Gypsy Lady (48 page)

Catherine
finally succumbed to a very natural curiosity about Jason's whereabouts with
Nicholas and discovered them in Jason's study, still enchanted with each other.
Tip-toeing away unseen and intent upon avoiding him, she changed rapidly into a
pair of breeches and a white silk shirt. Looking like a slender boy, she shoved
on a wide-brimmed, masculine hat and slipped like a wraith out of the house.

Minutes
later, she guided a long-legged, chestnut gelding through the quiet coolness of
the pine forest, the horse's hoofbeats muffled by the carpet of pine needles.
She was headed to a favorite spot of hers, located only a short distance from
the house. It was a peaceful spot, a dappled, leafy glen where the slender
beech and tall ash trees grew instead of the familiar long-needled pines. A
wide creek ran sluggishly through the center of the area, and often she sat on
one of the large stones that lay along its edge and dangled her bare feet in
the sun-warmed waters.

Today
though, she gained little peace, the mugginess of the day making her clothes
stick uncomfortably and the sun too hot to tolerate for very long. Almost with
relief, she watched the dark clouds gathering on the horizon knowing that the
coming thunderstorm would cool the air temporarily, even if the moisture would
add to the humidity.

Her
thoughts still unresolved, but with a wary eye on the approaching clouds, she
mounted her horse and rode at a fairly brisk pace back to the stables. It was
fortunate that she hadn't followed her inclination and dawdled because she had
barely reached the protection of the big brick barn when an ominous flash of
lightning split the blackened
sky,
and the heavens
opened up with a sudden deluge of rain.

Idly
watching the rain from the safety of the doorway of the barn, she hoped her
absence had gone unnoted. Usually she informed one of the servants of her whereabouts,
but her mind had been taken up with Jason and their problems, and she had
completely forgotten to tell anyone where she was going.

Once
the rain slackened, she hurried towards the house, hoping that her absence had
not been discovered. But, just as she put one foot on the first step, Jason's
angry voice halted her.

"Where
the hell have you been? Haven't you any better sense than to disappear when
there's a storm coming?"

The
contrite look in her wide-spaced eyes had no effect on him today. Coldly, he
noted the sudden whitening of her lips, and his own mouth curled in a cruel,
wolfish grin. Let the little bitch try her tricks on someone else. He wasn't
ever
being fooled again by a pair of bewitching violet
eyes or a soft, vulnerable look that even now caused
a
tightness
in his throat. Angered by the feeling, he snapped, "Well?
Answer me!"

Unprepared
for his attack, she stammered, "I—I—m- meant to tell someone, but
I—I—forgot."

"Why?"
The
word was like a pistol shot, and it hung heavy in the air between them, both
knowing suddenly that the question had nothing to do with the present situation.

Dumbly,
Catherine shook her head wishing the ground would open up and swallow her. She
wasn't ready for this—she might
never
be
ready for this! Casting an apprehensive glance at her tall husband, it was
evident that neither was he. He was still in the grip of that first white- hot
fury. And sickly, she knew that in a minute all her cool resolutions would
flee, and like a wild tigress she would snarl back—then the battle would be
well and truly joined! She flashed a look around, seeking some way of averting
the coming explosion, but nothing was going to prevent Jason from forcing the
issue down her throat.

Seeing
her apprehension, Jason mistook it and softly, menacingly he asked, "Are
you frightened of me?" Then his control broke, and grasping her arm in a
bruising hold, he thrust his face near hers and snarled, "By God, you have
reason to be! I could damn near kill you for what you've done to me!"

Yanking
her from the step, he dragged her down the hall. Struggling to free herself from
his iron grip she resisted every step of the way, her fingers digging into the
steel hand that propelled her so effortlessly into his study. Panting, she
pleaded, "Let it be, Jason! You're in no mood to discuss anything
now!"

He
whirled on her like a striking snake, spitting the words out venomously,
"And when
will
it be convenient? When my
son is an adult? When I lie on my deathbed? How will you tell me, I wonder? I
can see it now," his voice rose in imitation of a false simpering
tone—" 'Oh, by the way, Jason, J forgot to mention, the boy Nicholas is
not the issue of my sluttish association with another man, but your very own
son. Fancy that!' "

Catherine
whispered, "I meant to tell you. I
would
have told you! But you were so positive that the
child wasn't yours, I let you believe it. You must believe me—I
did
intend to tell you!"

"When?"
The
word was sharp, like a knife blade. Catherine flinched, but the sight of the
violet eyes, wide with regret, evoked no softening in the harsh face.
"Tomorrow?" he sneered as the silence grew. "Next year?
The next?"

Catherine's
mouth opened, but no sound came out, and viciously Jason regarded her. The slim
form pressed against the door seemed to goad him into fury. And brutally, her
shoulders crushed in his hands, he shook her violently.
"When?"
he
thundered.

Remorse
vanishing, her own temper broke, and twisting away, one long braid shaken
loose and lying over her heaving breast, she spat, "When I damn well felt
like it! And if I could have presented you with a bastard, believe me I would
have!
A dozen bastards!"

Blind
with rage, nearly insane with pain, Jason struck her. The blow split
Catherine's lip and smashed her head against the wall. The sickening crack as
her head hit the wall brought him dreadfully back to reality. The taste of bile
was in his mouth, and his soul was filled with horror.

The
sight of the already darkening bruise on her white cheek and the bright red
trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth instantly drained every ounce of
anger from his body. Sick and shaken by the sight of his own violence, he put
out a trembling
hand,
and in a voice raw with wondering
pain whispered, "Why? Why do we do these things to each other?"

Caressingly,
his shaking hand traveled like a butterfly's wing down Catherine's bruised
cheek. There was a blank, vacant stare in her violet eyes, and at the shudder
that shook her slender body, Jason's mouth thinned. "Kitten, kitten, I
never meant to hurt you! Why are things so vile between us? We seem intent upon
destroying each other."

In a
state bordering on shock, Catherine unseeingly gazed at the stricken face so
near her own. Her thoughts were jumbled, not making any sense. If only the
buzzing in her head would stop—then she could concentrate, she thought
befuddled.

Gently
repulsing Jason's attempt to cradle her next to him and with her head held very
high, she quietly slipped from the room. Ignoring the shocked glance of the
butler she walked steadily down the hall, concentrating on one step at a time.
Like a wounded animal she made her way upstairs to privacy.

In
the cool sanctuary of her room, she realized the unpleasant taste in her mouth
was blood, and she was aware that her cut lip was beginning to swell and sting.
Solemnly, like a punished child, she stripped and climbed into the bed. Her one
thought was to sleep—to sleep and not dream. Thankfully, mercifully, she fell
into a deep, exhausted sleep,

Jason's
study was silent like a tomb, and empty-eyed, he walked over to a table where a
crystal decanter sat. Pouring himself a large glass of strong whiskey, he drank
it in one long gulp. But not even the straight hard liquor could burn out the
remorse and shame that ravaged his body.

What
was wrong with them?
he
asked himself moodily. Were
they forever destined to erupt in these ugly, soul-destroying arguments?

He
poured another stiff drink and stared broodingly down into the amber-colored
liquid. He hadn't meant to hit Catherine. God knows, he hadn't—she was the most
important woman in his life!

Then
furious at the damning admission, he wondered stony-faced how the hell he had
let that little baggage get so embedded in his being. How had he allowed her
such power over him that she drove him nearly mad with rage?

Jason
swallowed some more of the liquor, slower this time, tasting it this time.
Calmer now, he began reluctantly to see some of Catherine's side of the hellish
tangle, and a mirthless smile crossed his face. Who knows, he thought, if he
had been a woman—God forbid!—and used whatever logic women did, he might have
acted the same way.

Certainly,
he could understand the pride that would seal her lips and let him think what
he wanted. And how often, he probed, how often had he ever looked beyond the
surface of his wife? Frequently he wondered why she acted as she did, but had
he ever plumbed deeper for
her
reasons? Or even cared? He was becoming angrier with himself at each passing
moment.

Oh,
hell! What good does this do?
he
demanded of himself.
Nothing,
jeered a small voice in his brain, nothing, if you
don't learn from it!

Rubbing
one hand tiredly over his face, he felt bitterness clawing in his gut. He
should be the happiest of men —he had a lovely wife and a healthy son. He was
young, and he was rich. And yet what a mess they had made of things: she by
being foolish and stubborn, and he, by
believing he could reach out and snatch with
impunity whatever took his fancy.

His harsh laugh broke the
silence.
Juste
del
!
He would never make
that
particular mistake again!

After a long time, he
wrenched his thoughts away from painful memories and deliberately compelled
himself to think of their future. But the future stretched out, nearly as bleak
as the past, and finally, unable to bear the accusing silence and his own
torturing thoughts, he left the room and instinctively, as if compelled by a
force stronger than
himself
, made his way to where
Catherine lay asleep.

For some minutes, he stood
staring down into her sleep-softened face, his mouth whitening at the sight of
the angry bruise that discolored one flawless cheek and at the swollen, torn
lip. How could he have done that to her? Why, instead of flaring into almost
crazy rage, hadn't he listened to her and let it be?

Pride, he thought
grimly—outraged pride at that! And temper, he added, temper. No matter what he
seemed to do, she alone seemed to have the ability to shake him out of his
usual arrogant complacency and drive him to extraordinary lengths.

But it wasn't his sin
alone, he argued wordlessly. She had been angry and had hurled infuriating
words at him, tossing oil on a smoldering fire. Ah,
diable!
With her temper and his, they were liable to live like snarling wolves or
spitting panthers.

Suddenly, smiling ruefully,
his eyes were tender as they moved slowly over her features. If they ever
learned to control their blazing tempers, they might just make this marriage
work!

Lightly, he reached out and
lingeringly ran his fingers over her face, as if by touching her he could erase
those ugly reminders of their latest fiery conflict. At his touch, however,
Catherine's eyes flew open, and for a few seconds Jason drowned in those clear
amethyst pools.

Her sleep had been more in
the manner of a coma, but even while consciousness had been mercifully deadened,
her brain hadn't ceased to seek a solution for their latest impasse. From the
multitude of thoughts, one thing had emerged, and that was the certainty they
could not continue on this self-destructive path they stalked to
gether.
Memory of Jason's words the night of their marriage came back clearly to pound
and whirl in her brain.

Once,
he had wanted them to try and build something from the unfortunate events that
had joined them together—if only to beget an heir—and even before Jason's fingers
touched her, Catherine was struggling up from the deep waves of sleep with the
thought uppermost in her mind that this time
she
would ask that they attempt to bridge the
differences that were tearing their fives to pieces.