Gypsy Lady by Shirlee Busbee Read Free Book Online Page B

parting came flooding
back—not the least of it the knowledge that she was to have borne him a child
and that he would be unable to even give it his name. He had done the next best
thing though—while the child might not be entitled to the Savage name there was
nothing to prevent him from bestowing on it his mother's name, St. Clair. His
thoughts bleak and unhappy he admitted softly, "Once there was a woman I
loved dearly. I would have given up everything for her—but it was not to
be."
    "Mon Dieu!" Jason said ungraciously.
"Spare me! I've said I'll look. More I cannot promise." With that
Jason slammed out of the room and, intent upon cooling his hot temper, left the
house and stalked to the stables. At the moment he preferred the company of
dumb animals.
    Chewing on a wisp of straw,
Jason decided reflectively that it was as well he only saw his father once
every few years; if they saw one another often, the tenuous thread of filial
affection might very well snap.
    Jesus! he thought with disgust—the very last thing he wanted from London was a damned
simpering miss of a bride.

2

    Jason
Savage, his valet Pierre, and his head groom Jacques,
having survived the fury of the winter storms that swept across the Atlantic
Ocean, stepped thankfully ashore some six weeks later at London, England. The
trip had been cold and uncomfortable, and Jason vowed grimly that never again
would he attempt a winter crossing. Nothing could be worth the discomfort and inconvenience that he had suffered.
    He
arrived at his uncle's Berkeley Square residence that afternoon to find the
duke eagerly awaiting his appearance.
    Roxbury—his
full name was Garret Ainsley Savage, Lord Satterliegh, Viscount Norwood, duke
of Roxbury— had been a widower for well over twenty years and his sons fully
grown when Jason, a scruffy schoolboy, had come to England to finish his
schooling at Harrow. The duke was a tall slender man of sixty-five, as
impressive looking as his string of titles, with seemingly sleepy gray eyes
that were deep set beneath heavy black brows. In his youth, he had possessed as
black and curly a head of hair as his nephew's. Although the years had silvered
his hair, his manner and bearing were such that his presence still caused a
flutter among the ladies. Viewing the world with a weary cynicism, he was
seldom moved by the emotions that motivated other men—and this made his pride
and affection for his only nephew all the more puzzling.
    Jason,
himself, was at a loss to explain the affection that was between them, but he
was also wise enough to realize that the duke placed England and her
sovereignty over mere mortals and that if it was necessary to use or sacrifice an individual in
order to maintain that sovereignty, Roxbury would do so without too much
searching of his conscience. And as Jason felt exactly the same way about the
Louisiana Territory and the United States, there was, in spite of the affection
that existed, a certain not unnatural wariness in their meetings with one
another.
    But for this, his first
evening in England since a short and hurried trip some five years ago, they put
aside politics and spoke mainly of the past, Jason's father, and Jason's
plans. It was only as they were preparing to seek out their separate
bedchambers that the duke mentioned anyone outside their family circle.
    Standing at the foot of the
stairs, his gray eyes warm with amusement, he said, "I suppose you know
that those two raffish friends of yours, Barrymore and Harris, have been
bombarding me for news of your arrival. They started asking after you in
December, and I have had no letup since then, even while in the country. When
last I spoke to Barrymore, I explained, rather patiently for me, that I did not
expect you until after the New Year and certainly not before the fifteenth of
January. I am thankful that you have not made a liar out of me and have so
kindly managed to arrive on that precise date. Rest assured that those two
will be at my