Gypsy Lady by Shirlee Busbee Read Free Book Online Page A

to his
dismay. Despite Jason's deceptive air of indolence and the lazy amusement seen
gleaming frequently in his emerald eyes, there was an aura of carefully leashed
power about him that made him definitely a man who people noticed—especially
women. His crisp black hair, worn carelessly long, just brushing the collar of his
coat, and his dark, hard, uncompromising features coupled with those green
eyes that so often shimmered with slumberous passion had caused more than one
woman, who should have known better, to go weak at the knees. At twenty-nine
there wasn't a great deal that he had not seen or done except, his father
thought waspishly, marry and provide him with a grandson. But Guy hastily
pushed the thought from his mind. Now was not the time to speak of such things.
    Guy waited until after
dinner to bring up the subject, and it was one near to his heart.
Unfortunately, whenever he had brought it up in the past, it had invariably led
to a quarrel.
    Jason was sprawled in a
large chair before the roaring fire, once again in Guy's den. His long legs
were stretched towards the warmth, and one lean hand held a goblet of strong
rum punch. He was staring absentmindedly at the swirling amber liquid, his mind
on this afternoon's meeting with Jefferson, when Guy broke into his thoughts.
    "I hesitate to disrupt
your mood, but I think it's time we have a serious talk."
    Jason gave his father a
lazy smile and answered lightly, "I've had one serious conversation today.
Is another necessary?"
    "Jason, I feel very
strongly that this one is. We've discussed it several times in the past, and
you usually manage to avoid answering me. This time, though,
I'm determined that you listen to me and consider what I'm saying. I
want you to look for a wife while you're in England."
    "Oh,
my God, not that again!" Jason said angrily. The last time the subject
had arisen he had made it clear— he had no intention of marrying. With his
parents as examples of the wedded state, he had no desire to saddle himself
with a wife—not now, not ever.
    Guy firmly ignored his
son's less than encouraging outburst. "Don't you think it's time that you
married?" he continued. "I'm approaching fifty, and in less than a
year's time you'll be thirty. Between us we've large holdings and don't
forget—you are Armand's only heir also. I certainly would like to be assured
that all I've acquired will remain in the Savage name at least for one more
generation."
    A bleak silence greeted his
words, and his son's face wore a cold, stony expression. Almost despairingly
Guy cried, "It's your damned duty to marry and breed me grandsons! Good
heavens, boy. You'll not find it hard if you'll just put aside the fancy pieces
you keep and settle down with a nice young gentlewoman."
    A grimace of distaste on
his face, Jason asked sarcastically, "Do you expect me to study your
marriage as an example of what to look forward to?"
    Guy had the grace to look
uncomfortable. "I've admitted my own particular marriage was a mistake but
that doesn't mean that yours would be. I needed a nice quiet Englishwoman and
what did I do but marry a hot- tempered Creole termagant!"
    "So?"
    "So, this trip of
yours is a godsend. Find yourself a well-bred English miss and make her your
bride. At least for my sake consider it. It would please me no end if you
brought home an English bride."
    Jason tossed down the
remainder of his rum in one quick movement and snapped, "Very well, I'll
look. And if there is one who is rich, beautiful and willing to overlook my—er—fancy pieces, I believe you called them, well
then—who knows?"
    "I wish you would take
this seriously. You know, Jason, it's possible that you might fall in
love," Guy commented quietly.
    "As you did?" his
son returned insolently.
    Guy hesitated and for a
moment, his thoughts went slipping down forbidden and painful avenues of
memory. Her features, Rae's laughing face, danced in front of
his eyes, and for a second all the aching pain of their