Gypsy Lady (34 page)

The
next half hour was one of the most harrowing Jason had ever spent. Not only
did he have to explain who he was to this white-faced woman who sat regarding
him in stricken silence, but he had to tell her that he was directly
responsible for Catherine's disappearance. And if that was not enough, it was
also his unpleasant task to inform her that he had made amends for his mistake
by marrying the girl, but—and the most galling of all for Jason to
disclose—that somehow he had unfortunately lost her!

An
appalled silence met his final words, and eventually Rachael said in a weak
voice, "Won't you sit down, Mr. —er—Savage?"

At
any other time the situation and Rachael's prosaic words would have struck him
as ludicrous, but his sense of humor at the moment was badly impaired, and he
saw nothing laughable in the present predicament. He was, though, devoutly
thankful that so far the small woman across the room from him hadn't had
hysterics. With a taut smile he asked, "Is that all you have to say?"

Rachael
took a deep breath. "No, Mr. Savage, that is not all—but it seems you have
answered my most pressing concern! I know my daughter is alive, which is more
than I knew a moment ago, and I know that until she disappeared from you, she
was—safe."

"And?"

"And
if you made your journey in as much haste as it appears, it is very possible
you have passed Catherine on her way here. I do not believe the coach service
is as rapid as your horses."

Blankly,
Jason surveyed her. He had been so intent in his determination to reach
Catherine's home that he had overlooked the possibility of arriving ahead of
her! The thought of Catherine's horror when she
did
arrive and found him already on her doorstep,
caused an unpleasant smile to curve around his mouth.

Rachael
was much more shaken than she revealed and not all of her frightened emotions
had to do with her daughter. When Jason, looking much like his father, had
burst so arrogantly through her doorway, for a second it was almost as if time
had reversed itself and once again she would have to live through that last terrible
interview with Guy—but this wasn't Guy, this was his son, and intently she
searched his face, comparing it with her memories of a man she hadn't seen in
over twenty years. Had Guy's nose been so bold?
His face as
dark?
His expression so harsh?
Certainly Jason
had not inherited his father's cool, sea-gray eyes. Remembering how those
sea-gray eyes could hold such loving warmth in their depths, a shudder of
nearly forgotten pain swept through her.

Jason
mistook the expression on her face, and his voice held a note of very real
regret as he said, "I'm sorry, madame, that I'm the cause and bearer of
such ill tidings. I hope in time you will forgive my less than gentlemanly
actions and accept me as your son-in-law."

She
fixed him with a peculiar stare for some seconds before saying dryly, "I
don't appear to have any choice in the matter. You have already taken affairs
into your own hands."

A
small, quick bow acknowledged her words. "True. But you could make this
deplorable situation worse if you wished—though what you would gain by it
eludes me," he said bluntly.

A
faint smile twitched at the corner of her lips. "You're not a very meek
son-in-law, are you?"

One
of his most charming smiles was her answer. To his surprise he found he liked
his new mother-in-law. As a matter of fact he was enchanted by her. No
hysterics, no tears, just calm acceptance of the facts.

Throughout
the next four days, he saw nothing to cause him to reverse his first favorable
opinion. Rachael, he discovered, was a quiet, reserved person who hid a warm
loving nature behind the dignified exterior of the dowager countess of Mount.
Outwardly she presented a calm, unruffled appearance, but Jason sensed her
daughter's disappearance preyed heavily on her mind.

The
smile that on occasion reminded him vividly of Catherine's was strained, and
the blue eyes, so wide and trusting, held an increasingly worried expression
that grew as each day passed and Catherine did not make the expected arrival.
Finally, on the evening of the fourth day, it was obvious to both of them that
either Catherine was not coming or that something had happened to prevent her.
Seated before a dinner that neither of them made any attempt to eat, Jason
played with his wine glass while Rachael aimlessly pushed a piece of excellently
roasted lamb around her plate. Viewing with growing anger Rachael's lack of
appetite, Jason added another to Catherine's list of crimes. How could she so
carelessly worry such a gentle creature as her mother? Searching the drawn face
across from him, he felt a spasm of remorse for his part in this whole affair,
and in typical Jason fashion damned Catherine again.

The
next morning he joined Rachael in the small parlor where he had first burst in
upon her. After some minutes of quiet everyday conversation, he said bluntly,
"If she was coming here, she would have arrived by now. She must still be
in France. I dislike leaving you without word as to her whereabouts, but
neither can I dangle here indefinitely."

His
words only confirmed Rachael's own unhappy thoughts, and she was unable to stop
a sudden rush of tears. Deeply embarrassed at her inability to control her
emotions, she desperately mopped at the tears with a delicate scrap of
cambric.

Jason,
feeling more guilty than he could ever remember, knelt before her and clasping
her trembling hands in his said, "Rachael, Rachael, she must be safe
wherever she is! She
must
be!
Do not cry so. I shall speak with Roxbury before leaving for France. My uncle
is a powerful man. If she is in England, he will find her. I have no choice
but to return to France and search for her there. Do not, I beg of you, worry
unduly. Between Roxbury and
myself
, we shall find
her."

Later
in the day, as he drove towards London, Jason wished he felt as positive as he
had sounded to Rachael. Most of his anger had cooled, and now there was only a
fierce, frantic desire to know where Catherine was and that she was safe. He
still wanted to throttle her—but only after he knew she hadn't come to harm. He
held all his own fears at bay by telling himself that she must be somewhere
near and was no doubt enjoying a laugh at his expense.

The
next evening as he approached the outskirts of London, his thoughts turned
gloomily to someone who wasn't going to be laughing at all. He wasn't looking
forward to the coming meeting with the duke. That he would come in for some
extremely scathing remarks about his manners and morals was a foregone
conclusion. That he deserved most of it nearly made him gag with disgust at his
own actions.

What
the hell had gotten into him? His normally cool head had seemed to desert him
from the moment he had laid eyes on that violet-eyed little witch. But now, he
told himself coldly, he was in command of himself and never again would she or
any other woman
be
able to tangle his emotions.

The
duke evidenced no surprise when Jason presented himself. Beyond raising a black
brow in acknowledgment of his presence and waving him languidly into one of the
many leather chairs in his study, the duke did nothing but wait patiently, his
gray eyes only faintly curious. In bald terms Jason gave him a grim,
unexpurgated report of his problem. At the mention of the name of Tremayne, the
duke stiffened, and as Jason paused, Roxbury urged softly, "Continue. You
interest me."

In a
clear, unemotional voice, Jason proceeded to do just that. When he had finished
his uncle murmured, "You married the chit, did you? Well, well, it seems
there is a poetic justice after all."

A
black scowl marring his handsome features, Jason snapped, "And what do you
mean by that?"

Blandly
the duke replied, "Hmmm, nothing. You must forgive me,
my
er
—little quirks." Then apparently disinterested in Catherine or
her whereabouts, he asked, "How do the negotiations proceed? I've been
expecting hourly to hear that the bargain has been struck."

A
disgusted snort from Jason caused Roxbury to level a reproving look in that
young man's direction. Jason, knowing that until he had appeased the duke's
curiosity he would get no satisfaction himself, brought Roxbury up to date. As
he finished his terse recital of the progress, Roxbury's lips curled into a
pleased smile. "Good, good! It must be only a matter of days before the
final papers are drawn. Can't you prod Monroe and Livingston into moving
faster?"

"My
dear uncle, Monroe is nervous enough as it is! And I don't really think a word
from me would carry much force. Quite the contrary; You see, I have the dubious
honor of being regarded as a double agent."

A
quiet chuckle came from the duke. "Well, I suppose you could be called
that—among other things."

There
was no answering smile from his nephew, and covertly Roxbury surveyed him.
Jason looked tired, and there were new creases and grooves in his lean face
that hadn't been apparent the last time he had seen the young man. It would
appear that so far his marriage had given him small joy. Ah well, thought the
duke, it would do him good to suffer a little. Things had always come too
easily to Jason—as had women. Who knew what might happen? Perhaps Catherine
would be the making of him. It was time someone gave him a sound emotional
trouncing. And apparently the little Tremayne girl stood as good a chance as
anyone so far of slipping under his rigid guard. Thinking of some of
Catherine's past actions, which Jason had told him
about,
he smiled, deciding he would like very much to meet the newest Madame Savage.

"Something
amuses you?" Jason asked coldly.

"Mmmm, yes.
But I seriously doubt if
you would find it so!" he answered. Then with an abrupt change of subject,
he asked, "Tell me. Aren't you interested to know if I have unearthed any
further information on your unknown visitor?"

"Have
you?" he asked waspishly. Jason was not finding his uncle's smiling mood
amusing.

"Yes,
as a matter of fact I have. Your intruder was an unsavory gentleman by the name
of Henry Horace. He was a petty thief who had seen the inside of Newgate more
than once. His—ah—wife, I believe she called herself, is a serving maid at one
of the dockside taverns. It was she who identified the body."

The
duke paused, and Jason asked impatiently, "Well?"

"She
says on the night in question her husband was seen being very cosy—her words,
not mine—with a black- haired individual. She served ale at their table, but
the stranger remained in the shadows, so she claims she never saw him
clearly." Disgustedly the duke added, "That doesn't do us much good
though, because to her type anyone not from the vicinity of London is a
foreigner. When I questioned her about their conversation, she grew rather coy
until I helped her memory with a few pieces of gold." A grimace of
distaste crossed the duke's face at the memory of the greedy look in the
woman's eyes and the outstretched dirty hand. "From what I gathered, this
man hired Horace to search your rooms. Why still remains a mystery, and who the
man was, of course, we may never know. Unless"—he shot a penetrating
glance at his nephew—"you have something to add?"

No
longer particularly interested in an event weeks old, Jason shrugged.
"Catherine confessed that Pendleton was after a map," he admitted.
"I wonder if perhaps Horace was after the same thing."

"A map!
What kind of map?"

"My
dear uncle, if I knew I would have told you! I have no idea what kind of
map,
and I do not now have, nor have I ever had, a map.
Quite frankly, I'm rather bored with the subject. I'm much more concerned about
my
wife!"
Jason bit out the last
word as if the admission was forced from him. His frustration bubbling to the
surface, he said in a tight voice, "I have to return to France tomorrow.
I cannot remain here cooling my heels until that little viper I married decides
to show herself. It's very possible she never left France, and in between playing
lap dog to Monroe, I can conduct my own search for her there. But," he
eyed his uncle's relaxed form
consideringly
, "I
need someone to look for her here in. England."

His
eyes very gray, Roxbury asked, "Are you asking a favor of me?"

"Damn
it—yes! I can hire a Bow Street Runner if I have to, but you have so many more
resources at your command, that if she's in England you'll find her before a
Runner would even get a sniff."