Gypsy Lady (25 page)

Then he added to her
confusion by abruptly reaching behind her and freeing her arms. Warily she
stared at him as she thankfully rubbed the circulation back into her numb arms.
Snatching up the rose-colored dress and the lacy chemise he tossed them to her
saying, "We'll continue this interesting conversation later, but for now,
you'd better get dressed. We have a long journey before us."

An embarrassed cough caused
both of them to turn and stare at Tom Harris, who hesitated in the doorway, his
face nearly as red as his hair. He mumbled, "Ah, um, excuse me, Savage,
didn't know you had um—a lady with you!"

Unperturbed to be found
with a naked young woman seated upon his bed, Jason merely asked, "What is
it, Tom? Did you forget something?"

Catherine, clutching the
dress, looked with horror at Amanda's brother. Oh, God, please don't let him
recognize me, she prayed.

Unfortunately, Tom, who
seldom remembered anything, remembered her from the few times he had taken
pity on his little sister and visited with her when she had been attending Mrs.
Siddon's Seminary for Young Ladies. And though he thought he recognized her as
Amanda's friend, he was slow-witted enough and enough of a true gentleman not
to believe the evidence of his eyes and looked, after that first stunned
glance, everywhere but at the black-haired girl on Jason's bed.

Instantly aware that
something wasn't right, Jason frowned,
staring
first
at Catherine's plainly horrified face and then at Harris's carefully blank
expression. Finally he asked quietly, "You know each other?" And his
eyes narrowed with speculation when both burst out simultaneously,
emphatically, "No!"

Harris babbled further,
"Never saw the girl before! Talk to you later!" and bolted from the
room.

"Now, what the hell
was that all about?" Jason demanded, and Catherine was momentarily saved
from answering by Pierre's entrance into the room.

"Monsieur, everything
is packed. Will you need me to attend to anything else?"

After a quick lightning
glance around the room, Jason replied, "I believe that will be all,
Pierre. You may go now. I'll meet you in London."

Worn out and more confused
than she could ever remember being, Catherine was thankful when they finally
arrived at Jason's lodgings on St. James's Street in London. Too much had
happened in the past twenty-four hours for her to do much more than view with
dull eyes the small attic room in which, after he had fed her a late supper and
once again stripped her naked,, Jason had locked her in and departed.

The
four walls of the room were bare. A straw pallet and some blankets were on the
floor in one corner. A rickety chest, upon which sat a pitcher filled with
water and a small bowl, constituted the remaining furnishings. Bewildered, she
stood in the shadowed room, a shaft of silver moonlight coming from a tiny
window above her head breaking the blackness. Eventually the chill of the room
drove her to huddle on the pallet, the blankets warming her naked form as she
stared unseeingly about the room.

Shock,
regret, disbelief, and anxiety chained her to that room as surely as iron
manacles, and tiredly she leaned her head back against the wall. Why had she
taken the time to search for that map?
she
asked
herself mournfully. If—but what was the use of futile longings? She was
caught, and until an opportunity for escape presented itself, she must remain
wherever Jason wanted her.

Tom
Harris's incredulous recognition had sickenly clarified the whole unsavory
wretchedness of the situation, and she could only pray that he would hold his
tongue. Bitterly, she admitted she should have thrown herself at Tom's feet and
begged him to save her, but false pride,
the hope that somehow she
could escape and be able to pretend that last night had never happened, sealed
the plea before it was spoken. As it was, she faced certain ruin, for Rachael
would surely institute a frantic search for her missing daughter, and in view
of the much earlier scandal, it was unlikely a second disappearance of Lady
Catherine would go unnoticed!

No
trace of her would be found in Leicestershire, for barely had she swallowed a
mouthful of breakfast when Jason had almost literally dragged her from the inn
to
his waiting curricle. She had thought of throwing
herself from the fast-moving vehicle, but Jason must have sensed her
half-formed intention, for a few miles from the inn, he halted the horses.
Then, quickly he bound her arms beneath the blue pelisse, effectively killing
any notion she may have had of escape. He warned her, in cold tones, that if
she attempted to beg for interference, he would state she was his mad sister,
that he was returning her to Bedlam and to pay her no mind.

All
through the nightmarish events, she had cherished the faint hope that scandal
could be averted if she could only escape, but now, locked miles away in London
in a small attic room, there seemed little likelihood she would ever escape,
much less return home again. With a despairing sob, she buried her face in her
hands, moaning, "Reina, Reina, ah, why didn't I listen? Why was I so
certain.
I could dance with fire and. remain
unburned?"

Traitorous
tears suddenly flooded her eyes, and her slender body was shaken with great
tearing sobs that painfully ripped through her chest. How long she sat crying,
sunk in misery, she didn't know; but gradually the tears lessened and from
somewhere deep within an unquenchable flame of ruthless determination to
somehow surmount her difficulties began to burn brightly. A militant sparkle
in her violet eyes, she lifted her head proudly and vowed fiercely that not
only would she overcome her disastrous plight, but that one day Jason Savage's
coldblooded behavior would be punished! He must be compelled to suffer the
humiliating anguish he had dealt her. She would see his insolent pride
shattered if it took her entire life. Viciously, she promised herself she would
destroy him.

Strangely
comforted by her grim vows of vengeance, the tight ball of fear and misery that
had lodged in her
chest
slowly disappeared, leaving her feeling drained and depleted. Calmer now,
almost content, she settled down for the night, curling like a small child on
the pallet to sleep the dreamless sleep of the young.

It was late in the
afternoon when she woke, feeling surprisingly refreshed—the vindictive
resolutions of the night before still clear and firm in her mind. Escape was
the first step. She wrapped one of the blankets like a sarong around her naked
body, splashed some of the water from the pitcher on her face, and attempted to
restore some order to her tangled mass of hair. Then she surveyed the room,
unconsciously hoping that last night in her dispirited mood, she had overlooked
some way out.

Unfortunately, she hadn't.
The only exits remained the door and the small window high above her head. The
stout oak door was firmly locked from the other side. Childishly she gave in to
a wave of black temper and swung a vicious kick at the door, received a bruise
for her pains, then removed the bowl and pitcher from the chest and dragged it
across the floor, positioning it beneath the tiny window.

So intent was her effort
that the sudden opening of the door made her gasp with surprise, and she nearly
toppled from the chest on which she had.
climbed
.
Recovering herself quickly, she watched Jason saunter in, carrying a large
silver tray. At the sight of the plates filled with ham, yellow cheese, and
thick slices of generously buttered bread, her earlier resolutions nearly
evaporated. She grimly ignored the low growl of hunger that her stomach gave
and gazed disdainfully at him.

Slamming the door shut with
a well-aimed kick of one booted foot, Jason set the tray down on the pallet
and, grinning, viewed her position. Cocking an eyebrow, his voice teasing, he
asked, "Was it a mouse that led you up there, or are you expecting a
flood?"

At his tone, Catherine's
lips tightened with displeasure. Already feeling foolish, she glared
resentfully at him and bit back the scathing words that crowded her throat.

Amused rather than, angered
by her actions, he crossed the room and almost laughing out loud, at her
ruffled expression, swung her down easily from the chest. Then, his hands
tightening their hold around her slender waist, he pulled her against him and
leisurely kissed her.

"Mmmmm,
petite,
I missed you last night," he murmured against her soft throat, when at
last he released her unwilling mouth. "If you persist in this unnatural desire
to flee from me, I shall have Pierre lock us in together every night!"

Catherine, breathless and
feeling as if she had been flung into a whirlpool, stepped determinedly away
from him, fighting the spinning emotions he aroused so effortlessly. Fiercely
reminding herself of his past treacheries and his brutal disregard of her
feelings, she quelled the warm, throbbing ache that flared at his disturbing
touch. Holding herself stiffly erect, she pushed past him and with quickened
steps walked to the pallet. Sitting on her haunches, she almost gave in to a
primitive desire to wolf down the food, but exercising great self-control, she
compelled herself to eat slowly, lingering over each mouthful as if it were
her last.

Jason lounged casually
against one wall, his arms crossed over his chest, a speculative gleam in his
green eyes.

Chewing a morsel of the
delicious ham, she regarded him thoughtfully. As usual he was tastefully
dressed, wearing a slim-fitting pair of buff nankeen trousers and an
embroidered, yellow pique vest, which in spite of its conventional style gave
him a flamboyant air. She distrusted his outward appearance of lazy calm and
thought he was in one of those misleadingly charming moods, but she was
uncertain, knowing he could change instantly and for no apparent reason into a
harsh-faced stranger. But if he was in a charming mood, wouldn't this be the
time to confess who she was? She played with the idea, but fear, fear of so
many things held her silent. If he believed her —that she was truly Lady
Catherine Tremayne—who knew what havoc the resulting furor would create? The
thought of the reactions of her relatives was enough to cause her blood to run
cold—she could hear all the malicious gossip right now. And there was
Rachael—she just couldn't bear to shame Rachael further.
Far
better if she kept a still tongue between her teeth and took the first chance
of escape.
And again the unnerving thought occurred to her—Jason Savage
was perfectly capable of brushing aside her explanations as if they didn't
exist. She stared at him wondering bitterly what he
would
do if he knew the true story. She finally decided that, if he didn't throttle
her on the spot, she would be lucky to escape with
her
life. He did not strike her as a man who would take kindly to being duped—even
if it was his own folly that had led to the mistake. Catherine continued
looking at him, and he moved somewhat restlessly under her unblinking stare.

He
had expected tears, recriminations, or threats, but this silent, seemingly meek
acceptance aroused his suspicions, and the teasing glint in his eyes vanished,
leaving them hard and watchful.

Swallowing
a last bite of cheese, she asked coldly, "How much longer do you intend to
keep me?"

A
black, thick brow flew up at her tone. "Until you learn better manners, my
dear," he said.

Clenching
her fist tightly, she fought the urge to fly clawing at him and asked instead,
"Doesn't it bother you that I hate you? That I have no wish to be your
mistress?"

Her
lips thinned when he laughed, "I'm afraid not!
 
You see, little baggage, you've begun to
intrigue me. You don't follow the usual pattern of your kind." At her
blank look he added, "You drove a hard bargain in the meadow, yet sent
that old witch to my bed. You're supposed to be Clive Pendleton's mistress, but
I discover you were very definitely a virgin. You search my luggage, tell me
you were after money, but ignore the gold lying on the table. Your
inconsistencies would fascinate me even if I didn't already find you extremely
desirable."

Unable
to continue staring at his mocking face without losing her temper, she dropped
her gaze and watched her fingers intently for a moment as they aimlessly
pleated the blanket. Then she asked carefully, "If I told you what I was
searching for—would you let me go?"

There
was a long, tense pause. It was on the tip of Jason's tongue to lie; but he bit
back the affirmative answer she so obviously wanted and snapped harshly,
"No!"

Abruptly,
he left off his lazy stance and snatched her up from the pallet, dragging her
roughly into his arms, his mouth closing ruthlessly over hers. Unsuccessfully,
she battled against a queer flash of pleasure that washed over her as his kiss
deepened, his tongue seeking, then probing the honey of her mouth. With one
easy movement he swept away the blanket between them. Forcing herself to strain
away from him, Catherine willed her body not to
respond,
not to give in to the wild' urge
to meet
his hungry demand with one of her own.

Jason,
furiously aware that she was deliberately holding herself aloof from the
scalding desire that was sweeping through him, muttered savagely, "Don't
enjoy it, then!" And he threw her on the pallet. Tearing her legs apart,
he took her brutally, not caring if he hurt her or if he gave pleasure, intent
only on his owe satisfaction.

His
big body slamming into her was like a fiery blade in her belly, and frenziedly
she fought to escape the burning, stabbing pain between her legs. But he held
her fast, staring indifferently down into her face, uncaring that she clawed an
ugly, bloody gash down one cheek or that he received little pleasure from the
soft body thrashing beneath his. Finished, he rolled off and snarled,
"Resign yourself to the fact that until I find you less of a puzzle, I
intend to keep you."

Standing
up in one lithe movement, he watched unmoved as she sat up painfully. Glaring
at him through tear-filled eyes, she spat, "I hate you, Jason Savage! Someday,
if it takes me a hundred years, I'll get even with you!"

A
tight smile on his mouth, he said, "Hate me, my dear, all you want. I
couldn't care less. I never said I wanted you to love me. Anything I want from
you I can take any time I please."

Speechless
with the rage that twisted her tongue, she haughtily gathered the blanket about
her as if it were made of silk. She stood up, and stony-faced, she asked,
"Will you leave now? You've taken what you came for, so there's obviously
no reason for you to remain with me any longer."

"Ah,
but there is! And I really had no intention of raping you again when I entered
the room."

"I
suppose you merely came to see that I was comfortable in my elegant
surroundings?"

Thoughtfully
touching the bloody groove on his cheek, he said slowly, "I'm inclined to
believe that in addition to learning some manners, someone should teach you to
hold that ready tongue of yours."