Gypsy Lady (63 page)

He
appreciated the pleasing picture they made—Catherine, appearing to him more
and more beautiful, and as untouchable as the moon, and Rachael, fairly
blooming,
her
blue eyes sparkling with enjoyment.
Smiling to himself he said as both women looked up at his entrance,
"Nothing to alarm you. I merely wanted to say to Catherine that before
you retire this evening, I'd like a word with you."

Mystified,
Catherine inquired, "Is it important? Can you tell me now?"

He
shook his head. "It'll keep," he said, and then left them. After his
departure she found it hard to concentrate on her mother's light conversation,
her thoughts constantly drifting to Jason. What could he have to say to her?
Her enjoyment in the evening spoiled, she found herself on edge for no apparent
reason, a frequent occurrence lately, and shortly she pleaded a headache and
retired early.

After
Jeanne had helped her undress, she dismissed the girl, and draping a soft, white,
lacy robe over her nightdress, she sank down into a green velvet chair that
was cosily placed before the fireplace and sat staring into the flames of the
fire that now danced on the hearth. Outwardly all signs of her ordeal were
healed and had vanished. But inside, Catherine was so deeply scarred that she
thought
she would never recover. The present situation between her and Jason was
fraught with pain and disillusionment. They hid their hostility behind frigid
politeness and acted out the roles of loving husband and wife so perfectly in
front of their family that everyone was fooled—except Adam.

With
dismay, he had noticed the imperceptible flinch Catherine gave at her husband's
apparently devoted touch. And Jason couldn't disguise the flicker of bleakness
in his eyes from Adam's discerning gaze. That something was very wrong between
them, he was certain, and yet he was greatly puzzled, for if two people were
ever deeply in love, it was these two.

Catherine
could have told him that her husband's touch made her fearful and her flesh
creep—not because he was Jason but because by some strange quirk in her nature
he turned instantly into Davalos.

Her
unhappy thought vanished as the connecting doors between their rooms flew open,
and with a sudden feeling of dread she watched Jason walk to where she sat. He
stared broodingly down at her and then threw himself into a chair. Bluntly he
said, "Blood Drinker has returned. He says you're to know that Davalos
suffered for his taking of you." Jason had to force himself to say those
words, the bitterness they engendered like bile in his mouth.

She
stared at him and was shocked to discover that the news of Davalos's death did
not bring her the solace she thought it would. She was glad he was dead, but
curiously it didn't move her the way she had assumed it would. There were too
many obstacles between her and Jason, the living, to spare much time on the
dead.

In
the time since their return, she had determined that if she was to have any
life at all, this aversion to Jason's touch had to be overcome—she had to put
away what had happened and she had to somehow come to grips with herself over
the betrayal she had felt at Jason's reactions when he had learned of the rape!
But so far she had not been able to, and warily she glanced at him as he made
no move to leave. The hard gleam in his eyes made her tighten up inside, and
his next actions did nothing to relax the hard ball of fear that grew in her
belly.

Casually,
he removed his impeccably tied cravat and tossed it negligently on the floor.
Next, his boots were thrown off, and all the while his gaze almost mockingly
considered
her reactions to his every movement. Like a lazy panther with a small rabbit,
his green eyes glittered with savage enjoyment as Catherine fidgeted uneasily
on the chair across from him. He was sprawled as he usually was in the chair.
His long, muscular legs, encased this evening in buff-colored pantaloons, were
stretched out towards the warmth of the fire, and his face rose darkly
handsome above a white silk shirt. He was still wearing the emerald velvet
jacket he had put on for dinner, and he was a vividly virile creature who made
Catherine's heartbeat increase to such a degree of speed that she felt lightheaded
with emotion.

Her
nerves were like rawhide that had been tightened to the snapping point as Jason
continued to stare at her in that coolly insolent fashion that belied the
seething emotions hidden beneath the surface. His gaze shifted over her
features, and his eyes with their brilliant shine suddenly shuttered as he
looked down at the fire and hid whatever he was thinking. She didn't trust the
small mirthless smile that quirked at the comers of his full mouth, and driven
to break this silence that heralded the unpleasantness that was to come,
Catherine, for something to say, blurted, "Do you think Rachael and Guy
will ever find a solution? I feel so dreadful for them."

Jason
glanced at her through lowered lids, silently applauding the unconsciously
seductive picture she made. Her curling black hair formed a perfect foil for
her as it lay shining on the virginal whiteness of the lacy robe that allowed
tantalizing glimpses of the pale apricot flesh it covered. The deep green of
the velvet chair provided a pleasing backdrop for her slender body, and Jason
decided that, despite the faint mauve shadows beneath the clear violet eyes,
she had never looked so adorable and lovely.

He
let the silence spin out before he answered her question. Finally he said,
"I don't think there is any easy solution for them. My mother is still
very much alive and living in New Orleans. And divorce is still out of the question
even at this late date. At least now, if they are circumspect, they can see
one another, and
they
have
the satisfaction of knowing their love is mutual."

She
couldn't meet the accusation that flared in the green eyes, and following her
own train of thought she asked impulsively, "Do you think that
they're—they're—"

"Sleeping
together?" he finished bluntly as the stam
mered
words failed. Catherine nodded. Coolly her husband said, "I doubt it!
They're not in their hot-blooded, passionate youth any longer. Don't
misunderstand me. I'm certain there is nothing more Guy could wish for than to
make Rachael his—in all ways that a man does possess his woman. But once,
through a nasty set of circumstances, he very nearly brought her to the brink
of disgrace, and I feel he loves her too much to risk another scandal. They are
not," he added meaningfully, "beyond the age of producing another
child. I know my father well enough to have a very good idea of how his mind
works. Rachael will be adored for the rest of her life and given the utmost
respect and courtesy he can bestow upon her outside of marriage. But for any
physical union—I seriously doubt it."

Unable
to stop the memory of remembered joy in Jason's embrace, Catherine said sadly,
"How awful for them! It must be agony to love someone and yet be unable to
do anything about it."

"Yes,
isn't it?" Jason asked calmly.

Catherine's
eyes flew to his, and the sudden unexpected tenderness that seemed to lurk in
the emerald depths caused a quick flutter deep in her stomach. Swiftly dropping
her gaze, she pleated her gown nervously, staring hard at her busy fingers
while fear and delight rioted inside her.

Jason
stood up abruptly and shrugged out of his jacket, draping it carelessly over
the chair. Very deliberately he pulled his shirt free of his pantaloons and
began to undo the pearl buttons. His eyes betraying a hard determination as
well as tenderness, he said softly, "I think it's time we did something
about the estrangement between us! I love you, and you are my wife. We cannot
continue as we are. Call me vain if you wish, but I don't really believe those
words that you hurled at me in the cabin. You don't hate me. Your eyes give you
away every time you look at me— did you think I wouldn't notice?"

Catherine
shot him a wary glance, but meeting his gaze and seeing the softened expression
in his eyes, she looked quickly away.

"Catherine,
I love you. Trust me and let me help. Together we can resolve any difficulties
that lie in our path."

Compelled
by the persuasive softness in his voice, she looked up again and uneasily eyed
the masculine chest with the black mat of hair revealed by the open shirt, the
sight
of it recalling vividly memories she would rather forget. Unable to stand this
cat-and-mouse game, she stood up suddenly and whipped around behind her chair.
Facing him, her hands gripping the sides of the chair, she pleaded,
"Jason, I'm not ready for this kind of confrontation. Please leave! I
don't want to talk any more tonight."

He shook his head slowly,
and the shirt joined the jacket. Smiling sadly he murmured, "No. You'll
never be ready on your own. Every day that passes, you build what happened into
something more terrible than the day before. Don't misunderstand me! I do not
mean to belittle what occurred—but it did happen, and now it's over! Neither
one of us can undo
it,
no matter how desperately we
may wish. Davalos is dead. And now, I think we should bury what he did with
him."

Her eyes huge, her mouth
dry, nervously she avoided looking at the half-naked man before her. He stepped
forward, and with a little inarticulate cry, she flew to the other side of the
room; but Jason, only a step behind her, grasped her arms, and inexorably drew
her against him. Stiff with fright and revulsion, she suffered his hold, but he
did nothing more than keep her in his arms. His mouth brushing her
sweet-smelling curls, he soothed, "Now see, there is nothing so awful
about it. Just remember, my little darling, I love you, and you've led me down
a stony path. At this stage I'm certainly not giving up!"

A tiny quiver of longing to
believe those reassuring words trembled in her heart, and she asked anxiously,
"Why were you so cold when I told you? You hated me then—I know it! You
blamed me—and you'll never forget it!"

A warm finger slid down her
cheek to her chin and raised her head until she was looking directly into his
eyes. They were bleak, those emerald eyes, but there was anguish there too as
Catherine's eyes locked with his.

"We
will
forget it!" Jason stated firmly. "And I'm growing weary of your
habit of endowing me with the most despicable thoughts!" He shook her
gently. "Catherine, I love you. My emotions when I realized what had been
done to you were indescribable—but not
once
did I blame
you!
You
must believe me! All I could feel just then was that I had failed you again. I
wanted to murder Davalos for what he had done to you, and the only emotion you
must
have seen on my face was directed solely at him—
never
you!"

Gazing
up at
his
pain-twisted face, she believed him. It was glaringly apparent he suffered as
much as she, Instinctively, the need to comfort him drove her closer, her hand
wandering gently over his face, and Jason caught it and pressed it to his lips.
"Catherine,
never
think that I blamed you. I was sickened to think of your anguish and horror,
for I know you, little love, and deep inside you're a wide-eyed innocent. I
couldn't bear that you again had to suffer so much because of me."
Bitterly he admitted, "It seems all I've ever done is
cause
you pain and misfortune."

Sighing
with something bordering on joy, Catherine leaned her head onto
his
chest. "You've given me many happy moments, Jason. We have Nicholas,"
and with a catch in her throat she added, "and—and—we have each other—I
think? If you truly mean what you say?"

His
arms tightened painfully, and in a voice shaking with emotion he muttered,
"Yes, I mean what I say! What happened doesn't matter. If you had been
raped by the whole damned Spanish army, I couldn't love you less than I do.
Forget Davalos!"

A
tremor of uncertainty underlying her words, she said, "I want to. But
something happens inside when—when you begin to make love to me. Suddenly all I
can remember is Davalos."

His
hands gently caressing, Jason murmured, "Trust me, little love."

She
did trust him with all her heart, and so docilely she stood quietly in
his
embrace, torn between the hope that he could drive memory of Davalos away and
the fear that he could not. Tenderly, like a woman with a hurt child, he laid
her on the bed and slowly deliberately undressed her. When she lay naked and
trembling before him,
his
pantaloons joined her gown on the floor, and his
warm, powerful body slid, onto the bed next to her.