Gypsy Lady (31 page)

Her face stormy, Catherine burst out, "I will not marry
you!"

A
mirthless smile on his mouth, Jason said grimly, "You haven't any choice
either—we're stuck with one another. If we don't marry—immediately and
secretly—how long do you think Elizabeth or her mother will keep this juicy
tidbit silent?"

His
argument was irrefutable, and to Catherine it was like a death sentence. She
was to be forever tied to a man who hated and despised her, and her heart felt like
a leaden weight in her chest. Wretchedly she wondered how an evening that had
started out with such promise could end so disastrously. In her more optimistic
moments, she had cherished the hope that perhaps given time and the right
circumstances she and Jason could resolve their difficulties. Now he would
never forgive her for having placed him in such an intolerable position.
Reminding herself it was his fault did no good—it was patently obvious that
Jason didn't or wouldn't recognize that his own actions had led them to this
point.

She
stared up at the hard, dark face before her.
and
the
ache of unshed tears in her throat became almost unendurable. She was very
much afraid she had fallen in love with this man, while
he
,
although occasionally desiring her bcd3r, thought her a damned nuisance and a
thorn in
his
side! And now, she was on the brink of being compelled to spend
the
remainder of her life as his unloved, unwanted
wife!

Catherine's
face was a mirror of her emotions, and though Jason couldn't guess precisely
what she was thinking, the bleak despair that filled her was overwhelmingly
evident. He hadn't expected her to be happy with
his
decision,
but fie certainly hadn't anticipated she would view
it
with
such obvious distaste! Damn her!
He
was
the one that was going to be saddled with a viper-tongued wench whose body
promised so much, yet never fulfilled any of its unspoken allure. She had no
right to look so unhappy. She was getting a rich husband out of the blasted
affair while he—he was going to live his remaining years bound to a woman who
probably hated him! Heavily, he said, "You haven't answered my question.
Do you think your aunt and cousin will be able to contain themselves with what
has happened?"

"You
don't need an answer," she replied in a small voice. "You know as
well as I do that Elizabeth and Ceci will delight in telling the whole
world,"

"Well,
then? You
agree, that as soon as I can make the
arrangements—we'll
marry?"

Catherine
gave a sad little nod of her head, her eyes very large and: appealing, and
Jason felt a queer tautness in his chest. She was so lovely
lying
there, her hair like a black silken, cloud, against the white pillows, and instantly
he became vividly conscious of the soft body beneath his. But even as the
familiar desire spread through him,
his
mouth twisted bitterly.
She was capricious, deceitful, and treacherous. She had tricked him, misled
him, and with wanton carelessness created a living hell for him. Disgusted with
his
own
body's betrayal at her warm nearness, he moved abruptly away from her and said
in a cold voice, "I should be able to have us safely married by tomorrow
night. In the meantime, we will continue as we are." He stood up and
turned to leave but Catherine's 'voice halted Mia.

"Jason,
will we be
really
married? I—I—mean, will it
be a legal marriage?"

His
eyes like furious green flames, he spun around and spat, "Don't worry,
Lady
Catherine,—you've managed to hook me! You can rest
assured the marriage will be legal and binding. I do not intend to go through a
phony ceremony and deceive yon!"

"Oh,
stop it!" she cried becoming angry herself. "I didn't mean it that
way! I just wanted to know. It's my life too, don't forget! You're not the only
one who is being forced to marry against his will. Remember, I'm the other half
of the injured party! Remember if you can," she sneered, "that I was
the one raped and abducted. Not you!"

"Point
taken, my love," he said nastily. "But you're not entirely innocent
yourself. And," his eyes narrowed, "that reminds me—now that we're on
the threshold of wedded oneness and should have no secrets between us—what were
you searching for that morning at the inn? Did you think I'd forgotten that
little incident?
Or your relationship with Pendleton?"

The question was hurled at
her like a knife, and almost physically Catherine felt it strike. Clive's
interest in Jason's ownership of a nebulous map and his blackmail threat
against Rachael had all faded from her mind in the past weeks. Since that
morning at Jason's lodgings in London when she had bargained for her freedom
with that knowledge and Jason had refused, she had completely forgotten it. Now
when she least expected it and was already jangling with nerves, he sprang it
on her. Dumbfounded by the sudden and unrelated questions, she missed the
slight hint of jealousy that colored his last question.

It
was late, she was tired, and she owed Clive no loyalty—quite the reverse in
fact. Consequently, in halting words, she told Jason the truth—even Clive's
threat to harm her mother. She did not clarify her relationship to Clive
because to her mind there was nothing to explain —Clive had merely been her
father's godson.

She
told Jason how Clive had wanted her to search for a map, and at the first
mention of the map, Jason's brows had gathered in a frown. Catherine,
concentrating on her story, her eyes downcast as she stared at the nervous
movements of her fingers, didn't see the ugly gleam that lit Jason's eyes when
she elaborated upon Clive's method of forcing her to do his bidding. When she
had finished she glanced up at him defiantly and said, "That's all I
know—that's all I ever knew! You can believe it or not!"

Mildly
he drawled, "Calm down, my little scowling kitten. I didn't say I didn't
believe you. I'm just puzzled. Clive's not stupid nor is he likely to chase off
after fairy tales—and either he's confusing me with someone else, or he's
fallen for a Bandbury tale. Are you certain he wanted just a map?"

She
frowned. "He said a map—no,
wait
!
he
said there
might
be a
map. And that if I didn't find it, he would have to search your London
lodgings."

An
arrested expression in his eyes, he asked slowly,
"Would
have
to search—or
had
searched?"

Bewildered
by his curious intentness, she stared at him for a minute. "I can't remember
exactly, but I'm more than certain he said he hadn't searched in London—but
that if I couldn't find anything, he would have to have someone trace it in
London."

Her
words didn't seem to be the answer he sought, and after a sudden and abstracted
good night, he left the room.

For a
moment Jason had thought the solution for the man in his London apartment had
been solved. But if Catherine—it seemed peculiar to think of her by that
name—was to be believed, and he
did
believe; her, Pendleton couldn't have had any connection with that event.
Still, he knew more than he had, and while he possessed no map, it opened up a
whole new avenue of possibilities.

If
Catherine had said Pendleton had been after official
documents,
that
would have been another matter. Spain, England, and France all had
reason to be curious about Jefferson's plans with regards to Louisiana. But
unless this mysterious map was of some military significance, he couldn't
connect it with the interest it had caused—and that was assuming the prowler in
London had been after the same thing as Pendleton!

It
was an interesting puzzle, and with pantherlike curiosity he pursued the
thought as he lay in bed, his big body relaxed and supine while his brain
worked with furious energy. After awhile, he grew impatient with himself for
not discovering the answer. He had the disquieting feeling the answer was
there, just out of reach, and that he
should
know
the solution.

Sleep
was elusive for both Jason and Catherine that night. Catherine, emotionally
exhausted by the sudden discovery of her identity and the abhorrent scene at
Monroe's that had followed, lay the entire night like a mortally wounded animal
waiting patiently for the deathblow. Even as she meekly accepted Jason's
pronouncement that they would marry, a part of her was in open revolt against
the apathetic state into which she had fallen. Again and again, like a vixen in
a trap, she sought feverishly for a way to escape. None seemed to exist, and
the soft light of dawn was gradually dispelling the blackness of night before
she fell into a restless doze.

Jason,
regardless of having little sleep, was up and gone by early dawn. For him it
was a fruitful morning. Rather than run the risk of discovery of their exact
marriage date, he rode out of Paris to one of the smaller hamlets that lay some
miles from the capital city. There he was able to find a willing and hopefully
closemouthed justice of the peace to perform the marriage. By leaving an
extremely generous fee, he was assured that a special license would be secured
and that all legal papers would be duly processed. In view of the
circumstances Jason was relieved that since the French Revolution there were
only civil marriages performed, and those were done in a forthright manner.

He
arrived back at the hotel with just enough time to wash the smell of horses and
dust from his body and change his riding clothes for something more formal before
his meeting with Lord Tremayne.

Catherine
was very quiet during the encounter with her uncle, and her uncle put down the
purple shadows under her eyes and her spiritless attitude to the lateness of
the evening before—and perhaps remorse at the way she had treated her mother. .

The
meeting went off well; the earl found the settlements Jason offered
excessively generous and Jason, once his mind had been made up, went about the
business with cool efficiency. Only Catherine was displeased—not with the money
that Jason was settling upon her, but with the ease with which she was sold!
And
sold
was the only way she could
view it!

Her
uncle, for all his affection for her, appeared more concerned with the money
transactions—even though it was for her benefit—than with her feelings. Not
once did he ask after her welfare, or if she was happy.

She
firmly brought her self-pitying thoughts to a halt by reminding herself that
her uncle was under the false impression that she had run away with the man she
loved. Naturally, he would assume she was happy. And as he was under the
illusion that she had callously left Rachael in ignorance as to her plans, he
would have little sympathy for her even if she were unhappy and regretting her
rash marriage. It rankled, though, that he could so carelessly dispose of her
without first assuring himself that she was truly happy and content. Some of
her resentment was apparent in the mutinous tilt to her mouth, but the earl,
vastly relieved that the possible scandal had ended so well, didn't see the
obvious signs that all was not well. A moment later he was gone.

Returning
from seeing the earl out, Jason noticed her expression and with a lazy smile
curling his mouth drawled, "What's biting you, kitten? Don't you think
I've been generous enough?"

"It's
not that," she flashed angrily. "It's the very idea. I feel like I've
just been bought! You've just purchased me like one of your horses!"

His
smile deepening, he murmured teasingly, "I must admit you have been an
expensive little filly!"

Catherine
nearly strangled on the fury that choked her, but beyond tightening her lips
and throwing him a fulminating glance, she said nothing. A second passed, and
then in a hard little voice she asked, "Have you made the
arrangements?"

He
nodded slowly, the smile disappearing as he did so. "We have an
appointment in Saint-Denis this evening. The official there is willing to
overlook our sudden desire to marry and will see to it that all the necessary
papers are filed. Have no worries, my dear Lady Catherine, in just a few hours
you really will be Madame Savage!"

She
hated the slight taunting quality his voice took on as he said the last words,
but grimly she held on to her simmering temper. "How soon will it be
before we have to leave?"

"Why?
Don't tell me we're waiting for Madame Elouise to whip up a bridal gown for
you?" he questioned sarcastically.

Levelly
she said, "I merely wished to know at what time you wanted me ready. But I
can see you're in an unreasonable mood.
Whenever you are.
ready
, let me know."

She
started to leave, but his hand on her wrist halted her steps. Tiredly he said,
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't let my dislike of the situation push me into
making things worse between us. Saint-Denis is some miles from here, so unless
you wish to change your clothes, we should leave within the hour to make our
appointment. Whenever you're ready, I can have the carriage brought
round."

Astonished
at his unexpected apology, Catherine stared a moment before gathering her
scattered wits about her. She was wearing a grayish-purple silk dress that made
her skin glow milky white and intensified the amethyst shade of her eyes. It
wasn't what she would have chosen for a wedding dress, but she couldn't see any
reason for changing. It would do as well as any other gown, she thought
unhappily. It was in this mood that they set out for Saint-Denis.

Dusk
was falling as they left the small village, the deed done. They were legally,
irreversibly
married.
Dully, Catherine stared at the heavy gold band that now encircled her slim
finger. It didn't seem possible that those few words spoken by the dour-faced
official in a dry-as-dust voice could have wed her to Jason Savage. But so it
was, and blankly she gazed ahead. She had never thought of her wedding day, but
knew she would not have wished for fanfare and fuss—orange blossoms and yards
and yards of white lace were definitely not for her! Yet she knew she would
have wanted more than that quick, impersonal ceremony she had just
experienced. Bleakly she wondered at the fact that Jason had even purchased a
ring—for beyond that there had been nothing except the bald, unvarnished
reciting of the vows to remind one that it was a wedding.

Jason
too was strangely silent. And as the night fell and the darkness increased, the
silence between them became an almost tangible thing. Each was extremely
conscious of the other and, each fought against the enveloping intimacy of the
darkened carriage. The moon had risen, and in the dim light Catherine could
barely discern Jason's features as he sat directly across from her. The
shadowy light hid his eyes and fell on the straight, proud nose and full,
mobile mouth.

He
was her husband, and now he had the legal right to do whatever he pleased with
her. Not only her fortune, but even her life now passed into those lean hands
that could fill her with such delight and terror. A tiny sigh escaped her, and
at the sound Jason leaned forward, his warm hands covering the fingers that she
held tightly clasped in her lap.

"Is
it so very awful being married to me?" he asked softly.

Catherine,
her eyes almost purple in the diffused light, said in a little voice, "We really
don't know each other very well, and it seems we're always fighting and at
loggerheads with one another. I don't see how either of us can ever be
happy."

His
voice hardened slightly. "We'll just have to try harder. We're married,
and nothing will ever change that! Perhaps in time we can, both of us, gather a
measure of satisfaction, if not happiness, from our relationship."

Dumbly
she nodded, not trusting her voice. In the murky darkness of the coach, Jason
couldn't see the small movement and queried sharply, "Well? Don't you
agree?"

The
threat of tears was very evident in her halting words. "Yes. I know you're
right. Years from now we'll look at all this differently. I—I just wish
that—that—" Her voice was suspended as she vainly fought back the scalding
tears that crowded her throat, but a miserably tiny sob slipped out. The sound
of it tore through Jason's gut like a bullet, and moving instinctively he
reached across the space between them and gently gathered her onto his lap and
into his arms.

His
unexpected kindness was her undoing, and Catherine's slender body was racked
by the tears that had been held in for what seemed like weeks. Dimly she was
aware that Jason, his lips softly caressing her hair, was murmuring against her
hair. Eventually, the storm of tears passed, and she sat quietly in his arms,
the silence broken only occasionally by a small hiccupping sob.

Like
a father comforting a hurt child, Jason gently wiped the tear stains from her
cheeks with his handkerchief, and she was reminded vividly of the time in the
meadow. The same thought must have occurred to him because he murmured, "I
seem to always cause you tears. This is not the first time we've been
thus."