Gypsy Lady (27 page)

Jason was in a decidedly
good mood when he quietly entered the rooms that Catherine had wandered through
so aimlessly earlier. He automatically entered the larger bedchamber and after
tossing his cravat over one of the high-backed chairs and divesting himself of his
boots, he walked through the hushed rooms searching for Tamara.

He hadn't expected to find
her in his bed, but had assumed she would certainly be in hers. Staring at the
empty bed in her room, he frowned, and thoughtfully rubbing a lean hand across
the black stubble that was forming on his chin, he strode impatiently to the
smaller of the two salons, stopping abruptly in the middle of the room when he
spied Tamara's sleeping form on the sofa.

She lay on her side, the
black, silky hair now dry and curling like a glossy cloud about her shoulders.
One hand was underneath her cheek, the other lying limply on the floor. Gazing
at the delightful picture she presented, Jason's frown vanished, only to be
replaced by a curious smile—a smile that was not the usual mocking one nor yet
a gentle one, but somewhere between the two. For a minute he stood watching the
soft rise and fall of her breasts beneath the black velvet. Then disturbed and
distrustful of the sudden wave of tenderness he felt, he determinedly crossed
to the sofa and scooping her up in his arms carried her into the bedchamber.

When he discarded her robe
and slipped her almost roughly between the warmed sheets of the big bed, she
stirred lightly and blinked sleepily like a kitten. Barely awake, she stared up
at him through half-shuttered lids, her violet eyes cloudy with sleep. Unable
to help
himself
, Jason's lips found her soft mouth in
a long, searing, searching kiss that left Catherine bewilderingly wide awake
and Jason angrily confused.

He hadn't meant to kiss her
that
way! He had meant only to drop a light kiss on her mouth. But the moment his
lips touched hers, something queer fused between them, her mouth had been warm
and seemingly eager for his, her lips parting easily and her tongue answering the
probing of his.

Fighting the urge to sink
down into the softness of the bed with her and see just how far this sudden
acquiescent mood went, Jason looked intently into Catherine's now wide-open
eyes. Seconds passed as they stared silently at one another, each as if frozen
and unable to break the odd spell—then, muttering an expletive, he turned
abruptly on his heels and left.

With unhappy, mixed
emotions, Catherine watched his tall form stride from the room. What was
happening to her? She hated him! He had dishonored her, treated her brutally,
and yet all it took was a full belly and a moment of gentleness for her to melt
into his arms like a woman of the streets. Closing her eyes, she swallowed
painfully as the memory of what had just passed between them returned. How
could she have responded so willingly? And more shocking than that—she had felt
unexpected disappointment when he had not continued further. Grimly she
reminded herself that she was supposed to take revenge on him, not encourage
him to do the very things that had created this situation in the first place.
Remember
that,
you silly little fool, she told herself, the next
time you feel like returning his embrace!

More equally unpleasant
thoughts kept her awake for some minutes longer, but finally, unable to solve
any of the immediate problems and the pure, blissful sensation of lying in a
bed for the first time in days overriding everything else, she fell asleep for
the second time that evening.

Not so Jason, who
restlessly paced the floor of his own bedchamber for over an hour before
finally succumbing to the need for
sleep
. Catherine
would have been pleased to know that most of that hour was spent by his
attempting to explain away the peculiar, unfamiliar emotions that she had made
him feel. The harder he sought an explanation, the more confused he became. He
fell asleep with a sense of injustice nagging him like a toothache, wishing he
had never laid eyes on that damned little gypsy. How dare she trouble his mind!

The day was well advanced before either of them
awoke, and Catherine, dressed this morning in a white sheath with an overtunic
of rose colored silk that belted under her small, firm bosom, was leaning out
over the balcony basking in the bright sunlight and straining for a glimpse of
the Tuileries Gardens to her left, when Jason behind her spoke. Engrossed in
her view, she hadn't heard him enter and gave a startled gasp of surprise when
he drawled, "Well, I'm glad to see you're up and dressed. Before I took my
bath I looked in on you, and you were still sleeping.
Looking,
I might add, extremely delectable."

Ignoring as best she could
the blatant provocation in his voice, she faced him somewhat
warily,
glad she wasn't in that indecent garment of the night before. Flashing him a
quick glance, her eyes sparkled with resentment at the implied slight. Coolly,
pretending her heart was not thumping madly in her breast, she asked, "Was
I supposed to be up? I thought you said this would be a holiday for me. Or am
I to act as your valet and help you dress?"

The sudden gleam in the
green eyes gave her pause. Allowing her to say no more, Jason pulled her into
his arms and nibbling her ear whispered, "You arouse no thoughts of
dressing, my sweet. Ah, but of undressing— anytime you prefer to offer your
services, I would be more than willing to comply with your wishes!"

Torn between a foolish
desire to giggle and rage at where her heedless barb had carried her, she was
inordinately grateful when a soft tap at the door distracted Jason's attention.

The
uniformed servant who entered at Jason's crisp order was not one of the hotel
staff, yet Catherine sensed Jason had been expecting him. And it was apparent
that the message delivered required no answer, for after handing a sealed note
to Jason and pocketing the gold coin passed to him, the messenger inclined his
head politely and departed.

Very
conscious of Jason's arm still casually around her waist, she watched him
covertly as he read, his head slightly bent and a more serious expression than
she had ever seen on his face. It only took him a moment to scan the note, and
glancing up quickly he caught her staring at him. An
embarrassed
blush pinkened her cheeks, and she slipped from his arm.

Smiling,
Jason mocked, "Playing shy, little one? If you enjoy looking at me, please
continue to do so. After all, I enjoy gazing at you!"

Not
to be provoked, Catherine stifled the impulse to slap the expectant grin from
his handsome face. Presenting him with an excellent view of the back of her
head, she seemed absorbed in watching the nervous movements of her hands as
they tightened around the balcony rail. Jason studied her straight, stiff back
for a minute,
then
said slowly, "I have to leave
you for a while. I'm sorry, but you will have to amuse yourself here while I am
gone."

Whirling
to face him, she asked in a hard little voice, "Aren't you afraid I will
run away?"

"No.
If I thought there was the remotest possibility of that, I would not have left
you alone last night. I am not a fool, and you are not as anxious to escape me
as you pretend, my little love—and you have no money."

Goaded
by his words she almost struck him, but he caught her upraised fist easily and
twisting it behind her, pulled her hard against him. Imprisoned next to his muscled
length, she glared up at him more furious with herself than him. He had been
baiting her deliberately— deliberately trying to make her act as she had.
Fuming, she realized it now that it was too late. Lifting her chin
pugnaciously, she spat, "Now what? This is what you wanted in the first
place, isn't it?"

"No, not really.
But you rise so easily to the bait, my little fire-eater, that I can't resist
seeing how often you'll leap for the same fly," Jason teased, his mouth
hovering
just
above hers. He tightened his grasp, putting both arms about her slender body
and holding her so closely that they merged into one. His mouth slowly wandered
from her forehead to the tip of her nose, and then with his lips barely
touching hers, he said softly, "I really do have to leave you for a while.
Just in case you
do
have any ideas of running away—you can
forget them! I think you should know that before I left the hotel last night, I
had an illuminating conversation with the concierge and Jeanne. It grieved me
greatly, as you can imagine, but I was forced to explain to them that although
we are newly married and I am deeply in love with you, you are given to
harmless fits of madness, during which you think you are someone else and that
I have abducted you." Almost kindly he added, "You can see,
ma petite
chou
,
it will do you no good to try to escape.
The servants would only lock you in these rooms. And as I said earlier, you
have no money. Without money you cannot go very far. So amuse yourself this
afternoon. Tonight, if I have the time, we can perhaps plan something more
exciting." Then coherent thought fled as his warm mouth settled on hers,
and she knew again the hungry, inexplicable yearning his kisses aroused.

The big rooms were
unusually silent after he had departed, and angrily Catherine flounced down on
her bed. Damn him! He treated her like a doll—a plaything! He would plan
something amusing for them if he had the time, would he? Just once, she thought
viciously, she would like to beat him at the cat and mouse game they played.

Jason was grinning to
himself as he entered the American legation on the Rue de Tournon and
presented his card to the man at the door. A moment later he was ushered into
a small office that had been hurriedly prepared for James Monroe, President
Jefferson's envoy extraordinaire to Paris.

Monroe had arrived only two
days before, and as his task was to assist Robert Livingston, the American
Minister to France, he was engrossed in reading Livingston's latest reports on
the progress of the negotiations for the use of the Mississippi River and the
all important Port of New Orleans.

He was seated behind a
massive, black oak desk which
dominated the entire room,
apparently absorbed in his reading. But when Jason entered the room, he rose
with a wry smile and, tossing down the lengthy document he had been studying,
remarked, "Paper work!" he said. "Someday someone should invent
a way to compress all these multitude of pages into one neat, concise paragraph."

Smiling
sympathetically, Jason shook the hand Monroe extended and said, "So far it
has not been my misfortune to be burdened with such as that. Do you actually
read all of it?"

A
twinkle in his blue-gray eyes, Monroe admitted sheepishly, "If I read
every third sentence I feel I have exerted myself! But tell me, young man, what
brings you to France? I thought Jefferson wanted you in England—- unless
Livingston sent for you.
That
I
know Robert hasn't done. So tell me. What is the meaning behind that rather
demanding note I received from you last night? Are you in trouble with the
French government already?"

In
spite of the teasing quality of Monroe's voice, Jason sensed the underlying
thread of seriousness in the question, and Jason's own smile disappeared as he
said quietly, "I apologize if my message was abrupt, but events have made
it imperative that I talk with you before Livingston's negotiations proceed
further."

Monroe,
easing his tall angular form more comfortably against the padded softness of
his chair, gave Jason a searching look before saying slowly, "I know that
you are in Jefferson's confidence regarding a number of things in connection
with New Orleans, but precisely what your role is I'm afraid I never understood
completely. Would you care to enlighten me?"

A
rueful gleam in his green eyes, Jason confessed, "I'm very much afraid I
don't fully understand it, either! And if I do not understand it, I cannot
discuss it very well with you, can I?"

Monroe
did not smile at Jason's evasive answer. "I see," he said dryly.
"I understand you, Savage—you will not tell me. I suppose I should be
pleased that the president has such closemouthed individuals serving him—and of
course you will not allow the close ties of personal friendship between us to
interfere with your tasks?"

An
affirmative nod answered Monroe's gently probing question, and respecting
Jason's silence, although not lik
ing it, he asked, "Well? What did you wish to
see me about?"

Relaxing slightly at
Monroe's tone of voice, Jason said carefully, "I'm about to lay before you
a proposal—a proposal that will have great bearing on the task you and
Livingston have in front of you. Before I do so, though, there are certain
points I must make clear to you. First, I cannot explain where or how I learned
what I did. You will have to trust me and take what I say as true. Second, I
will not answer any questions, for in my fashion I am loyal, and I have given
my word that I shall not divulge my sources." He looked Monroe straight in
the eyes, then added, "If you are not willing to do as I request, I cannot
proceed farther."

Perturbed and intrigued, as
Jason knew he would be, Monroe stared steadily back, rapidly reviewing what he
knew of this sometimes exceedingly arrogant young man. Jefferson had entrusted
certain vital secrets to him concerning foreign policy, and it seemed
Jefferson had chosen his tool wisely. He, himself, was on intimate terms with
Guy Savage, and while he was not as familiar with the son as he would have
preferred to be under the circumstances, what he did know he liked—in spite of
the fact that young Savage had a reputation of looking out for himself and
being hardheaded and ruthless about gaining his own way. Occasionally such
characteristics had their advantages.

Monroe was a liberal
Republican—many thought too liberal—and he was willing to wager that even if
Jason might be motivated by self-interest in this instance, whatever his
reasons, Jason's interest could be used to benefit the United States.
Consequently, he nodded his silver- flecked head in consent and said,
"Continue. You have aroused my curiosity—and I shall try not to ask too
many embarrassing questions."

Hunching forward in the
chair, his face clear of all trace of its usual mocking amusement, Jason
disclosed, "I'm in possession of knowledge that Barbe-Marbois called upon you
and Livingston the other night. While that is public, what you spoke of is not.
Barbe-Marbois's main reason for meeting with you, even before you have been
presented formally to the French government, was to begin talks for the sale
of the entire Louisiana territory."

Unable to control the look
of startled amazement that
momentarily lightened his
chiseled features, Monroe gave a click of annoyance, wondering vexedly where
Savage had come by his information. It was true. Barbe-Marbois was well-known
to both Livingston and himself because for a time the Frenchman had lived in
Philadelphia after escaping from the Reign of Terror. Now he was the French
minister of finance, and he
had
called and
had
imparted the stunning news
that Napoleon was seriously considering selling the whole vast tract of land
that comprised Louisiana to the Americans. He wondered if Jason was aware that
in addition to the question of money, there were two major obstacles that had
to be surmounted before real discussion could begin—it was imperative to
determine if France actually owned the land, and equally important, neither he
nor Livingston were empowered to buy land! Navigation rights, riparian
rights—yes! But land? . . .

Shrewdly,
Monroe did not ask a question, but said, "You know the Constitution has no
provisions for a situation such as this!" His irritation apparent, he
added, "Who could have surmised when I sailed for France that Napo- lean
would even countenance so fantastic an idea, much less suggest it?"

Callously
indifferent to the intrinsic legal questions the purchase would arouse, Jason
said bluntly, "I am here today as an agent, if you will, for the British
banking firm of Hope and Baring. They have authorized me to inform you that
they are willing to loan you, as representative of the United States, whatever
amount of money is required to secure Louisiana from the French."

For
a moment, Monroe was speechless. This was beyond anything they could have
hoped for! Eagerly, unable to hide it, he asked, "Exactly how far are your
principals willing to go?"

For
the first time since he had entered the room, Jason relaxed, and his mocking
smile leaped into being. Pithily he said, "Ten million at six per
cent."

At
Jason's words a sigh of sheer pleasure escaped Monroe. Later he and Livingston
would question how Hope and Baring had learned of the proposed sale, and more
importantly, how they had known exactly the amount the Americans had been
willing to pay. For the moment, however, Monroe was dazzled by the vistas this
unexpected offer opened.