Gypsy Lady (42 page)

His
young face clouded with disappointment at the news of Adam's unexpected
departure, and Catherine, feeling sorry for him, cautiously invited him for
some refreshments. She chose the long, cool veranda for their tête-à-tête and
after they had seated themselves quietly ordered the butler to serve something
tall and refreshing.

James,
his black face contrasting darkly above the white linen uniform whispered
softly, "Madame, there is another gentleman to see you. I have put him in
the blue sitting room. Do you wish to see him now?"

Frowning,
Catherine asked, "Who is it? Didn't he give his name?"

Looking
slightly uneasy, James admitted, "He wouldn't give his name, but he is
obviously a gentleman and," he added honestly, "was insistent about
waiting for you."

A
thoughtful expression on her face, she watched James walk through the opened
French doors that led to the interior of the house. Uneasy, she suspected that
her unasked visitor was Davalos. If so, he could wait a moment or two.

Turning
and smiling, she attempted to maintain a polite conversation with Godfrey. She
was searching rather desperately for something to say to break the tense,
uncomfortable silence when Godfrey, taking his courage in both hands, unnerved
her by suddenly kneeling before her, grasping her hand, and stammering out a
fervent proposal of marriage.

Dismayed
and at a momentary loss for words, she stared down into his earnest face. Then
determinedly disengaging her hand she said quietly, "Mr. Anderson, you presume
too much. I'm afraid you've forgotten that I'm a married woman. And"—he
opened his mouth to protest but she added quellingly—"you should have
discussed this with Adam before approaching me."

The sound of clapping and a lazy voice drawling, "Well done,
my love!
You did that beautifully," caused Catherine
to freeze in her chair while Godfrey, angry embarrassment flushing his
features, rose in one furious motion to face the tall man who lounged casually
in the opened doorway.

Clenching
his fists at his side, Godfrey burst out, "How dare you! What
right have
you to mock me?"

An
insolent smile lurking at the corner of his mouth, Jason said coolly, "I
am merely the lady's husband!"

The
high color vanished instantly from Godfrey'?
cheeks
leaving him looking ashen. Questioningly he stared at Catherine,
her own
complexion as white as his.

"Is
this true? Is he truly your husband?" Godfrey asked disbelievingly.

Unable
to speak or even turn to look at her husband, Catherine nodded her head
miserably. Godfrey, after swallowing painfully, said manfully to Jason,
"You must forgive me, but as you never put in an appearance and—and—Madame
Savage seemed unwilling to speak of you, I— I—assumed you were—ah—dead! If you
wish to call me out, I shall be happy to name my seconds."

There
was a nerve-tingling silence as Jason's bright gaze flickered over the shaken
young man. Then with an exasperated snort he said, "I see no reason for
you to die merely because my wife was overly reticent in talking of me. You
just forget about her and get on your horse and leave. The next time you decide
to propose—make certain the lady is
free!"

The
scorn in his voice nearly precipitated a challenge from Godfrey, but realizing
that under the circumstances he was escaping lightly, Godfrey gave a stiff bow,
stepped down from the veranda, and disappeared rapidly in the direction of the
stables.

The
silence he left was deafening, and for a moment both figures remained
motionless. Then Jason's voice, still with almost indulgent amusement uppermost,
curled around Catherine.

"Do
you intend to present me with the back of your head all day? It's a very lovely
head, but I would prefer to see your face. After all, it has been over a year
since last I looked upon you—
love!"

"Nothing
is stopping you," she answered tightly.

With
a lithe movement, he abandoned his casual stance and moved to stand directly
behind her chair. "What a delightful invitation! Do I take it you're
requesting me to join you?"

A
lean hand reached down and captured Catherine's chin, tipping her face up to
him. Slowly, leisurely his eyes roamed over her features, noting the smoldering
fires in her violet eyes and the determined slant to her lips. Then his gaze
dropped disturbingly to the pulse that pounded madly at the base of her throat.
Unable to stand his almost insolent appraisal, she jerked her chin from his
hand and leaped out of the chair knocking it over in her haste.

"What
do you want?" She spat the words at him.

He
raised a mockingly astonished eyebrow at her question. "Why, my love,
what do you think I want? Is this any way to greet your long-lost
husband?" he reproached.

Gazing
at him much in the manner she would a coiled rattlesnake, Catherine bit her lip
doubtfully. The lazy, teasing mood was stunning. If ever she had pictured a
reunion with Jason, it certainly wouldn't have been with Jason acting in this
cool, bantering manner.

He
ignored her for the moment and straightened the chair she had knocked over.
Then with a smile on his lips that did not reach his cold green eyes he seated
himself. And, as if he did it every day, he waved her to a seat opposite him.
"Do sit down, my love. We have a great deal to discuss, don't we? Ah, very
good—er— James, I believe the name is?" he asked as the butler made his
reappearance bearing a large silver tray with a frosted pitcher of wine punch.
"Just set it there, will you?" Jason commanded.

James
threw a startled look at his mistress and at Catherine's curt nod did as
ordered. After pouring the silent couple two slim glasses of the sparkling
liquid, he left silently, a faintly worried frown marring his features.
Ummhmmm, he sure wished the master was here. He didn't like the looks of that
strange gentleman at all!

Catherine
wasn't too happy with the looks of that strange gentleman either, but there was
little she could do about it. He seemed to be making himself very comfortable,
and gingerly she sat down across from him, watching warily as he pushed his
long legs out in front of him and took up one of the glasses. Forcing herself
to remain calm, she asked cautiously, "What do you want to discuss?"

Jason
left off his contemplation of the sprig of mint that adorned his glass, and his
eyes, hard and oblique, swept over her. "That rather depends on you,
doesn't it?"

Relaxing
slightly at his apparent lack of temper, she gazed back steadily at him, almost
mesmerized by his green eyes. The sight of his firmly shaped mouth that could
reduce her to a state- of sobbing acquiescence made a shiver of remembered joy
run through her body. Forcing herself to remain as cool and unruffled as he
appeared, she asked, "How did you find me?"

"Mmmmm,
it wasn't too hard after your mother was so obliging as to tell my uncle where
you were," he answered carelessly,

"My
mother
told you?" she gasped incredulously.

"Not your mother, little one—my uncle!"

Stunned
by his words, she could only stare at him wordlessly. Finally, she stammered,
"Ra—Rachael would never have betrayed me!"

His
expression sardonic, Jason contradicted, "Don't wager too much
on
it! I don't know what her
reasons
were.,
but she did tell my uncle, and my uncle
wrote that I could find you at a plantation named Belle Vista near
Natchez."

Her
thoughts jumbled, Catherine asked carefully, "Was that all? He didn't
write about anything else that Rachael had said?*
⁵

His
green eyes narrowed, and silkily Jason said, "He didn't write that you
were about to present me with a
bastard!"

Her
eyes sparkling with fury, she stood up. "You said what we had to discuss
depended upon me. Well, my opinions haven't changed since I left you in Paris,
and I see no reason for continuing this distasteful conversation."

She
had meant to sweep regally by him, but his hand shot
out,
and forcefully be jerked her down onto his lap. Every fiber in her body
tingling,
and too aware of the hard thighs beneath her, she-
glared up at him, her mouth tightening angrily.

"Jason,
let me go!"

He
ignored her command, holding her prisoner against Him, and his lips began their
remembered magic as they caressed her neck where the pulse beat frantically,
then slowly traveled up towards her mouth. Alternately loving and hating him,
she was powerless to stop the surge of desire
his
touch ignited. Bear heavens!
she
thought despairingly.
It's been so long since he's held me, and I love him so very much—damn him!

She
fought to elude
his
questing lips, but it was « useless struggle. When his mouth finally captured
hers, she gave up to the, shudder of longing that shook her, and against her
will she felt her swimming senses responding to the demands of his mouth; with
a tiny sigh of' defeat, her lips opened under
his
,
letting him explore deeply.

Then
when her brain was pounding in tempo with her thudding heartbeat, he raised his
head suddenly, and instead of the familiar fires of desire she saw only
contempt in his green eyes.

He
stood up, unceremoniously dumping her on the floor, and in clipped tones
snapped, "Slut! Still the same teasing little tart, I see! No wonder that
young fool was ready to lay his heart and lands at your greedy little
feet!"

Too
stunned for words, Catherine picked herself up from the ground and with a
shaking hand arranged her skirts. He had been as aroused as she—she knew it.
His desire had been urgent against her soft body. But as in the past, he was
now prepared to blame her, she thought bitterly. Raising her head, she looked
steadily across at him. "Now that you've proven to yourself that I am a
slut, I don't think there's any more for us to say to one another, and
certainly no reason for you to remain, don't you agree?"

His
eyes glittering dangerously, he studied her with insolence. "No, and I
have no intention of remaining! But neither do I have any intention of leaving
you behind."

Aghast,
she stared. "You—you can't mean to take me with you?"

"Why not?
You're my wife, and I
think I've lent you to St. Clair long enough! I hate to take you without leaving
him a reminder of my thanks for his tender care of my wife, but perhaps it's
for the best. While I may have the mother, he will at least have his
child!"

Uncomprehendingly,
Catherine shook her head. And coldly Jason's eyes drifted over her slender
body. "At least it appears childbearing hasn't damaged your value. Tell
me," he went on in a cool tone, "did you present him with a son or a
daughter?"

Catherine
blinked,
her eyes huge in disbelief at his words and
at his sneering tone. He couldn't be saying these terrible things! Didn't he
realize the child was his son? The thoughts buzzed in her brain like angry
wasps.

Jason
snarled impatiently, "Well, what was the little bastard?"

"A boy.
I had a boy," she
answered tonelessly.

His
mouth twisted as if in pain, but it was gone quickly —gone so swiftly she
thought she imagined it. And his voice gave no hint of emotion as he said,
"Just as well. A boy needs a father more than a mother, so he won't miss
you."

"What
do you mean, won't miss me?" Catherine asked sharply.

An
ugly gleam lit his eyes. "I've come to take back an erring wife, but I'm
damn sure I have no intention of having your bastard tied to my shirttails.
When we leave, which will be as soon as it takes you to pack a change of
clothes, I'm not taking your son along with us!"

He
stood facing her, his face strong and proud, and her heart squeezed with
anguish. How could they have created Nicholas between them, yet be so
distrustful and ready to believe the worst of the other? Why wasn't there some
way in which to resolve their differences? Why did these ridiculous
misunderstandings arise every time they met? And how, she asked herself
angrily,
how
can I love a man who
thinks I'm the kind of woman who would defile her marriage vows and flaunt the
fruits of an adulterous association? Disgusted with herself at her own weak
emotions, Catherine fought a raging battle between the desire to fling the
truth at Jason's arrogant head and stubborn pride that commanded, "He
thinks the worse—so let him!"