Gypsy Lady (21 page)

"Disagreement?"

"Mmmm," Jason
answered maddeningly. "I threw a glass of wine in his face, and he
disagreed with my actions."

"Jason, have I ever
told you that you try my patience excessively?" asked the duke scathingly.

"Frequently!"
came the unrepentant answer, as Jason sat up abruptly and grasping the reins,
turned the curricle in the direction of the inn. "I'll see Harris and
Barrymore this evening and insist the meeting take place in the morning.
They'll be understandably scandalized, but if I leave for Paris soon, I must
settle the affair with Pendleton first. Will it suit you if I arrive in London
the day after tomorrow, provided I can force Pendleton to meet me in the
morning?"

"Why ask me? You've
already decided, and while I might wish you hadn't antagonized him, I agree it
should be settled before you leave for France."

Jason shot his uncle a
teasing glance and, tongue in cheek, said, "I thought you would be pleased
with the news of my coming duel with him. Just think. I may kill him, and then
you won't have to worry about trapping him."

Sharply, the duke said,
"Don't be a fool! He may kill
you,
and I want more than just
Pendleton dead! I want the others, too,—the ones who buy his information.
Clive, by himself, is very small fish indeed!"

They conversed desultorily
for the remainder of the ride back to the inn, and shortly after their return
the duke left on the long trip back to London.

Immediately after Roxbury's
departure, Jason drove to Brownleigh's and tracked down Harris and Barrymore,
and then waited impatiently while Harris and Barrymore held an unfriendly
meeting with Pendleton's seconds, Phillipe de Courcey and a Mr. Anthony
Newhope, a foppish young gentleman with more hair than wit. It was dark before
arrangements for the duel were set, but in the end Jason had his way and left
Brownleigh's, knowing he would meet Pendleton at dawn in a small clearing not
far from the inn. Pendleton had chosen pistols for their meeting, and that
disclosure brought a satisfied smile to Jason's face. Good! He wanted the duel
over and done with, and rapiers took time; but a pistol—one quick, well-aimed
shot and the deed was done! It was possible he could be- in London tomorrow
night. And the sooner he knew what the duke needed carried to Monroe, the
better—besides, he was curious as hell!

At the inn, he paid his
bill and informed Noakes of his morning departure. Briefly he toyed with the
idea of questioning the innkeeper about his knowledge of the attempt on his
life but then, all things considered, decided against it. If someone—besides
Pendleton—wanted him dead, they would, no doubt, try again, and next time he'd
be ready.

Once more in his rooms, he
settled down in one of the leather chairs to wait a bit—the festivities would
be barely underway at the gypsy camp. That was another little score to settle
before leaving. Pierre was already packing, and he had notified Jacques of
their imminent departure, so all he had to do was waste time until the duel at
dawn. Relaxing for the first time since his uncle had so rudely woken him hours
ago,
he viewed the sudden, unexpected curtailment of
his trip to England with something approaching satisfaction.

The trip had proved to be a
success in regards to
his
plans. By now his first
shipment of thoroughbred brood mares would have arrived in New Orleans. A
second group, consisting of several hunters and pleasure horses destined for
sale in the Louisiana area, would arrive a few weeks behind the brood mares. He
had intended to sail with the last bunch that comprised the gypsy horses—a few
mares in foal, some with colts still at their sides, and the young black
stallion. His only real disappointment had been that he hadn't found precisely
the stud he wanted. He had hoped to buy two stallions, but it seemed one would
have to suffice.

The one thing he hadn't
done was find a bride. Thank God for that! But deep inside he admitted there
was some merit to his father's request. It really was his duty to marry and
produce an heir. He smiled unpleasantly to himself. The only problem was—he had
not found a woman he cared to mount and breed. Unfortunately, the ones like the
little gypsy, who stirred his pulses and warmed his loins, were very likely to
present him with another man's bastard!

As the hour grew late,
Pierre brought in a wine tray and set it near his elbow. Jason poured himself a
brandy and savored the bouquet before letting it slide smoothly down his
throat. Ruminatively he viewed the possible choices for a bride. Several young,
well-bred ladies had been brought to his notice, but they were all alike:
correct, identically curled and dressed, and with not more than two thoughts
rattling around in their empty heads. Amanda Harris was the only one who might
remotely be considered in the running—Elizabeth would have been greatly chagrined
to know he ignored her existence completely— and even as he thought of Amanda,
another face, seen only once in a gloomy library in London, leapt to his mind's
eye; those blurred features seen the night of the countess of Mount's ball
seemed to haunt him, and lately he was plagued with the tantalizing feeling
he'd seen them again. Suddenly, angry with himself for mooning over a barely
remembered beautiful face, he downed the brandy and poured himself another.

Pierre, seeing the scowling
look on his face and noting the gradual disappearance of the liquor, wondered
what was in the wind. One thing was positive: if Jason kept drinking he'd be
foxed before midnight!

Jason had no intention of
getting drunk tonight. He needed a cool head for the evening in front of him.
Restlessly he moved in the chair, ignoring the faint throb of his wound, then
rose and wandered over to one of the small windows that overlooked the cobbled
courtyard of the inn.

In the faint light from two
or three lanterns hung about, he could see it was deserted except for a few
farmer's
nags and a smart, gentleman's, carriage. He glanced
at the moonlit sky and seeing the lowering black clouds that raced across it,
idly wondered if the threatened rain would hold off until tomorrow. He'd hate
to meet Pendleton in the rain.

Bored, he checked the time.
It was after nine. Suddenly a cruel smile crossed his face. It was time to
leave for the gypsy camp. There certainly was a surprise in store for one
little, too clever by half, saucy bitch!

The threatened rain had blown over, leaving a clear,
cool, starlit night that Catherine silently blessed as she slipped from the
darkened house. Rain would have spoiled the wedding celebration. Catherine knew
she had missed the actual ceremony, performed at sunset, but she had been
unable to leave until the household was settled for the night. Now she was
free to join the robust and lively festivities that would be sweeping the gypsy
camp.

The huge bonfire flickered
and danced in the black night, casting a soft yellow glow over the loosely
circled wagons and tents, creating an intimate, yet excitingly unknown
atmosphere. The heat from the leaping flames banished the faint chill of the
spring night; potent red wine added its own spell and warmth as toast after
toast was drunk to the blushing dark-eyed bride and her proud black-haired
husband.

There were happy smiles on
the swarthy faces, white teeth flashing and black eyes sparkling with enjoyment
as Catherine wandered through the camp. Pausing to speak with various friends,
she was filled with a warm feeling of affection for all of them. She belonged
here as surely as if she had been born of them. They were her people!

Violins and guitars were
playing softly, and the faintly flamenco sound invaded her body, her feet
moving in rhythm and her slim hips swaying in answer to the primitive music
that drifted through the camp. One girl, Juana, leaped near one of the fires
and began to dance in graceful abandon, the vibrating tambourine in her hand
adding to the symphony of sound permeating the entire area.

Some
of the older gypsies gathered in small groups, idly watching the whirling
figure as they laughed and talked, while the younger ones, Catherine among
them, clapped in rhythm and with their feet kept time to the throbbing beat.
She was caught up in the spell of the excitement as the fires leaped and
wavered in tune with the passionate, wild melodies that flowed through the dark
night. A group had unconsciously formed a loose circle around the dancing
figure of Juana, and when she grew tired, Catherine was pushed with
good-natured enthusiasm into the center of the scattered circle.

The
wine and music were fire in her veins, and as the tempo increased, she swirled
and danced in compulsive movement. Her black hair rippled with a life of its
own as she threw back her head, raised slim, white arms high, and began to
stamp in sensuous answer to the music of the violins. The scarlet gown she wore
molded itself to her pliant form from breast to waist,
then
spilled out full and vibrant over her hips down to the wildly dancing feet. And
as she danced the scarlet cloth spun out and swayed with her almost frenzied
movements, giving tantalizing glimpses of long, beautifully formed legs.

A
creature possessed, trapped by the enchantment of the night and the lure of the
music, Catherine's dance spelled out a message as old as time. She lost
awareness of the laughing, clapping crowd—there was only the night, the
flickering fire, and this strange, untamed abandonment that was fed by the
pulse-quickening sounds of the violins. Her violet, cat-shaped eyes were half
closed as she stared unseeingly at the moving, colorful kaleidoscope that
surrounded her, until gradually her faraway gaze focused on a stranger, a tall,
dark gentleman who leaned casually against one of the ancient oaks at the
fringe of the firelight.

His
face was in shadow, but she could see the hard line of his jaw and the brooding
curve of his full bottom lip. A long, black cloak obscured his attire, but
faintly she could see the patches of white of his cravat and the cuffs of his
shirt. He seemed, unmoved by the emotion sweeping the camp, and unconsciously
she began to dance for him—and him alone!

Her
slender hips swayed in time with the music, her arms appeared to seek his
embrace, and her breasts, barely concealed by the scarlet gown were thrust
forward, almost taunting him to reach out and touch them. Suddenly, he moved
into the circle of the light, and she was jolted unpleasantly back to reality
by the searing glance of Jason's green eyes. There was no mistaking the fire
that burned in their emerald depths.

His
bright, unwavering gaze caused her to stumble, but she quickly recovered and
whirled away from him, dancing her way to the outer reaches of the circle farthest
from his frightening presence. She plunged into the milling, smiling crowd, and
they ignored her as another girl took her place and the dancing continued.

Breathing
heavily, Catherine fought her way through the friendly mass of gypsies, the
warmth and excitement of the night gone as if she had been splashed with a
bucket of icy water; fear widened her eyes and pinched her full mouth. She cast
a look over one shoulder and felt a stab of terror like a savage blow. Jason
had vanished! Frantically, she searched the shifting crowd for his tall form,
but he had disappeared. Panic-stricken, she foolishly bolted from the safety of
the crowd and ran towards her caravan. She was in the power of such unthinking,
primitive fear that she wasn't even able to scream as suddenly he was before
her, reaching out to lift her bodily from the ground.

Violently,
she tore at the arms that held her prisoner and tried desperately to free
herself
from Jason's iron grasp. Shock loosened the
stranglehold of fear from her throat, but as she opened her mouth to cry for
help, his lips closed over hers in a deep, hungry kiss. His mouth hard on hers,
confused and stunned by his flagrant attack, she felt jolt after jolt of
burning lightning shiver through her body as his lips demanded surrender. He
raised his head after what seemed like hours and, laughing deep in his throat,
tossed her unceremoniously over his broad shoulder and carried her to his
horse.

The
breath had been knocked from her body by his rough handling, and it was a
second or two before she could manage even one small croak of fearful rage. But
the music was at its peak, and the laughing crowd around the fire was intent on
the dancing in the circle, and no one except old Reina saw or took notice as
the horse carrying the big man and the scarlet-gowned, struggling wench
galloped away.

Reina
was of two minds as she watched them disappear
into the black night.
Undecided, she hesitated,
then
shrugged her thin
shoulders. Bah! Let them work out their differences. Tamara had courted danger
too often; now let her reap the folly of her stubbornness.

But Reina herself came to a
decision as she watched them ride away. As long as the gypsies continued to
stay nearby, Tamara would never break free of the bonds that bound her to them.
And so, Reina would sever those bonds for her and at once. Striding
determinedly, she sought out Manuel. Taking him a little distance from the
laughing crowd, she said, "It is time we leave England. I've a longing for
my birthplace in Spain. Tell the others we leave at dawn."

"At
dawn!
Spain!" Manuel was incredulous. "What about Tamara? If we depart for
Spain, it'll be who knows when that we return. It might be over a year."

The expression in her black
eyes hidden, Reina snapped, "Precisely! And by that time, Tamara will have
accepted the fact that she cannot be both Lady Catherine and Tamara!"

Reina turned on her heel,
her thoughts for just a second more dwelling on Jason and Tamara. A mirthless
smile twisted her lips. That young blood would be an end to Tamara's
waywardness!

Once free of the camp, Jason
shifted Catherine's squirming body until she sat sideways on the horse, her
heaving chest pressed to his, his arm a steel band across her back. She
strained away from his hard body, but it was useless. Giving a muttered laugh,
he easily pulled her to him.

Anger replaced that first
wild
panic,
and she threw up her head and in icy,
controlled tones asked, "And where do you think you're taking me?"

A mocking smile curved his
lips, but his eyes remained flint like as he said, "I thought we'd have
our night together after all. I regret your substitute wasn't quite adequate.
I thought her a little too—ah—mature for my taste."

Catherine was in no teasing
mood, and his lighthearted manner infuriated her almost as much as the sudden
abduction. Without thinking, she raised her hand and slapped his smiling mouth
with all the force of which she was capable. Instantly, the mocking smile was
wiped from
his face, and an ugly, tight look took its place.
Yanking the horse to a standstill, he wrapped one hand in Catherine's tangled
ebony hair and snapped her head backwards with such violence that she let out a
cry of mingled rage and pain. Then his lips found hers with a bruising force
that brought blood to her mouth as he crushed her lips beneath his in a long,
brutal kiss.

Ineffectually
she clawed at his face; but one hand was captured behind his back, and the
other he struck aside before he ripped the gown to the waist, freeing her
lovely bosom. Outraged and frightened, she fought to escape, and as her
flailing hand touched his hair, she gave it a vicious tug, even while her small
teeth bit into his tongue. Snarling a curse, he dumped her onto the cold
ground, and as she fell in a sprawled heap, her scarlet dress was twisted up
around her slim hips, and her long legs gleamed whitely in the moonlight. She
was motionless for only a moment. Then she bounded to her feet, but before she
could bolt, he leaped from the horse, grasped her arm, and spun her around.

They
faced one another like two spitting cats, both disheveled and furious. Their
heavy breathing was a harsh, unlovely sound in the quiet night, and the very
air seemed to vibrate with the violence of then emotions. Fleetingly, Jason
remembered the last time they'd faced one another like this. Last time, he'd
been a fool not to have taken her, and
this
time he'd not make the same mistake. She had
taunted, teased, and insulted his very pride—it was time she tasted a little of
the gall that had been his!

He
moved suddenly, pulling her next to him. She reacted instantly at his touch,
her small fists beating against his muscled chest, but with a muttered grunt he
ignored her frantic efforts and again captured her mouth with his. Her hands
were useless, trapped between their bodies, and freely he caressed her. Her
convulsive movements to escape only added to the flame of desire that was sweeping
through him; her thighs strained against his, and her twisting softness brushed
his groin.

Catherine,
her virgin body prey to conflicting emotions, was very aware of the
dangerousness of her position, yet again his very touch destroyed her reason
and made her want to stay, to let him make love to her. Suddenly unable to
control herself, she melted with a wantonness that startled him. But laughing
low he swiftly threw his cloak onto the ground and reached for her once more.
Yet as he closed the space between them, her momentary weakness fled, and she
brought her knee up savagely between his legs in one last desperate attempt to
escape.

The
pain exploded in Jason's body. Grimly, despite the blow, he held onto her
struggling form. "You little bitch! You'll pay for that!" he grated
and flung her onto the cloak, pinning her to the ground with his own hard body.

His
green eyes glinted in the moonlight as he looked long and searchingly into the
hauntingly beautiful face so close to his. Feeling her trembling beneath him,
he smiled tightly down into her defiant eyes and, shifting slightly, ripped the
dress the rest of the way open.

Catherine,
in a state bordering on shock, lay watching him, her thoughts in
a turmoil
. Uppermost was a half- curious, half-apprehensive
desire to discover finally what it would be like for this man to possess her.
Even so, she was totally unprepared for the sheer delight that tore through her
passive body as he bent his head, and his warm mouth closed over one firm young
breast.

They
lay together on his cloak, Jason with one leg thrown across her thighs,
stilling her feeble attempts to avoid his hands as they explored her body.
Mon Dieu,
she was lovely, he thought, as his desire for
revenge disappeared abruptly, leaving only a blind, hungry need. He left off
teasing her breasts and nuzzled at the hollow of her throat, before reaching up
and taking her unwilling lips in a demanding kiss. His mouth was sweet on hers,
but stubbornly she tried to resist his advances until he lifted his head and,
capturing her chin, said, "Stop fighting me! You've teased me long enough,
and before we leave here .tonight, I intend to satisfy myself with you. You'll
find I can give you as much pleasure as Clive. So stop playing the silly young
virgin!"

Catherine
attempted to cry out that she
was
a
silly virgin! But he bent his head and kissed her deeply, his tongue forcing
its way into her mouth, and almost lazily he ran one hand over her still form.
Deliberately he moved his hand down her flat belly to explore gently between
her legs. The sudden tremor of fire she felt as his hand brushed the silken
triangle caused her to involuntarily arch her hips against his invading
fingers; and when he saw the
unconsciously sensuous
action of her slender hips, an intent,
urgent
look
crossed his face. There was no stopping the increasing heat in his loins as he
openly touched her soft, curved body wherever he pleased.