rags, the matriarch of the tribe. Her word was law, and not even
Manuel, her son, argued once she had spoken.

Now
settled comfortably on the bed, she fixed her eyes on the girl before her, and
a wave of something akin to envy swept through her frail, old body. Once she had
been as beautiful and vibrant as the figure before her. But at Catherine's age,
she had had a score of lovers, leaving a trail of broken hearts beneath her
small feet. Coolly allowing her lovers to possess her body, she had never felt
the least affection for any of the men who had known her so intimately. She
used them and when they were of no further use, discarded them without a
backward glance of her fine eyes. Even her son Manuel, she looked upon as a
mere nuisance. Only for this child Catherine and her brother Adam had she felt
anything resembling that tender emotion, love. And just now she was worried
about what the future would hold for Catherine.

Catherine,
sensing that Reina was uneasy, knelt before the old woman and smiled tenderly
up at the worn face. "What is troubling you, old one? Is it Clive?"

Reina
snorted disgustedly, "That fool! Huh!" Then she narrowed her eyes
questioningly. "What did he want?"

Catherine
sat back on her heels, extremely thoughtful. She couldn't tell Reina the truth,
for nothing would stop the old woman from seeing Clive punished. And Reina
hated Rachael, seeing that innocent lady as a stealer of the affection of the
two children. The fact that Rachael
was their real mother made no difference to Reina.
Reina never shared anything and couldn't understand that Adam and Catherine
could love Rachael without lessening any of the love they had for her. If in
punishing Clive, Rachael was ruined, so much the better I So Catherine, who
disliked lying, was forced to do so.

"He came to see
me—" she began slowly.

"I know that!"
snapped Reina. "I want to know
why!"

Swallowing nervously,
Catherine began again. "He heard I was staying out here and was curious to
see me," she finished lamely.

Reina, her eyes hard, like
pieces of black coal, stared at the girl, searching the young face, taking in
the downcast eyes and the faint flush of color that stained Catherine's cheeks
as the silence grew. "Do you take me for a fool?" Reina finally asked
angrily.

"Oh Reina, don't
scold! Really, it was just curiosity. You know what Clive is like. He's always
poking his nose in."

"Humph!" greeted
Catherine's words.

"It's true! He always
seems to know everything, and this isn't the first time he's shown up
unexpectedly."

Undecided, Reina Stared so
long and hard at Catherine that the girl almost blurted out the truth. Those
black, unswerving eyes still had the power to make her feel like a child caught
being naughty.

Another snort from Reina
signaled that she was displeased with Catherine's rather lame excuse but would
let it lie. Anyway, she was really more interested in Catherine's reaction to
the young blood
who
had arrived after Clive and
growled, "What does the stranger with Manuel want?"

A decidedly angry sparkle
came into Catherine's violet eyes.
"That toad!
He
says he wants to see horses, but I think he and his friends just rode out for a
lark."

Eyes still narrowed, Reina
asked dryly, "And that's all he wants?
Just
horses?"

Rising in one graceful
movement, Catherine walked to the window. Idly her hands played with the snowy
curtains. "No, that's not all he wants. He wants me to become his
mistress! He said he'd pay more for my favors than Clive did. Just like that
and as bold as brass, he told me not to play silly games with him." Her
voice was angry when she finished speaking, but Reina's crack of laughter
caused her to spin around and look at her with wide, questioning eyes.

"What a man!"
crowed
Reina.
"A fine buck, indeed! He rides into
camp and immediately decides to mount you. You should be pleased he finds you
to his taste."

Catherine, a frown marring
her smooth forehead, said confusedly, "You think I should become his
mistress?"

"Do you want to?"
Reina asked, watching the girl closely.

"Of
course not!
I'd like to teach him a lesson, though. What an arrogant creature he is to
think that just at the snap of his fingers, I'll leap into his bed."

"If you were a gypsy
girl, one of the true
blood
, you would not be so
insulted—you would be thinking of the gold he could give you. If you were not
Lady Catherine, think what his favor would mean to you."

"But I
am
Lady
Catherine!" she cried, distressed.

"Then tell me. Why
does he find you dressed in gypsy clothes and meeting strange men in the meadow
like some easy slut?" Reina asked in a stony voice, her face a cold gray
mask.

Catherine stared at her,
aghast. Never had Reina spoke to her so harshly, and quick tears filled her
eyes. If Reina had slapped her, it couldn't have been more painful— it was like
a knife blade in her heart. Reina twisted the blade further by saying in an icy
voice, "The time has come. You must choose. Either accept him and be one
of us or leave us. You cannot continue both paths. And I want you gone from
us."

"But
why?"
Catherine asked blankly.

Reina reached forward
swiftly and grasping Catherine's wrist, twisted the girl to the floor in front
of her. She thrust her face forward, and staring into the bewildered young
face, she snarled, "Do you think this young American will be the only one
to desire you? Do you think always you will be protected by the tribe? That I
or Manuel will always be within call? What if that young buck decided to lay
you in the meadow? Do not shake your head at me! His friends could hold us
until he'd had his pleasure with you. Do you think it has not happened
before?" Reina's voice rose with passion at Catherine's look of shocked
disbelief, and almost shaking with emotion, Reina cried, "How do you
think Amber's child was conceived? I'll tell you—a young lordling, very like
the American out there, rode into camp one afternoon with some friends while
the men were gone, and Amber caught his eye. After he raped her, in full view
of us, he shared her with his friends. How would you like that to happen to
you, my proud lady?" When she finished, Reina was breathing heavily, an
angry flush adding color to her swarthy face.

Gazing at her in horror,
Catherine whispered, "I never knew."

"Huh! You never
knew!" Reina sneered. "Why should you? You're the great Lady
Tremayne, who plays at being a gypsy. No, you'll never know what it's like to
be a gypsy. Those young bucks out there could kill us, steal our animals, and
rape our young women—the constable would not even ride out from town to see
that we are decently buried."

One tear, like a crystal
drop, slid unchecked down Catherine's white face. In a voice shaking with hurt,
she asked quietly, "Why did you hide these things from me? Why didn't you
ever let me know how you really felt? I had a right to know!"

"You have no right but
what I give you. And I repeat, I want you gone from camp," snapped Reina.

"If you feel this way,
you should have told me," Catherine said, pain underlying the softness of
her words. Her face like carved marble, she rose from the floor and fighting
for composure continued, "I'll saddle Sheba and leave now. And—and—"
Her control broke, and turning her head to hide the tears, falling in earnest
now, she said in a voice thick with pain, "I wish you would have told me I
wasn't wanted, that you didn't want me here. I would never have inflicted
myself upon you, but—I thought you loved me—as I love you."

Reina stared at the
straight, proud back and sighed heavily. Her voice was tired as she spoke.
"Child, it is not that I don't want you. But you cannot continue to
inhabit two such opposite worlds. What happened today is a foretaste of what
will happen in the future. Next time, you might not be asked if you are willing
to become a man's mistress. You cannot run the risk. Visit us, yes, but as Lady
Catherine!
Not
as a young gypsy girl. Come, yes, and spend the day
with us, but with your servants in attendance. I love you, child, and would
not willingly see you hurt. For this reason I've said these harsh things."